“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.” M. de Sairmeuse turned to his colleague. “You hear that!” said he. “This d’Escorval calls the restitution of a deposit a great misfortune! Go on, witness.” “In the second place,” resumed Chupin, “the accused was always prowling about Lacheneur’s house.” “That is false,” interrupted the baron. “I never visited the house but once, and on that occasion I implored him to renounce.” He paused, comprehending only when it was too late, the terrible significance of his words. But having begun, he would not retract, and he added: “I implored him to renounce this project of an insurrection.” “Ah! then you knew his wicked intentions?” “I suspected them.” “Not to reveal a conspiracy makes one an accomplice, and means the guillotine.” Baron d’Escorval had just signed his death-warrant. Strange caprice of destiny! He was innocent, and yet he was the only one among the accused whom a regular tribunal could have legally condemned. Maurice and the abbe were prostrated with grief; but Chanlouineau, who turned toward them, had still upon his lips a smile of confidence.