Monsieur Lecoq Émile Gaboriau (popular books of all time .txt) 📖

and as they stepped into the street they saw a soldier a little way from them, who made a friendly gesture.

They recognized Corporal Bavois, and paused.

But he, passing them with an air of the utmost indifference, and apparently without observing them, hastily dropped these words:

“I have seen Chanlouineau. Be of good cheer; he promises to save Monsieur d’Escorval!”

XXVII

In the citadel of Montaignac, within the second line of 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 abbé 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 séance; 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 abbé 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 countrywomen 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 Courtornieu and several civil functionaries.

The duke was in full uniform, his face a little more crimson, and his air a trifle more haughty than usual.

“The session is open!” pronounced the Duc de Sairmeuse, the president.

Then, in a rough voice, he added:

“Bring in the culprits.”

He had not even the grace to say “the accused.”

They came in, one by one, to the number of twenty, and took their places on the benches at the foot of the platform.

Chanlouineau held his head proudly erect, and looked composedly about him.

Baron d’Escorval was calm and grave; but not more so than when, in days gone by, he had been called upon to express his opinion in the councils of the Empire.

Both saw Maurice, who was so overcome that he had to lean upon the abbé for support. But while the baron greeted his son with a simple bend of the head, Chanlouineau made a gesture that clearly signified:

“Have confidence in me⁠—fear nothing.”

The attitude of the other prisoners betrayed surprise rather than fear. Perhaps they were unconscious of the peril they had braved, and the extent of the danger that now threatened them.

When the prisoners had taken their places, the chief counsel for the prosecution rose.

His presentation of the case was characterized by intense violence, but lasted only five minutes. He briefly narrated the facts, exalted the merits of the government, of the Restoration, and concluded by a demand that sentence of death should be pronounced upon the culprits.

When he ceased speaking, the duke, addressing the first prisoner upon the bench, said, rudely:

“Stand up.”

The prisoner rose.

“Your name and age?”

“Eugene Michel Chanlouineau, aged twenty-nine, farmer by occupation.”

“An owner of national lands, probably?”

“The owner of lands which, having been paid for with good money and made fertile by labor, are rightfully mine.”

The duke did not wish to waste time on discussion.

“You have taken part in this rebellion?” he pursued.

“Yes.”

“You are right in avowing it, for witnesses will be introduced who will prove this fact conclusively.”

Five grenadiers entered; they were the men whom Chanlouineau had held at bay while Maurice, the abbé, and Marie-Anne were entering the carriage.

These soldiers declared upon oath that they recognized the accused; and one of them even went so far as to pronounce a glowing eulogium upon him, declaring him to be a solid fellow, of remarkable courage.

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 armchair.

“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