The white hand of the judge rubbed his chin softly, and he said:
"You were never in the Scots Dutch Regiment? And, par exemple, you will perhaps also tell us if you are the husband of Mademoiselle de Baufremont, daughter of the duke of that name."
"I am not. I am the husband of no woman."
A visible stir went through the others in the Salle de Justice at these words, while D'Argenson shrugged his shoulders. Then, sweetly as ever, he continued:
"There are many noble Scotch gentlemen serving his Majesty. Would it be known to you if there were any others of your name--your family name--in the army?"
"I know of one other," Bertie replied. "He was in the Scots Dutch."
"Ha!" exclaimed D'Argenson. "And his first name, what is that?"
"Basil."
D'Argenson threw down his papers and for several minutes conferred again with the other judges; and during the time he did so Bertie could not but muse on how the Bastille and its accursed uses had been lent to one more crime, one more mistake that was in itself a crime. For that he had suffered for the man who was his namesake there could now be no doubt; the only wonder in his mind was that it had never occurred to him before, never dawned upon him that such was the case. And now he only prayed that the judges might never have it come to their knowledge that, innocently enough, he had rendered assistance to that other Elphinston.
"God knows," he mused, "that I have suffered sufficiently already by doing so; 'twas through that assistance that I lost my love; surely I shall not also have to suffer further; surely the Duke de Baufremont's vengeance will not be permitted to still fall heavily on me." And once more he prayed that his share in the transaction might not be known.