“The Baron d’Escorval, my father, who is absent,” replied Maurice. “Where is he?” The abbe, who, until now, had remained seated, rose. “On hearing of the unfortunate outbreak of this evening,” he replied, “the baron and myself went to these peasants, in the hope of inducing them to relinquish their foolish undertaking. They would not listen to us. In the confusion that ensued, I became separated from the baron; I returned here very anxious, and am now awaiting his return.” The captain twisted his mustache with a sneering air. “Not a bad invention!” said he. “Only I do not believe a word of this fiction.” A light gleamed in the eyes of the priest, his lips trembled, but he held his peace. “Who are you?” rudely demanded the officer. “I am the cure of Sairmeuse.” “Honest men ought to be in bed at this hour. And you are racing about the country after rebellious peasants. Really, I do not know what prevents me from ordering your arrest.” That which did prevent him was the priestly robe, all powerful under the Restoration. With Maurice he was more at ease. “How many are there in this family?” “Three; my father, my mother--ill at this moment--and myself.” “And how many servants?” “Seven--four men and three women.” “You have neither received nor concealed anyone this evening?” “No one.” “It will be necessary to prove this,” said the captain. And turning toward the door: “Corporal Bavois!” he called. This man was one of those old soldiers who had followed the Emperor over all Europe. Two small, ferocious gray eyes lighted his tanned, weather-beaten face, and an immense hooked nose surmounted a heavy, bristling mustache. “Bavois,” commanded the officer, “you will take half a dozen men and search this house from top to bottom. You are an old fox that knows a thing or two. If there is any hiding-place here, you will be sure to discover it; if anyone is concealed here, you will bring the person to me. Go, and make haste!” The corporal departed on his mission; the captain resumed his questions. “And now,” said he, turning to Maurice, “what have you been doing this evening?” The young man hesitated for an instant; then, with well-feigned indifference, replied: “I have not put my head outside the door this evening.” “Hum! that must be proved. Let me see your hands.” The soldier’s tone was so offensive that Maurice felt the angry blood mount to his forehead. Fortunately, a warning glance from the abbe made him restrain his wrath. He offered his hands to the inspection of the captain, who examined them carefully, outside and in, and finally smelled them. “Ah! these hands are too white and smell too sweet to have been dabbling in powder.” He was evidently surprised that this young man should have had so little courage as to remain in the shelter of the fireside while his father was leading the peasants on to battle. “Another thing,” said he, “you must have weapons here.” “Yes, hunting rifles.” “Where are they?”