Some interval elapsed; and when next I felt consciousness, I was lying full length on my bed, the cell lit up by two candles on the table, beside which sat two men, their heads bent eagerly over a mass of papers before them. One was an old and venerable-looking man, his white hair and long queue so bespeaking him; he wore a loose cloth cloak that covered his entire figure, but I could see that a brass scabbard of a sword projected beneath it; on the chair beside him, too, there lay a foraging-cap. The other, much younger, though still not in youth, was a thin, pale, careworn man; his forehead was high and strongly marked; and there was an intensity and determination in his brow and about the angles of his mouth most striking; he was dressed in black, with deep ruffles at his wrist.
“It is quite clear. General,” said he, in a low and measured voice, where each word fell with perfect distinctness—“it is quite clear that they can press a conviction here if they will. The allegations are so contrived as rather to indicate complicity than actually establish it. The defence in such cases has to combat shadows, not overturn facts; and, believe me, a procureur-général, aided by a police, is a dexterous enemy.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said the general, rapidly; “but what are the weak points? where is he most assailable?”
“Everywhere,” said the other. “To begin: the secret information of the outbreak between Lord Whitworth and the Consul; the frequent meetings with the Marquis de Beauvais; the false report to the Chef de Police; the concealment of this abbe—By the bye, I am not quite clear about that part of the case; why have not the prosecution brought this Abbé, forward? It is plain they have his evidence, and can produce him if they will; and I see no other name in the act of accusation than our old acquaintance, Mehée de la Touche—”
“The villain!” cried the general, with a stamp of indignation, while a convulsive spasm seemed to shake every fibre of his frame.
“Mehée de la Touche!” said I to myself; “I have heard that name before.” And like a lightning flash it crossed my mind that such was the name of the man Marie de Meudon charged me with knowing.
“But still,” said the general, “what can they make of all these? That of indiscretion, folly, breach of discipline, if you will; but—”
“Wait a little,” said the other, quietly. “Then comes the night of the château, in which he is found among the Chouan party in their very den, taking part in the defence.”
“No, no! Lamoriciére, who commanded the cuirassiers, can establish the fact beyond question, that Burke took no part in the affray, and delivered his sword at once when called on.”
“At least they found him there, and on his person the brevet of colonel, signed by Monsieur himself.”