She lifted her eyes slowly to his, and made a feeble gesture of deprecation.

“Mo te pas fe cette bras, Mawse Challie—­I di’n’t mek dat ahm; no ‘ndeed I di’n’, Mawse Challie.  I ain’ wuth hangin’, gen’lemen; you’d oughteh jis gimme fawty an’ lemme go.  I—­I—­I—­I di’n’ ‘ten’ no hawm to Mawse-Agricole; I wa’n’t gwan to hu’t nobody in God’s worl’; ’ndeed I wasn’.  I done tote dat old case-knife fo’ twenty year’—­mo po’te ca dipi vingt ans.  I’m a po’ ole marchande des calas; mo courri ‘mongs’ de sojer boys to sell my cakes, you know, and da’s de onyest reason why I cyah dat ah ole fool knife.”  She seemed to take some hope from the silence with which they heard her.  Her eye brightened and her voice took a tone of excitement.  “You’d oughteh tek me and put me in calaboose, an’ let de law tek ’is co’se.  You’s all nice gen’lemen—­werry nice gen’lemen, an’ you sorter owes it to yo’sev’s fo’ to not do no sich nasty wuck as hangin’ a po’ ole nigga wench; ’deed you does.  ‘Tain’ no use to hang me; you gwan to kyetch Palmyre yit; li courri dans marais; she is in de swamp yeh, sum’ers; but as concernin’ me, you’d oughteh jis gimme fawty an lemme go.  You mus’n’t b’lieve all dis-yeh nonsense ’bout insurrectionin’; all fool-nigga talk.  W’at we want to be insurrectionin’ faw?  We de happies’ people in de God’s worl’!” She gave a start, and cast a furtive glance of alarm behind her.  “Yes, we is; you jis’ oughteh gimme fawty an’ lemme go!  Please, gen’lemen!  God’ll be good to you, you nice, sweet gen’lemen!”

Charlie Mandarin made a sign to one who stood at her back, who responded by dropping a rawhide noose over her head.  She bounded up with a cry of terror; it may be that she had all along hoped that all was make-believe.  She caught the noose wildly with both hands and tried to lift it over her head.

“Ah! no, mawsteh, you cyan’ do dat!  It’s ag’in’ de law!  I’s ’bleeged to have my trial, yit.  Oh, no, no!  Oh, good God, no!  Even if I is a nigga!  You cyan’ jis’ murdeh me hyeh in de woods! Mo dis la zize!  I tell de judge on you!  You ain’ got no mo’ biznis to do me so ’an if I was a white ’oman!  You dassent tek a white ‘oman out’n de Pa’sh Pris’n an’ do ‘er so!  Oh, sweet mawsteh, fo’ de love o’ God!  Oh, Mawse Challie, pou’ l’amou’ du bon Dieu n’fe pas ca!  Oh, Mawse ’Polyte, is you gwan to let ‘em kill ole Clemence?  Oh, fo’ de mussy o’ Jesus Christ, Mawse ’Polyte, leas’ of all, you!  You dassent help to kill me, Mawse ’Polyte!  You knows why!  Oh God, Mawse ‘Polyte, you knows why!  Leas’ of all you, Mawse ’Polyte!  Oh, God ‘a’ mussy on my wicked ole soul!  I aint fitt’n to die!  Oh, gen’lemen, I kyan’ look God in de face! Oh, Miches, ayez pitie de moin!  Oh, God A’mighty ha’ mussy on my soul!  Oh, gen’lemen, dough yo’ kinfolks kyvvah up yo’ tricks now, dey’ll dwap f’um undeh you some day! Sole leve la, li couche la!  Yo’ tu’n will come!  Oh, God A’mighty! de God o’ de po’ nigga wench!  Look down, oh God, look down an’ stop dis yeh foolishness!  Oh, God, fo’ de love o’ Jesus! Oh, Miches, y’en a ein zizement!  Oh, yes, deh’s a judgmen’ day!  Den it wont be a bit o’ use to you to be white!  Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, fo’, fo’, fo’, de, de, love 0’ God!  Oh!”