“Hold your tongue!” interrupted the counsel for the prosecution.  “Instead of wearying the patience of the commission by such ridiculous stories, try to merit its indulgence.”

Chanlouineau’s glance and gesture expressed such disdain that the man who interrupted him was abashed.

“I wish no indulgence,” he said.  “I have played, I have lost; here is my head.  But if you were not more cruel than wild beasts you would take pity on the poor wretches who surround me.  I see at least ten among them who were not our accomplices, and who certainly did not take up arms.  Even the others did not know what they were doing.  No, they did not!”

Having spoken, he resumed his seat, proud, indifferent, and apparently oblivious to the murmur which ran through the audience, the soldiers of the guard and even to the platform, at the sound of his vibrant voice.

The despair of the poor peasant women had been reawakened, and their sobs and moans filled the immense hall.

The retired officers had grown even more pale and gloomy; and tears streamed down the wrinkled cheeks of several.

“That one is a man!” they were thinking.

The abbe leaned over and whispered in the ear of Maurice: 

“Evidently Chanlouineau has some plan.  He intends to save your father.  How, I cannot understand.”

The judges were conversing in low tones with considerable animation.

A difficulty had presented itself.

The prisoners, ignorant of the charges which would be brought against them, and not expecting instant trial, had not thought of procuring a defender.

And this circumstance, bitter mockery! frightened this iniquitous tribunal, which did not fear to trample beneath its feet the most sacred rules of justice.

The judges had decided; their verdict was, as it were, rendered in advance, and yet they wished to hear a voice raised in defence of those who were already doomed.

It chanced that three lawyers, retained by the friends of several of the prisoners, were in the hall.

They were the three men that Maurice, on his entrance, had noticed conversing near the door of the chapel.

The duke was informed of this fact.  He turned to them, and motioned them to approach; then, pointing to Chanlouineau: 

“Will you undertake this culprit’s defence?” he demanded.

For a moment the lawyers made no response.  This monstrous seance had aroused a storm of indignation and disgust within their breasts, and they looked questioningly at each other.

“We are all disposed to undertake the prisoner’s defence,” at last replied the eldest of the three; “but we see him for the first time; we are ignorant of his grounds of defence.  We must ask a delay; it is indispensable, in order to confer with him.”

“The court can grant you no delay,” interrupted M. de Sairmeuse; “will you accept the defence, yes or no?”