“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 upon 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 counsel for the prosecution. “Instead of wearying the patience of the commission by such ridiculous stories, try to merit its indulgence.”
Chanlouineau’s glance and gesture expressed such disdain that the man who interrupted him was abashed.
“I wish no indulgence,” he said. “I have played, I have lost; here is my head. But if you were not more cruel than wild beasts you would 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. No, they did not!”
Having spoken, he resumed his seat, proud, indifferent, and apparently oblivious to the murmur which ran through the audience, the soldiers of the guard and even to the platform, at the sound of his vibrant voice.
The despair of the poor peasant women had been reawakened, and their sobs and moans filled the immense hall.
The retired officers had grown even more pale and gloomy; and tears streamed down the wrinkled cheeks of several.
“That one is a man!” they were thinking.
The abbe leaned over and whispered in the ear of Maurice: