When he ceased speaking, the duke, addressing the first prisoner upon the bench, said, rudely: 

“Stand up.”

The prisoner rose.

“Your name and age?”

“Eugene Michel Chanlouineau, aged twenty-nine, farmer by occupation.”

“An owner of national lands, probably?”

“The owner of lands which, having been paid for with good money and made fertile by labor, are rightfully mine.”

The duke did not wish to waste time on discussion.

“You have taken part in this rebellion?” he pursued.

“Yes.”

“You are right in avowing it, for witnesses will be introduced who will prove this fact conclusively.”

Five grenadiers entered; they were the men whom Chanlouineau had held at bay while Maurice, the abbe, and Marie-Anne were entering the carriage.

These soldiers declared upon oath that they recognized the accused; and one of them even went so far as to pronounce a glowing eulogium upon him, declaring him to be a solid fellow, of remarkable courage.

Chanlouineau’s eyes during this deposition betrayed an agony of anxiety.  Would the soldiers allude to this circumstance of the carriage?  No; they did not allude to it.

“That is sufficient,” interrupted the president.

Then turning to Chanlouineau: 

“What were your motives?” he inquired.

“We hoped to free ourselves from a government imposed upon us by foreigners; to free ourselves from the insolence of the nobility, and to retain the lands that were justly ours.”

“Enough!  You were one of the leaders of the revolt?”

“One of the leaders—­yes.”

“Who were the others?”

A faint smile flitted over the lips of the young farmer, as he replied: 

“The others were Monsieur Lacheneur, his son Jean, and the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”

The duke bounded from his gilded arm-chair.

“Wretch!” he exclaimed, “rascal! vile scoundrel!”

He caught up a heavy inkstand that stood upon the table before him:  and one would have supposed that he was about to hurl it at the prisoner’s head.

Chanlouineau stood perfectly unmoved in the midst of the assembly, which was excited to the highest pitch by his startling declaration.

“You questioned me,” he resumed, “and I replied.  You may gag me if my responses do not please you.  If there were witnesses for me as there are against me, I could prove the truth of my words.  As it is, all the prisoners here will tell you that I am speaking the truth.  Is it not so, you others?”

With the exception of Baron d’Escorval, there was not one prisoner who was capable of understanding the real bearing of these audacious allegations; but all, nevertheless, nodded their assent.

“The Marquis de Sairmeuse was so truly our leader,” exclaimed the daring peasant, “that he was wounded by a sabre-thrust while fighting by my side.”