"The old hypocrite!" exclaimed Harry in disgust. "Does he
imagine he is playing with us?"
Then there was an imperceptible movement, rather felt than seen,
throughout the vast assemblage, and Desiree sank back on her
throne of gold with a shudder as the king severed with the knife
the black cord of death and laid it on the ground at her feet.
I looked at Harry; his face became slightly pale, but his eyes
met mine firmly, speaking of a fortitude unconquerable. Then we
again riveted our gaze on the alcove opposite.
An attendant approached from the rear and stood before the golden
throne, while the king motioned to Desiree to take up the black
cord. For a moment she did not understand him, then she drew
back, shaking her head firmly.
The king did not wait to argue the matter, but stooped himself
and picked up the cord and handed it to the attendant, who
received it with a great show of respect and retired to the rear,
where a commotion was created by its appearance.
The judgment was passed, but what was to be the nature of the
execution? That uncertainty and the weirdness of the scene gave
to the thing an air of unreality that shut out the tragic and
admitted only the grotesque.
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