[When I returned home,] <This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had my eyes deceived me? and was I really as mad as the whole world would believe me to be, if I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I hastened to return home, and> Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.
"My cousin," replied I, "it is decided as you may have expected; all judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer, than that one guilty should escape. But she has confessed."
This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon Justine's innocence. "Alas!" said she, "how shall I ever again believe in human [benevolence] <goodness>? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to [betray; her] <betray? Her> mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or [ill-humour] <guile>, and yet she has committed a murder."
Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a [wish] <desire> to see my cousin. My father wished her not to go; but said, that he left it to her own judgment and feelings to decide. "Yes," said Elizabeth, "I will go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me: I cannot go alone." The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not refuse.
We entered the gloomy prison-chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some straw at the [further] <farther> end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter; and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also.
"Oh, Justine!" said she, "why did you rob me of my last [consolation.] <consolation?> I relied on your innocence; and although I was then very wretched, I was not so miserable as I am now."