“Which of you,” demanded M. de Sairmeuse, “will consent to defend this great culprit?”

“I!” exclaimed three advocates, in a breath.

“Take care,” said the duke, with a malicious smile; “the task is not light.”

“Not light!” It would have been better to say dangerous.  It would have been better to say that the defender risked his career, his peace, and his liberty; very probably, his life.

“Our profession has its exigencies,” nobly replied the oldest of the advocates.

And the three courageously took their places beside the baron, thus avenging the honor of their robe which had just been miserably sullied, in a city where, among more than a hundred thousand souls, two pure and innocent victims of a furious reaction had not—­oh, shame!—­been able to find a defender.

“Prisoner,” resumed M. de Sairmeuse, “state your name and profession.”

“Louis Guillaume, Baron d’Escorval, Commander of the Order of the Legion of Honor, formerly Councillor of State under the Empire.”

“So you avow these shameful services?  You confess——­”

“Pardon, Monsieur; I am proud of having had the honor of serving my country, and of being useful to her in proportion to my ability——­”

With a furious gesture the duke interrupted him.

“That is excellent!” he exclaimed.  “These gentlemen, the commissioners, will appreciate that.  It was, undoubtedly, in the hope of regaining your former position that you entered into a conspiracy against a magnanimous prince with these vile wretches!”

“These peasants are not vile wretches, but misguided men, Monsieur.  Moreover, you know—­yes, you know as well as I do myself—­that I have had no hand in this conspiracy.”

“You were arrested in the ranks of the conspirators with weapons in your hands!”

“I was unarmed, Monsieur, as you are well aware; and if I was among the peasantry, it was only because I hoped to induce them to relinquish their senseless enterprise.”

“You lie!”

The baron paled beneath the insult, but he made no reply.

There was, however, one man in the assemblage who could no longer endure this horrible and abominable injustice, and this man was Abbe Midon, who, only a moment before, had advised Maurice to be calm.

He brusquely quitted his place, and advanced to the foot of the platform.

“The Baron d’Escorval speaks the truth,” he cried, in a ringing voice; “the three hundred prisoners in the citadel will swear to it; these prisoners here would say the same if they stood upon the guillotine; and I, who accompanied him, who walked beside him, I, a priest, swear before the God who will judge all men, Monsieur de Sairmeuse, I swear that all which it was in human power to do to arrest this movement we have done!”

The duke listened with an ironical smile.