The prisoner shook his head. “You shall have it,” he said, “when you promise me my life in exchange for it. It is now in the hands of a trusty person, who knows its value. It will go to the king if necessary. We should like to understand the part which the Marquis de Sairmeuse played in this affair—whether he was truly with us, or whether he was only an instigating agent.”
A tribunal regardful of the simplest rules of justice, or even of its own honour, would have instantly required the Marquis de Sairmeuse’s attendance. But the military commission considered such a course quite beneath its dignity. These men arrayed in glittering uniforms were not judges charged with the vindication of the law; but simply agents selected by the conquerors to strike the conquered in virtue of that savage saying, “Woe to the vanquished!” The president, the noble Duke de Sairmeuse, would not have consented to summon Martial on any consideration. Nor did his associate judges wish him to do so. Had Chanlouineau foreseen this result? Probably he had; and yet, why had he ventured on so hazardous a course? The tribunal, after a short deliberation, decided that it would not admit this “unjustifiable” denunciation which, while exciting the whole audience, had quite stupefied Maurice and the Abbe Midon.
The examination was continued, therefore, with increased bitterness. “Instead of designating imaginary leaders,” resumed the duke, “you would do well to name the real instigator of this revolt—not Lacheneur, but an individual seated at the other end of the bench, the elder D’Escorval—”
“Monsieur le Baron d’Escorval was entirely ignorant of the conspiracy, I swear it by all that I hold most sacred—”
“Hold your tongue!” interrupted the emmissary for the prosecution. “Instead of trying the patience of the commission with such ridiculous stories, you should endeavour to merit its indulgence.”
Chanlouineau’s glance and gesture expressed such disdain that his interrupter was abashed. “I wish for no indulgence,” said the young farmer. “I have played my game and lost it; here is my head. But if you are not wild beasts you will take pity on the poor wretches who surround me. I see at least ten among them who were not our accomplices, and who certainly did not take up arms. Even the others did not know what they were doing.”
With these words he resumed his seat, proud, indifferent, and apparently oblivious of the murmur which ran through the audience, the soldiers of the guard, and even to the platform, at the sound of his ringing voice. His appeal for clemency towards his fellow prisoners had reawakened the grief of the poor peasant women, whose sobs and moans now filled the hall. The retired officers had grown paler than before, and as they nervously pulled at their long moustaches they murmured among themselves, “That’s a man, and no mistake!” Just then, moreover, the abbe leant towards Maurice and whispered in his ear: “Chanlouineau evidently has some plan. He intends to save your father, though I don’t at all understand how.”
The judges were conversing with considerable animation, although in an undertone. A difficulty had presented itself. The prisoners, ignorant of the charges which would be brought against them, and not expecting instant trial, had not thought of procuring defenders. And this circumstance, bitter mockery! caused great annoyance to this iniquitous tribunal, despite the complacency with which it was prepared to trample justice under foot. The commissioners had made up their minds, they had already determined on their verdict, and yet they wished to hear a voice raised in defence of those who were already doomed. It chanced that three lawyers, retained by the friends of a few prisoners, were in the hall. They were the three men whom Maurice had noticed conversing near the door when he entered the chapel. The duke was informed of their presence. He turned to them, and motioned them to approach; then, pointing to Chanlouineau, asked, “Will you undertake this culprit’s defence?”
For a moment the lawyers hesitated. They were disgusted with these monstrous proceedings, and looked inquiringly at one another. “We are all disposed to undertake the prisoner’s defence,” at last replied the eldest of the three; “but we see him for the first time; we do not know what defence he can present. He must ask for a delay; it is indispensable, in order to confer with him.”
“The court can grant you no delay,” interrupted M. de Sairmeuse; “will you undertake his defence, yes or no?”