"Very secret," said Du Couëdic, "since they do not breathe a word."
"Ah, one fine night they will force us to escape, that they may not be obliged to liberate us some fine day."
"I do not believe it," said Montlouis, who had always been the most desponding, perhaps because he had the most at stake, having a young wife and two children who adored him. "I do not believe it. I have seen Dubois in England. I have talked with him; his face is like a ferret's, licking his lips when thirsty. Dubois is thirsty, and we are taken. Dubois's thirst will be slaked by our blood."
"But," said Du Couëdic, "there is the parliament of Bretagne."
"Yes, to look on, while we lose our heads."
There was only one of the four who smiled; that was Pontcalec.
"My friends," said he, "take courage. If Dubois be thirsty, so much the worse for Dubois. He will go mad, that is all; but this time I answer for it he shall not taste our blood."
And, indeed, from the beginning the task of the commission seemed difficult. No confessions, no proofs, no witnesses. Bretagne laughed in the commissioners' faces, and when she did not laugh, she threatened. The president dispatched a courier to Paris to explain the state of things, and get further instructions.
"Judge by their projects," said Dubois; "they may have done little, because they were prevented, but they intended much, and the intention in matters of rebellion is equivalent to the act."
Armed with this terrible weapon, the commission soon overthrew the hopes of the province. There was a terrible audience, in which the accused commenced with raillery and ended with accusation. On re-entering the prison, Pontcalec congratulated them on the truths they had told the judge.