Chanlouineau's eyes during this deposition betrayed an agony of anxiety.
Would the soldiers allude to this circumstance of the carriage? No; they
did not allude to it.

"That is sufficient," interrupted the president.

Then turning to Chanlouineau:

"What were your motives?" he inquired.

"We hoped to free ourselves from a government imposed upon us by
foreigners; to free ourselves from the insolence of the nobility, and to
retain the lands that were justly ours."

"Enough! You were one of the leaders of the revolt?"

"One of the leaders--yes."

"Who were the others?"

A faint smile flitted over the lips of the young farmer, as he replied:

"The others were Monsieur Lacheneur, his son Jean, and the Marquis de
Sairmeuse."

The duke bounded from his gilded arm-chair.

"Wretch!" he exclaimed, "rascal! vile scoundrel!"

He caught up a heavy inkstand that stood upon the table before him: and
one would have supposed that he was about to hurl it at the prisoner's
head.

Chanlouineau stood perfectly unmoved in the midst of the assembly, which
was excited to the highest pitch by his startling declaration.

"You questioned me," he resumed, "and I replied. You may gag me if my
responses do not please you. If there were witnesses _for_ me as there
are against me, I could prove the truth of my words. As it is, all the
prisoners here will tell you that I am speaking the truth. Is it not so,
you others?"

With the exception of Baron d'Escorval, there was not one prisoner
who was capable of understanding the real bearing of these audacious
allegations; but all, nevertheless, nodded their assent.

"The Marquis de Sairmeuse was so truly our leader," exclaimed the daring
peasant, "that he was wounded by a sabre-thrust while fighting by my
side."

The face of the duke was more purple than that of a man struck with
apoplexy; and his fury almost deprived him of the power of speech.

"You lie, scoundrel! you lie!" he gasped.

"Send for the marquis," said Chanlouineau, tranquilly, "and see whether
or not he is wounded."

A refusal on the part of the duke could not fail to arouse suspicion.
But what could he do? Martial had concealed his wound the day before; it
was now impossible to confess that he had been wounded.

Fortunately for the duke, one of the judges relieved him of his
embarrassment.

"I hope, Monsieur, that you will not give this arrogant rebel the
satisfaction he desires. The commission opposes his d