“I accuse,” continued Buckhurst, in a passionless voice, “the individual Scarlett of treachery to the commune; of using the telegraph for treacherous ends; of hoisting signals with the purpose of attracting government troops to destroy us. I accuse the individual Speed of aiding his companion in using the telegraph to stop the government train, thus depriving the commune of the funds which rightfully belong to it—the treasures wrung from wretched peasants by the aristocrats of an accursed monarchy and a thrice-accursed empire!”
A roaring cheer burst from the excited soldiers, drowning the voice of Buckhurst.
“Silence!” shouted Mornac, savagely. And as the angry voices were stilled, one by one, above the banging of rifle-stocks and the rattle of bayonets, Buckhurst’s calm voice rose in a sinister monotone.
“I accuse the woman Sylvia Elven of communication with Prussian agents; of attempted corruption of soldiers under my command. I accuse the citoyenne Éline Trécourt, lately known as the Countess de Vassart, of aiding, encouraging, and abetting these enemies of France!”
He waited until the short, fierce yell of approval had died away. Then:
“Call the soldier Rolland!” he said.
My heart began to hammer in my throat. “I believe it’s going hard with us,” I muttered to Speed.
I listened to the wretched creature Rolland while he told what had happened at the semaphore. In his eagerness he pushed close to where I stood, menacing me with every gesture, cursing and lashing himself into a rage, ignoring all pretence of respect and discipline for his own superiors.
“What are you waiting for?” he shouted, insolently, turning on Buckhurst. “I tell the truth; and if this man can afford to pay hundreds of francs for a telegram, he must be rich enough to pluck, I tell you!”