The whole amounts to nothing more than a corroboration of Graspum’s testimony.  He has heard Marston call their mothers property:  once, he thinks, but would hesitate before pledging his honour, that Marston offered to him the woman Clotilda.  Yes; it was her!

Considerable excitement is now apparent; the auditory whisper among themselves, attorneys put their heads together, turn and turn over the leaves of their statutes.  His honour, the Court, looks wiser still.  Marston trembles and turns pale; his soul is pinioned between hope and fear.  Romescos has told something more than he knows, and continues, at random, recounting a dozen or more irrelevant things.  The court, at length, deems it necessary to stop his voluntary testimony, orders that he only answer such questions as are put to him.

“There’s no harm in a feller tellin’ what he knows, eh! judge?” returns Romescos, dropping a quid of tobacco at his side, bowing sarcastically to the judge, and drawing his face into a comical picture.

Mr. Romescos is told that he can stand aside.  At this seemingly acceptable announcement, he bristles his crispy red hair with his fingers, shrugs his shoulders, winks at two or three of the jurymen, pats Graspum on the shoulder as he passes him, and takes his seat.

“We will close the case here, but reserve the right of introducing further testimony, if necessary,” says the learned and very honourable counsel.

The defence here rises, and states the means by which his client intends to prove the freedom of the children; and concludes by calling over the names of the witnesses.  Franconia!  Franconia! we hear that name called; it sounds high above the others, and falls upon our ear most mournfully.  Franconia, that sweet creature of grace and delicacy, brought into a court where the scales of injustice are made to serve iniquity!

Franconia’s reserve and modesty put legal gentlemen’s gallantry to the test.  One looks over the pages of his reports, another casts a sly look as she sweeps by to take that place the basest of men has just left.  The interested spectators stretch their persons anxiously, to get a look at the two pretty children, honourable and legal gentlemen are straining their ability to reduce to property.  There stands the blushing woman, calm and beautiful, a virtuous rebuke to curious spectators, mercenary slave dealers, the very learned gentlemen of the bar, and his enthroned honour, the Court!  She will give testimony that makes nature frown at its own degradation.  Not far from Franconia sits the very constitutional Mr. Scranton, casting side glances now and then.  Our philosopher certainly thinks, though he will not admit it, the chivalry is overtaxing itself; there was no occasion for compelling so fair a creature to come into court, and hear base testimony before a base crowd,—­to aid a base law in securing base ends.  And then, just think and blush, ye who have blushes to spare.