"Then what do you say to this man?" said the judge, opening a door.

An old man issued forth, who fell on the prisoner's neck, exclaiming, "My
nephew!"

Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a moment. Promptly
recovering himself, and gazing calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly--

"And who may you be?"

"What!" said the old man, "do you not know me? Dare you deny me?--me,
your mother's brother, Carbon Barreau, the old soldier! Me, who dandled
you on my knee in your infancy; me, who taught you later to carry a
musket; me, who met you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when you
fled secretly. Since then I have sought you everywhere; I have spoken of
you, and described your face and person, until a worthy inhabitant of
this country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I did not expect to
find my sister's son imprisoned and fettered as a malefactor. What is
his crime, may it please your honour?"

"You shall hear," replied the magistrate. "Then you identify the
prisoner as your nephew? You affirm his name to be---?"

"Arnauld du Thill, also called 'Pansette,' after his father, Jacques
Pansa. His mother was Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in the
village of Sagias."

"What have you to say?" demanded the judge, turning to the accused.