The duke listened with an ironical smile. “I was not deceived, then,” he answered, “when I was told that this army of rebels had a chaplain! Ah! sir, you should sink to the earth with shame. What! You, a priest, mingle with such scoundrels as these—with these enemies of our good king and of our holy religion! Do not deny it! Your haggard features, your swollen eyes, your disordered attire, plainly betray your guilt. Must I, a soldier, remind you of what is due to your sacred calling? Hold your peace, sir, and depart!”
But the prisoner’s advocates were on their feet. “We demand,” cried they, “we demand that this witness be heard. He must be heard! Military commissions are not above the laws that regulate ordinary tribunals.”
“If I do not speak the truth,” resumed the abbe, “I am a perjured witness—worse yet, an accomplice. It is your duty, in that case, to have me arrested.”
The duke’s face assumed a look of hypocritical compassion. “No, Monsieur le Cure,” said he, “I shall not arrest you. I wish to avert the scandal which you are trying to cause. We will show your priestly garb the respect the wearer does not deserve. Again, and for the last time, retire, or I shall be obliged to employ force.”
What would further resistance avail? Nothing. The abbe, with a face whiter than the plastered walls, and eyes filled with tears, returned to his place beside Maurice.
In the meanwhile, the advocates were protesting with increasing energy. But the duke, hammering on the table with both fists, at last succeeded in reducing them to silence. “Ah! you want evidence!” he exclaimed. “Very well then, you shall have it. Soldiers, bring in the first witness.”
There was some little movement among the guards, and then Father Chupin made his appearance. He advanced with a deliberate step, but his restless, shrinking eyes showed plainly enough that he was ill at ease. And there was a very perceptible tremor in his voice when, with hand uplifted, he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
“What do you know concerning the prisoner d’Escorval?” asked the duke.
“I know that he took part in the rising the other night.”
“Are you sure of this?”