CHAPTER VII.
THE court-martial was held on Tuesday morning.
It was a very short and simple affair; a
mere formality, occupying barely twenty minutes.
There was, indeed, nothing to spend much time
over; no defence was allowed, and the only witnesses
were the wounded spy and officer and a
few soldiers. The sentence was drawn up beforehand;
Montanelli had sent in the desired informal
consent; and the judges (Colonel Ferrari, the local
major of dragoons, and two officers of the Swiss
guards) had little to do. The indictment was
read aloud, the witnesses gave their evidence, and
the signatures were affixed to the sentence, which
was then read to the condemned man with befitting
solemnity. He listened in silence; and when
asked, according to the usual form, whether he had
anything to say, merely waved the question aside
with an impatient movement of his hand. Hidden
on his breast was the handkerchief which Montanelli
had let fall. It had been kissed and wept
over all night, as though it were a living thing.
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