“They did not deceive me, then, when they told me that this army of rebels had a chaplain!  Ah!  Monsieur, you should sink to the earth with shame.  You, a priest, mingle with such scoundrels as these—­with these enemies of our good King and of our holy religion!  Do not deny this!  Your haggard features, your swollen eyes, your disordered attire soiled with dust and mud betray your guilt.  Must I, a soldier, remind you of what is due your sacred calling?  Hold your peace, Monsieur, and depart!”

The counsel for the prisoner sprang up.

“We demand,” they cried, “that this witness be heard.  He must be heard!  Military commissions are not above the laws that regulate ordinary tribunals.”

“If I do not speak the truth,” resumed the abbe, “I am a perjured witness, worse yet, an accomplice.  It is your duty, in that case, to have me arrested.”

The duke’s face expressed a hypocritical compassion.

“No, Monsieur le Cure,” said he, “I shall not arrest you.  I would avert the scandal which you are trying to cause.  We will show your priestly garb the respect the wearer does not deserve.  Again, and for the last time, retire, or I shall be obliged to employ force.”

What would further resistance avail?  Nothing.  The abbe, with a face whiter than the plastered walls, and eyes filled with tears, came back to his place beside Maurice.

The lawyers, meanwhile, were uttering their protests with increasing energy.  But the duke, by a prolonged hammering upon the table with his fists, at last succeeded in reducing them to silence.

“Ah! you wish testimony!” he exclaimed.  “Very well, you shall have it.  Soldiers, bring in the first witness.”

A movement among the guards, and almost immediately Chupin appeared.  He advanced deliberately, but his countenance betrayed him.  A close observer could have read his anxiety and his terror in his eyes, which wandered restlessly about the room.

And there was a very appreciable terror in his voice when, with hand uplifted, he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“What do you know regarding the prisoner d’Escorval?” demanded the duke.

“I know that he took part in the rebellion on the night of the fourth.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“I can furnish proofs.”

“Submit them to the consideration of the commission.”

The old scoundrel began to gain more confidence.

“First,” he replied, “it was to the house of Monsieur d’Escorval that Lacheneur hastened after he had, much against his will, restored to Monsieur le Duc the chateau of Monsieur le Duc’s ancestors.  Monsieur Lacheneur met Chanlouineau there, and from that day dates the plot of this insurrection.”

“I was Lacheneur’s friend,” said the baron; “it was perfectly natural that he should come to me for consolation after a great misfortune.”