“Which of you,” demanded M. de Sairmeuse, “will consent to defend this great culprit?”
“I!” exclaimed three advocates, in a breath.
“Take care,” said the duke, with a malicious smile; “the task is not light.”
“Not light!” It would have been better to say dangerous. It would have been better to say that the defender risked his career, his peace, and his liberty; very probably, his life.
“Our profession has its exigencies,” nobly replied the oldest of the advocates.
And the three courageously took their places beside the baron, thus avenging the honor of their robe which had just been miserably sullied, in a city where, among more than a hundred thousand souls, two pure and innocent victims of a furious reaction had not—oh, shame!—been able to find a defender.
“Prisoner,” resumed M. de Sairmeuse, “state your name and profession.”
“Louis Guillaume, Baron d’Escorval, Commander of the Order of the Legion of Honor, formerly Councillor of State under the Empire.”
“So you avow these shameful services? You confess——”
“Pardon, Monsieur; I am proud of having had the honor of serving my country, and of being useful to her in proportion to my ability——”