obliged to liberate us some fine day."

"I do not believe it," said Montlouis, who had always been the most
desponding, perhaps because he had the most at stake, having a young
wife and two children who adored him. "I do not believe it. I have seen
Dubois in England. I have talked with him; his face is like a ferret's,
licking his lips when thirsty. Dubois is thirsty, and we are taken.
Dubois's thirst will be slaked by our blood."

"But," said Du Couedic, "there is the parliament of Bretagne."

"Yes, to look on, while we lose our heads."

There was only one of the four who smiled; that was Pontcalec.

"My friends," said he, "take courage. If Dubois be thirsty, so much the
worse for Dubois. He will go mad, that is all; but this time I answer
for it he shall not taste our blood."

And, indeed, from the beginning the task of the commission seemed
difficult. No confessions, no proofs, no witnesses. Bretagne laughed in
the commissioners' faces, and when she did not laugh, she threatened.
The president dispatched a courier to Paris to explain the state of
things, and get further instructions.

"Judge by their projects," said Dubois; "they may have done little,
because they were prevented, but they intended much, and the intention
in matters of rebellion is equivalent to the act."

Armed with this terrible weapon, the commission soon overthrew the hopes
of the province. There was a terrible audience, in which the accused
commenced with raillery and ended with accusation. On re-entering the
prison, Pontcalec congratulated them on the truths they had told the
judge.

"Nevertheless," said Montlouis, "it is a bad affair. Bretagne does not
revolt."

"She waits our condemnation," said Talhouet.

"Then she will revolt somewhat late," said Montlouis.

"But our condemnation may not take place," said Pontcalec. "Say,
frankly, we are guilty, but without proofs who will dare to sentence us?
The commission?"

"No, not the commission, but Dubois."

"I have a great mind to do one thing," said Du Couedic.

"What?"

"At the first audience to cry, 'Bretagne to the rescue!' Each time we
have seen faces of friends; we should be delivered or killed, but at
least it would be decided. I should prefer death to this suspense."

"But why run the risk of being wounded by some satellite of justice?"

"Because such a wound might be healed; not so the wound the executioner
would make."

"Oh!" said Pontcalec, "you will have no more