“A patriot?” he sneered. “Perhaps not—but I would murder an aristocrat for far less cause than that.”
“I am not an aristocrat,” I protested desperately.
“So you persist in that farce?” he queried coldly. “Really, you grow wearisome. Perhaps you will explain then how you happen to be wearing the clothing of that traitor, Pasdeloup?”
My tongue refused to answer, and he laughed again as he noted my confusion.
“I recognize it, every stitch,” he went on evenly; “every stitch except the shoes. And I even think I can guess where you got those. More than that, I can have you identified in a moment. Perhaps you remember Sergeant Dubosq, whom you encountered on the road from Tours. I am sure that he will recall you readily, even in this guise, for he has an excellent memory. Shall I summon him?”
I saw that it was useless to persist.
“No,” I answered; “don’t disturb the sergeant.”
“You admit then that you are Tavernay?”
“Yes,” I answered boldly; “why not? I have committed no crime——”
“You have opposed the Nation.”