His words were the first clear tones that rose above the babel of whisperings and titters; he turned directly to Master Legros and addressed him personally, speaking in fluent French.
"Your daughter, Master," he said, "hath made a strange statement. Do you endorse its purport?"
"My daughter spoke the truth, milor," replied Papa Legros quietly, "and I endorse every word which she hath said."
"Upon your oath?"
"On mine oath."
"It is false, my lord," murmured Michael still feebly, but making frantic efforts to keep his wandering spirits in bondage. "It is false, on my soul—I was in Paris—not at St. Denis—the lady is unknown to me—I am guilty."
"You hear the prisoner's protest, Master?" queried the judge, once more speaking directly to Legros. "If your statement be true, he is your bitter enemy."
"He did my daughter a great wrong, my lord, but he is an innocent man, unjustly accused of a grave crime. I cannot let him die for that which he hath not done."
"Yet doth he protest his guilt."
"'Tis natural that he should thus protest, my lord. He hath taken on his own shoulders the burden of another. Yet I would have you believe that I would not stand by now, and see my daughter sacrificing her good name for any cause save that of truth."