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been brought for this case. He was a small man of about
fifty, brisk, wrinkled, frail, yellow, brazen-faced, feverish,
who had a sort of sickly feebleness about all his limbs and
his whole person, and an immense force in his glance. His
companions in the galleys had nicknamed him I-deny-God
(Je-nie Dieu, Chenildieu).
The President addressed him in nearly the same words
which he had used to Brevet. At the moment when he re-
minded him of his infamy which deprived him of the right
to take an oath, Chenildieu raised his head and looked the
crowd in the face. The President invited him to reflection,
and asked him as he had asked Brevet, if he persisted in rec-
ognition of the prisoner.
Chenildieu burst out laughing.
‘Pardieu, as if I didn’t recognize him! We were attached
to the same chain for five years. So you are sulking, old fel-
low?’
‘Go take your seat,’ said the President.
The usher brought in Cochepaille. He was another con-
vict for life, who had come from the galleys, and was dressed
in red, like Chenildieu, was a peasant from Lourdes, and a
half-bear of the Pyrenees. He had guarded the flocks among
the mountains, and from a shepherd he had slipped into a
brigand. Cochepaille was no less savage and seemed even
more stupid than the prisoner. He was one of those wretch-
ed men whom nature has sketched out for wild beasts, and
on whom society puts the finishing touches as convicts in
the galleys.
The President tried to touch him with some grave and