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.
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