fortifications,
stands an old building known as the chapel.

Originally consecrated to worship, the structure had, at the time of
which we write, fallen into disuse. It was so damp that it would not
even serve as an arsenal for an artillery regiment, for the guns rusted
there more quickly than in the open air. A black mould covered the walls
to a height of six or seven feet.

This was the place selected by the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de
Courtornieu for the assembling of the military commission.

On first entering it, Maurice and the abbe felt a cold chill strike
to their very hearts; and an indefinable anxiety paralyzed all their
faculties.

But the commission had not yet commenced its _seance_; and they had time
to look about them.

The arrangements which had been made in transforming this gloomy hall
into a tribunal, attested the precipitancy of the judges and their
determination to finish their work promptly and mercilessly.

The arrangements denoted an absence of all form; and one could divine at
once the frightful certainty of the result.

Three large tables taken from the mess-room, and covered with
horse-blankets instead of tapestry, stood upon the platform. Some
unpainted wooden chairs awaited the judges; but in the centre glittered
the president's chair, a superbly carved and gilded fauteuil, sent by
the Duc de Sairmeuse.

Several wooden benches had been provided for the prisoners.

Ropes stretched from one wall to the other divided the chapel into two
parts. It was a precaution against the public.

A superfluous precaution, alas!

The abbe and Maurice had expected to find the crowd too great for the
hall, large as it was, and they found the chapel almost unoccupied.

There were not twenty persons in the building. Standing back in the
shadow of the wall were perhaps a dozen men, pale and gloomy, a sullen
fire smouldering in their eyes, their teeth tightly clinched. They were
army officers retired on half pay. Three men, attired in black, were
conversing in low tones near the door. In a corner stood several
country-women with their aprons over their faces. They were weeping
bitterly, and their sobs alone broke the silence. They were the mothers,
wives, or daughters of the accused men.

Nine o'clock sounded. The rolling of the drum made the panes of the
only window tremble. A loud voice outside shouted, "Present arms!" The
military commission entered, followed by the Marquis de Courtorni