Upon being asked my name and place of abode, I created some
commotion by answering boldly "I am the Sieur Marcel de Saint-Pol,
Marquis of Bardelys, of Bardelys in Picardy."
The President - that is to say, the Keeper of the Seals - turned
inquiringly to Chatellerault. The Count, however, did no more than
smile and point to something written on a paper that lay spread
upon the table. The President nodded.
"Monsieur Rene de Lesperon," said he, "the Court may perhaps not
be able to discriminate whether this statement of yours is a
deliberate attempt to misguide or frustrate the ends of justice, or
whether, either in consequence of your wounds or as a visitation of
God for your treason, you are the victim of a deplorable
hallucination. But the Court wishes you to understand that it is
satisfied of your identity. The papers found upon your person at
the time of your arrest, besides other evidence in our power,
remove all possibility of doubt in that connection. Therefore, in
your own interests, we implore you to abandon these false statements,
if so be that you are master of your wits. Your only hope of saving
your head must lie in your truthfully answering our questions, and
even then, Monsieur de Lesperon, the hope that we hold out to you
is so slight as to be no hope at all."
There was a pause, during which the other judges nodded their heads
in sage approval of their President's words. For myself, I kept
silent, perceiving how little it could avail me to continue to
protest, and awaited his next question.
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