"Perhaps not," said Des Avenelles. "Excuse my question, but what do you know?"
"In the first place, that you are one of these damned heretics," interposed Démocharès, in a voice of thunder.
"Alas, alas! that is only too true!" replied Des Avenelles. "Yes, I am of the Religion,—why, I'm sure I have no idea; but I will abjure it, Monseigneur, if you will only spare my life. The meeting-house is surrounded by too many perils, and I will go back to Mass."
"That is not all," said Démocharès; "you are in the habit of entertaining Huguenots at your house."
"No one has ever been able to find one in any of their visitations," returned the advocate, eagerly.
"Very true," said Monsieur de Braguelonne; "for you probably have some secret exit from your house,—some hidden passage, some as yet unknown means of communication with the outer world. But one of these days we will not leave one stone of your house standing on another, and it will be forced to yield us its secret."
"I will give it up to you myself," said the advocate; "for I admit, Monseigneur, that I have at times furnished board and lodging to those of the Religion. They pay well; and my profession is so unremunerative! One must live! But it shall never happen again; and if my abjuration is accepted, no Huguenot will ever dare to knock at my door again."
"You have also spoken frequently at the Protestant meetings," continued Démocharès.
"I am an advocate," whined Des Avenelles. "Besides, I have always spoken in favor of moderate measures. You ought to know that, since you know everything."
Summoning courage to raise his eyes to these two forbidding personages, Des Avenelles went on,—