"I have a wife and two children."
"Were you commissary-general of the rebel forces?"
"I was."
"Are you the same Eugen Baradlay that drove the administrator from his chair as presiding officer in your county assembly?"
"The same."
"Did you appear during the March uprising at the head of the Hungarian deputation that was sent to Vienna, and did you there address the people in language calculated to stir them to rebellion?"
"I cannot deny it."
"Do you recognise these words as having been spoken by you at that time?"
The judge-advocate handed him a sheet of paper covered with pencilled writing in a woman's hand. Jenő had good cause to remember the contents of the sheet, and to recognise the writing. Had he not seen Alfonsine taking down the orator's words on that well-remembered night when they both paused to listen to his brother's eloquence? She had rested her portfolio against his shoulder while she wrote down the most striking portions of the address—for her scrap-book.
"Yes," said he, returning the paper, "those were my words."