“Eugene Michel Chanlouineau,” was the reply, “aged twenty nine, a farmer by occupation.”
“An owner of national lands, probably?”
“The owner of lands which, having been paid for with good money and made fertile by my own labour, are rightfully mine.”
The duke did not wish to waste time in useless discussion. “You took part in this rebellion?” he asked; and receiving an affirmative reply, pursued, “You are right in confessing, for witnesses will be introduced who will prove this fact conclusively.”
Five grenadiers entered—the same that Chanlouineau held at bay while Maurice, the abbe, and Marie-Anne were getting into the cabriolet near the cross roads. They all of them declared upon oath that they recognized the prisoner; and one of them even went so far as to say he was a solid fellow of remarkable courage. During this evidence Chanlouineau’s eyes betrayed an agony of anxiety. Would the soldiers allude to the circumstance of the cabriolet and Marie-Anne’s escape? Perhaps they might have done so had not the Duke de Sairmeuse abruptly stated that as the prisoner confessed he had heard quite enough.
“What were your motives in fomenting this outbreak?” asked his grace, turning to Chanlouineau.
“We hoped to free ourselves from a government brought back by foreign bayonets; to free ourselves from the insolence of the nobility, and to retain the lands that are justly ours.”
“Enough! You were one of the leaders of the revolt?”
“One of the leaders—yes.”
“Who were the others?”