"Monsieur," answered David, "I take the
responsibility upon my own shoulders. The
cause of religion is here in question."

The prisoners were ordered off to the Hôtel
de Ville. While Calas mechanically prepared to
lock the door, his son Pierre set a lighted candle
in the passage, ready for use on their return.
David ordered him to put out the light, sulkily
observing, "You will not be back quite so soon
as you think."

Summarily interrogated, the Calases persisted
in their first statement; namely, that when
young Pierre and his friend Lavaysse went down
stairs after supper, they found the lifeless body
lying near the shop–door. The others could give
no further information.

This statement, which was not correct, sealed
the ruin of the family.

"Come, come," said David brutally. "You
killed him, Pierre Calas; it's of no use your
denying that you killed him."

"He killed him," said Savanier, the registrar,
"as surely as I hold this pen in my hand."

"I see," said David, knitting his brows,
"that we shall have to try what a few turns of
the rack will do."

Even yet, the prisoners could hardly appreciate
the gravity of their position. But when they
learned that they were to be parted and each
led off to a separate dungeon, they corrected
themselves and unanimously declared that Marc
Antoine had been found hanged. In this respect,
after their separation, their statements never
varied nor disagreed with each other.

At this point of the story it is natural to ask
what could have tempted conscientious and
religious people to swerve, ever so little, from the
truth. The answer is, they were sorely tempted
to suppress the fact of the suicide. At that,
epoch, the crime of self–destruction was visited
in France with most cruel, unjust, and absurd
penalties. An indictment was drawn up against
the body, which was dragged naked on a
hurdle, exposed to the insults of the populace,
to a gallows on which it was hung. All the
deceased's goods were confiscated to the king.
Thus the innocent survivors were made to suffer
for their guilty relative—if guilt there were and
not a derangement or perversion of the reasoning
faculties. There was, in those days, no possible
verdict of "Temporary Insanity," to alleviate
the feelings and satisfy the conscience of a
scrupulous juryman or judge.

The actual state of the case was this: On the
fatal evening, a young friend of the family,
named Lavaysse, happening to pass through
Toulouse, was invited to supper at seven
o'clock. The whole party were present. Marc
Antoine, in an absent fit, paid little attention to
what was going on. He ate sparingly, drank
several draughts of wine, and withdrew at
dessert, according to his usual custom. No
uneasiness was felt about him; he was doubtless
gone, either to the tennis court or the Four
Billiards. Madame Calas worked at her
embroidery, chatting meanwhile with those around
her. At half–past nine, Lavaysse rose to
retire. Pierre had fallen asleep on his chair.
They woke him up, and joked him for so doing;
and the guest took his leave amidst laughter.
Pierre went down–stairs, to see Lavaysse to
the door, and close it after him. As they passed
the door which communicated from the passage
with the shop—"Look," said Lavaysse, "the
warehouse door is open! I wonder whether
there is any one there."

They looked in. Instantly they uttered a cry
of horror. The warehouse door was what we
call a folding–door, similar to those with which
modern dining and drawing–rooms often
communicate. The two leaves stood ajar; across
them had been placed a thick round stick, or
roller, used in packing; and from this, hung, by
a rope with a double slip–knot, the body of Marc
Antoine Calas, in his shirt sleeves. With a
curious precaution, which is far from rare with
persons about to commit suicide, before fixing
the fatal noose he had carefully deposited his
grey coat and his nankin waistcoat on the
counter. Pierre seized his brother's hand; the
swinging of the body increased their terror and
renewed their cries of alarm. Calas the elder,
hearing them, rushed down–stairs. At the sight,
he exclaimed, "My child! my poor child!" and
mustered strength to lift and raise the body in
his arms. This movement caused the stick to
fall; and Calas, laying his son on the floor,
unfastened the slip–knot, calling to Pierre,
"In God's name, run to the surgeon;
perhaps my poor boy is not quite dead." The
mother was coming down–stairs, but Lavaysse
sent her back again, saying, "Oh, Madame!
this is no place for you." But she could not
rest; after telling the maid to go and see what
was the matter, she returned herself, and beheld
the spectacle of her child's lifeless body.

Instead of the surgeon, came his apprentice
Gorrse, who took it for granted that Marc
Antoine, overbearing in his temper, had been
murdered by some enemy.

"Mon Dieu! " said Pierre, "has he been
quarrelling with anybody? I will go to the
Four Billiards—I will inquire everywhere——"

"Do nothing of the kind," interrupted the
father. "Take care how you spread the report
that your brother has destroyed himself. At
least save the honour of your wretched family."

This one false step led to irretrievable misery.
The falsehood, the suppression of the truth
necessary to "save the honour of the family,"
was ten times more disastrous than the truth
would have been. The authorities, discovering
at the outset that there was an understanding
among the family to give a coloured
version of the facts, were in some degree
excusable for retaining their preconceived ideas
during more advanced stages of the case.

On the ninth of March, one thousand seven
hundred and sixty–two, Calas was condemned,
first, to the rack, "to draw from him the avowal
of his crime, its accomplices, and circumstances,"
and, secondly, to an awful death.

But grave events, as far as the public were
concerned, arising out of young Calas's decease,