’By my orders a sergeant went to Martel to demand payment of a bond for four hundred crowns, which I had fabricated under a false name.  Martel, when he saw the bond, cried out that it was feigned, and refused to pay it.  When taken to prison by the sergeant, Martel, following his first impulse, accompanied him with the security of a man who is certain he owes nothing; but soon, stopping suddenly in great agitation, he said:  “I am quite easy as to the bond; it is entirely false, and I can prove it.  But is there nothing else against me?  Have you heard of anything?” The sergeant having feigned astonishment, and protested that he knew nothing, Martel became calm, and followed him with a firmer step to the jail, where his name was registered among the list of prisoners.  An hour afterwards, he was brought before me.  “It is now no time for pretence,” said I in an imperative tone.  “Yes, the bond is false; but as you have betrayed fear, I must tell you that there are other things against you.  A citizen of Lucca, named Zambelli, is dead, and you are his murderer.  Deny it not.  I have proofs—­certain proofs.  But calm your fears:  Zambelli was a stranger; no one here cares to avenge his death.  With some sacrifices on your part, we can hush up this sad affair; only you must confess all with sincerity—­your life is the price of it.”

’Petrified by the assurance with which I spoke, and glad to purchase with gold the life which hung on a thread, Martel cried out:  “I see—­I see it is Heaven’s doing, since that which no eye witnessed, save my own, is revealed.  I will confess all:  let my fortune save my life!” He was about to begin, when the appearance of the notary, whom I had sent for to take down his confession, roused him as out of a dream.  He perceived the snare, and when I commanded him to begin, he said firmly:  “No, I have nothing to tell; I am innocent.”

’All my efforts to induce him to confess were vain.  I sent him to prison.  But now he protests against his incarceration, declares the falseness of the bond, and accuses publicly the sergeant and myself.

’This is my error.  You, my lord, cannot doubt the purity of my motives; but what will the parliament say—­always so severe towards inferior officers.  Must the services of thirty years be blotted out, because I was carried away by excess of zeal?  My lord advocate, you know all; now judge me as you will,’

‘Be encouraged!’ said Laurence Bigot.  ’The parliament is acquainted with all, and pardons you.  The Chamber assembled to-day to judge this matter.  I have spoken for you with the warmth of a man who esteems and respects you; but your thirty years of service and integrity have pleaded more eloquently than I could do.  The proceedings which Martel dared to commence against you have been stayed for three months:  the suit relative to the murder of Zambelli is brought before parliament, and Martel is transferred to the Conciergerie.  Every search