The Honor of the Name

by Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Chupin had not taken time to sleep, nor scarcely time to drink, sincethat unfortunate morning when the Duc de Sairmeuse ordered affixedto the walls of Montaignac, that decree in which he promised twentythousand francs to the person who should deliver up Lacheneur, dead oralive.

  "Twenty thousand francs," Chupin muttered gloomily; "twenty sacks with ahundred pistoles in each! Ah! if I could discover Lacheneur; even ifhe were dead and buried a hundred feet under ground, I should gain thereward."

  The appellation of traitor, which he would receive; the shame andcondemnation that would fall upon him and his, did not make him hesitatefor a moment.

  He saw but one thing--the reward--the blood-money.

  Unfortunately, he had nothing whatever to guide him in his researches;no clew, however vague.

  All that was known in Montaignac was that M. Lacheneur's horse waskilled at the Croix d'Arcy.

  But no one knew whether Lacheneur himself had been wounded, or whetherhe had escaped from the fray uninjured. Had he reached the frontier? orhad he found an asylum in the house of one of his friends?

  Chupin was thus hungering for the price of blood, when, on the dayof the trial, as he was returning from the citadel, after making hisdeposition, he entered a drinking saloon. While there he heard the nameof Lacheneur uttered in low tones near him.

  Two peasants were emptying a bottle of wine, and one of them, an oldman, was telling the other that he had come to Montaignac to give Mlle.Lacheneur news of her father.

  He said that his son-in-law had met the chief conspirator in themountains which separate the _arrondissement_ of Montaignac from Savoy.He even mentioned the exact place of meeting, which was near SaintPavin-des-Gottes, a tiny village of only a few houses.

  Certainly the worthy man did not think he was committing a dangerousindiscretion. In his opinion, Lacheneur had, ere this, crossed thefrontier, and was out of danger.

  In this he was mistaken.

  The frontier bordering on Savoy was guarded by soldiers, who hadreceived orders to allow none of the conspirators to pass.

  The passage of the frontier, then, presented many great difficulties,and even if a man succeeded in effecting it, he might be arrested andimprisoned on the other side, until the formalities of extradition hadbeen complied with.

  Chupin saw his advantage, and instantly decided on his course.

  He knew that he had not a moment to lose. He threw a coin down upon thecounter, and without waiting for his change, rushed back to the citadel,and asked the sergeant at the gate for pen and paper.

  The old rascal generally wrote slowly and painfully; to-day it took himbut a moment to trace these lines:

  "I know Lacheneur's retreat, and beg monseigneur to order some mountedsoldiers to accompany me, in order to capture him. Chupin."

  This note was given to one of the guards, with a request to take it tothe Duc de Sairmeuse, who was presiding over the military commission.

  Five minutes later, the soldier reappeared with the same note.

  Upon the margin the duke had written an order, placing at Chupin'sdisposal a lieutenant and eight men chosen from the Montaignacchasseurs, who could be relied upon, and who were not suspected (as werethe other troops) of sympathizing with the rebels.

  Chupin also requested a horse for his own use, and this was accordedhim. The duke had just received this note when, with a triumphantair, he abruptly entered the room where Marie-Anne and his son werenegotiating for the release of Baron d'Escorval.

  It was because he believed in the truth of the rather hazardousassertion made by his spy that he exclaimed, upon the threshold:

  "Upon my word! it must be confessed that this Chupin is an incomparablehuntsman! Thanks to him----"

  Then he saw Mlle. Lacheneur, and suddenly checked himself.

  Unfortunately, neither Martial nor Marie-Anne were in a state of mind tonotice this remark and its interruption.

  Had he been questioned, the duke would probably have allowed the truthto escape him, and M. Lacheneur might have been saved.

  But Lacheneur was one of those unfortunate beings who seem to be pursuedby an evil destiny which they can never escape.

  Buried beneath his horse, M. Lacheneur had lost consciousness.

  When he regained his senses, restored by the fresh morning air, theplace was silent and deserted. Not far from him, he saw two dead bodieswhich had not yet been removed.

  It was a terrible moment, and in the depth of his soul he cursed death,which had refused to heed his entreaties. Had he been armed, doubtless,he would have ended by suicide, the most cruel mental torture which manwas ever forced to endure--but he had no weapon.

  He was obliged to accept the chastisement of life.

  Perhaps, too, the voice of honor whispered that it was cowardice tostrive to escape the responsibility of one's acts by death.

  At last, he endeavored to draw himself out from beneath the body of hishorse.

  This proved to be no easy matter, as his foot was still in the stirrup,and his limbs were so badly cramped that he could scarcely move them.He finally succeeded in freeing himself, however, and, on examination,discovered that he, who it would seem ought to have been killed tentimes over, had only one hurt--a bayonet-wound in the leg, extendingfrom the ankle almost to the knee.

  Such a wound, of course, caused him not a little suffering, and he wastrying to bandage it with his handkerchief, when he heard the sound ofapproaching footsteps.

  He had no time for reflection; he sprang into the forest that lies tothe left of the Croix d'Arcy.

  The troops were returning to Montaignac after pursuing the rebels formore than three miles. There were about two hundred soldiers, and theywere bringing back, as prisoners, about twenty peasants.

  Hidden by a great oak scarcely fifteen paces from the road, Lacheneurrecognized several of the prisoners in the gray light of dawn. Itwas only by the merest chance that he escaped discovery; and he fullyrealized how difficult it would be for him to gain the frontier withoutfalling into the hands of the detachment of soldiery, who were doubtlessscouring the country in every direction.

  Still he did not despair.

  The mountains lay only two leagues away; and he firmly believed that hecould successfully elude his pursuers as soon as he gained the shelterof the hills.

  He began his journey courageously.

  Alas! he had not realized how exhausted he had become from the excessivelabor and excitement of the past few days, and by the loss of blood fromhis wound, which he could not stanch.

  He tore up a pole in one of the vineyards to serve as a staff, anddragged himself along, keeping in the shelter of the woods as much aspossible, and creeping along beside the hedges and in the ditches whenhe was obliged to traverse an open space.

  To the great physical suffering, and the most cruel mental anguish, wasnow added an agony that momentarily increased--hunger.

  He had eaten nothing for thirty hours, and he felt terribly weak fromlack of nourishment. This torture soon became so intolerable that he waswilling to brave anything to appease it.

  At last he perceived the roofs of a tiny hamlet. He decided to enter itand ask for food. He was on the outskirts of the village, when he heardthe rolling of a drum. Instinctively he hid behind a wall. But it wasonly a town-crier beating his drum to call the people together.

  And soon a voice rose so clear and penetrating that each word it utteredfell distinctly on Lacheneur's ears.

  It said:

  "This is to inform you that the authorities of Montaignac promise togive a reward of twenty thousand francs--two thousand pistoles, youunderstand--to him who will deliver up the man known as Lacheneur, deador alive. Dead or alive, you understand. If he is dead, the compensationwill be the same; twenty thousand francs! It will be paid in gold."

  With a bound, Lacheneur had risen, wild with despair and horror. Thoughhe had believed himself utterly exhausted, he found superhuman strengthto flee.

  A price had
been set upon his head. This frightful thought awakened inhis breast the frenzy that renders a hunted wild beast so dangerous.

  In all the villages around him he fancied he could hear the rolling ofdrums, and the voice of the criers proclaiming this infamous edict.

  Go where he would now, he was a tempting bait offered to treason andcupidity. In what human creature could he confide? Under what roof couldhe ask shelter?

  And even if he were dead, he would still be worth a fortune.

  Though he died from lack of nourishment and exhaustion under a bush bythe wayside, his emaciated body would still be worth twenty thousandfrancs.

  And the man who found his corpse would not give it burial. He wouldplace it on his cart and bear it to Montaignac. He would go to theauthorities and say: "Here is Lacheneur's body--give me the reward!"

  How long and by what paths he pursued his flight, he could not tell.

  But several hours after, as he traversed the wooded hills of Charves,he saw two men, who sprang up and fled at his approach. In a terriblevoice, he called after them:

  "Eh! you men! do each of you desire a thousand pistoles? I amLacheneur."

  They paused when they recognized him, and Lacheneur saw that they weretwo of his followers. They were well-to-do farmers, and it had been verydifficult to induce them to take part in the revolt.

  These men had part of a loaf of bread and a little brandy. They gaveboth to the famished man.

  They sat down beside him on the grass, and while he was eating theyrelated their misfortunes. Their connection with the conspiracy had beendiscovered; their houses were full of soldiers, who were hunting forthem, but they hoped to reach Italy by the aid of a guide who waswaiting for them at an appointed place.

  Lacheneur extended his hand to them.

  "Then I am saved," said he. "Weak and wounded as I am, I should perishif I were left alone."

  But the two farmers did not accept the hand he offered.

  "We should leave you," said the younger man, gloomily, "for you are thecause of our misfortunes. You deceived us, Monsieur Lacheneur."

  He dared not protest, so just was the reproach.

  "Nonsense! let him come all the same," said the other, with a peculiarglance at his companion.

  So they walked on, and that same evening, after nine hours of travellingon the mountains, they crossed the frontier.

  But this long journey was not made without bitter reproaches, and evenmore bitter recriminations.

  Closely questioned by his companions, Lacheneur, exhausted both in mindand body, finally admitted the insincerity of the promises with whichhe had inflamed the zeal of his followers. He acknowledged that he hadspread the report that Marie-Louise and the young King of Rome wereconcealed in Montaignac, and that this report was a gross falsehood. Heconfessed that he had given the signal for the revolt without any chanceof success, and without means of action, leaving everything to chance.In short, he confessed that nothing was real save his hatred, hisimplacable hatred of the Sairmeuse family.

  A dozen times, at least, during this terrible avowal, the peasants whoaccompanied him were on the point of hurling him down the precipicesupon whose verge they were walking.

  "So it was to gratify his own spite," they thought, quivering with rage,"that he sets everybody to fighting and killing one another--that heruins us, and drives us into exile. We will see."

  The fugitives went to the nearest house after crossing the frontier.

  It was a lonely inn, about a league from the little village ofSaint-Jean-de-Coche, and was kept by a man named Balstain.

  They rapped, in spite of the lateness of the hour--it was past midnight.They were admitted, and they ordered supper.

  But Lacheneur, weak from loss of blood, and exhausted by his long tramp,declared that he would eat no supper.

  He threw himself upon a bed in an adjoining room, and was soon asleep.

  This was the first time since their meeting with Lacheneur that hiscompanions had found an opportunity to talk together in private.

  The same idea had occurred to both of them.

  They believed that by delivering up Lacheneur to the authorities, theymight obtain pardon for themselves.

  Neither of these men would have consented to receive a single sou of themoney promised to the betrayer; but to exchange their life and libertyfor the life and liberty of Lacheneur did not seem to them a culpableact, under the circumstances.

  "For did he not deceive us?" they said to themselves.

  They decided, at last, that as soon as they had finished their supper,they would go to Saint-Jean-de-Coche and inform the Piedmontese guards.

  But they reckoned without their host.

  They had spoken loud enough to be overheard by Balstain, the innkeeper,who had learned, during the day, of the magnificent reward which hadbeen promised to Lacheneur's captor.

  When he heard the name of the guest who was sleeping quietly under hisroof, a thirst for gold seized him. He whispered a word to his wife,then escaped through the window to run and summon the gendarmes.

  He had been gone half an hour before the peasants left the house; forto muster up courage for the act they were about to commit they had beenobliged to drink heavily.

  They closed the door so violently on going out that Lacheneur wasawakened by the noise. He sprang up, and came out into the adjoiningroom.

  The wife of the innkeeper was there alone.

  "Where are my friends?" he asked, anxiously. "Where is your husband?"

  Moved by sympathy, the woman tried to falter some excuse, but findingnone, she threw herself at his feet, crying:

  "Fly, Monsieur, save yourself--you are betrayed!"

  Lacheneur rushed back into the other room, seeking a weapon with whichhe could defend himself, an issue through which he could flee!

  He had thought that they might abandon him, but betray him--no, never!

  "Who has sold me?" he asked, in a strained, unnatural voice.

  "Your friends--the two men who supped there at that table."

  "Impossible, Madame, impossible!"

  He did not suspect the designs and hopes of his former comrades; and hecould not, he would not believe them capable of ignobly betraying himfor gold.

  "But," pleaded the innkeeper's wife, still on her knees before him,"they have just started for Saint-Jean-de-Coche, where they willdenounce you. I heard them say that your life would purchase theirs.They have certainly gone to summon the gendarmes! Is this not enough, oram I obliged to endure the shame of confessing that my own husband, too,has gone to betray you."

  Lacheneur understood it all now! And this supreme misfortune, after allthe misery he had endured, broke him down completely.

  Great tears gushed from his eyes, and sinking down into a chair, hemurmured:

  "Let them come; I am ready for them. No, I will not stir from here. Mymiserable life is not worth such a struggle."

  But the wife of the traitor rose, and grasping the unfortunate man'sclothing, she shook him, she dragged him to the door--she would havecarried him had she possessed sufficient strength.

  "You shall not remain here," said she, with extraordinary vehemence."Fly, save yourself. You shall not be taken here; it will bringmisfortune upon our house!"

  Bewildered by these violent adjurations, and urged on by the instinct ofself-preservation, so powerful in every human heart, Lacheneur steppedout upon the threshold.

  The night was very dark, and a chilling fog intensified the gloom.

  "See, Madame," said the poor fugitive gently, "how can I find my waythrough these mountains, which I do not know, and where there are noroads--where the foot-paths are scarcely discernible."

  With a quick movement Balstain's wife pushed Lacheneur out, and turninghim as one does a blind man to set him on the right track:

  "Walk straight before you," said she, "always against the wind. God willprotect you. Farewell!"

  He turned to ask further directions, but she had re-entered the houseand closed
the door.

  Upheld by a feverish excitement, he walked for long hours. He soon losthis way, and wandered on through the mountains, benumbed with cold,stumbling over rocks, sometimes falling.

  Why he was not precipitated to the depths of some chasm it is difficultto explain.

  He lost all idea of his whereabouts, and the sun was high in the heavenswhen he at last met a human being of whom he could inquire his way.

  It was a little shepherd-boy, in pursuit of some stray goats, whom heencountered; but the lad, frightened by the wild and haggard appearanceof the stranger, at first refused to approach.

  The offer of a piece of money induced him to come a little nearer.

  "You are on the summit of the mountain, Monsieur," said he; "and exactlyon the boundary line. Here is France; there is Savoy."

  "And what is the nearest village?"

  "On the Savoyard side, Saint-Jean-de-Coche; on the French side,Saint-Pavin."

  So after all his terrible exertions, Lacheneur was not a league from theinn.

  Appalled by this discovery, he remained for a moment undecided whichcourse to pursue.

  What did it matter? Why should the doomed hesitate? Do not all roadslead to the abyss into which they must sink?

  He remembered the gendarmes that the innkeeper's wife had warned himagainst, and slowly and with great difficulty descended the steepmountainside leading down to France.

  He was near Saint-Pavin, when, before an isolated cottage, he saw apretty peasant woman spinning in the sunshine.

  He dragged himself toward her, and in weak tones begged her hospitality.

  On seeing this man, whose face was ghastly pale, and whose clothingwas torn and soiled with dust and blood, the woman rose, evidently moresurprised than alarmed.

  She looked at him closely, and saw that his age, his stature, and hisfeatures corresponded with the descriptions of Lacheneur, which had beenscattered thickly about the frontier.

  "You are the conspirator they are hunting for, and for whom they promisea reward of twenty thousand francs," she said.

  Lacheneur trembled.

  "Yes, I am Lacheneur," he replied, after a moment's hesitation; "Iam Lacheneur. Betray me, if you will, but in charity's name give me amorsel of bread, and allow me to rest a little."

  At the words "betray me," the young woman made a gesture of horror anddisgust.

  "We betray you, sir!" said she. "Ah! you do not know the Antoines! Enterour house, and lie down upon the bed while I prepare some refreshmentsfor you. When my husband comes home, we will see what can be done."

  It was nearly sunset when the master of the house, a robust mountaineer,with a frank face, returned.

  On beholding the stranger seated at his fireside he turned frightfullypale.

  "Unfortunate woman!" he whispered to his wife, "do you not know that anyman who shelters this fugitive will be shot, and his house levelled tothe ground?"

  Lacheneur rose with a shudder.

  He had not known this. He knew the infamous reward which had beenpromised to his betrayer; but he had not known the danger his presencebrought upon these worthy people. "I will go at once, sir," said he,gently.

  But the peasant placed his large hand kindly upon his guest's shoulder,and forced him to resume his seat.

  "It was not to drive you away that I said what I did," he remarked. "Youare at home, and you shall remain here until I can find some means ofinsuring your safety."

  The pretty peasant woman flung her arms about her husband's neck, and intones of the most ardent affection exclaimed: "Ah! you are a noble man,Antoine."

  He smiled, embraced her tenderly, then, pointing to the open door:

  "Watch!" he said. "I feel it my duty to tell you, sir, that it willnot be easy to save you," resumed the honest peasant. "The promises ofreward have set all evil-minded people on the alert. They know that youare in the neighborhood. A rascally innkeeper has crossed the frontierfor the express purpose of betraying your whereabouts to the Frenchgendarmes."

  "Balstain?"

  "Yes, Balstain; and he is hunting for you now. That is not all. As Ipassed through Saint-Pavin, on my return, I saw eight mounted soldiers,guided by a peasant, also on horseback. They declared that they knewyou were concealed in the village, and they were going to search everyhouse."

  These soldiers were none other than the Montaignac chasseurs, placed atChupin's disposal by the Duc de Sairmeuse.

  It was indeed as Antoine had said.

  The task was certainly not at all to their taste, but they wereclosely watched by the lieutenant in command, who hoped to receive somesubstantial reward if the expedition was crowned with success. Antoine,meanwhile, continued his exposition of his hopes and fears.

  "Wounded and exhausted as you are," he was saying to Lacheneur, "youwill be in no condition to make a long march in less than a fortnight.Until then you must conceal yourself. Fortunately, I know a safe retreatin the mountain, not far from here. I will take you there to-night, withprovisions enough to last you for a week."

  A stifled cry from his wife interrupted him.

  He turned, and saw her fall almost fainting against the door, her facewhiter than her coif, her finger pointing to the path that led fromSaint-Pavin to their cottage.

  "The soldiers--they are coming!" she gasped.

  Quicker than thought, Lacheneur and the peasant sprang to the door tosee for themselves.

  The young woman had spoken the truth.

  The Montaignac chasseurs were climbing the steep foot-path slowly, butsurely.

  Chupin walked in advance, urging them on with voice, gesture andexample.

  An imprudent word from the little shepherd-boy, whom M. Lacheneur hadquestioned, had decided the fugitive's fate.

  On returning to Saint-Pavin, and hearing that the soldiers weresearching for the chief conspirator, the lad chanced to say:

  "I met a man just now on the mountain who asked me where he was; and Isaw him go down the footpath leading to Antoine's cottage."

  And in proof of his words, he proudly displayed the piece of silverwhich Lacheneur had given him.

  "One more bold stroke and we have our man!" exclaimed Chupin. "Come,comrades!"

  And now the party were not more than two hundred feet from the house inwhich the proscribed man had found an asylum.

  Antoine and his wife looked at each other with anguish in their eyes.

  They saw that their visitor was lost.

  "We must save him! we must save him!" cried the woman.

  "Yes, we must save him!" repeated the husband, gloomily. "They shallkill me before I betray a man in my own house."

  "If he would hide in the stable behind the bundles of straw----"

  "They would find him! These soldiers are worse than tigers, and thewretch who leads them on must have the keen scent of a blood-hound."

  He turned quickly to Lacheneur.

  "Come, sir," said he, "let us leap from the back window and flee to themountains. They will see us, but no matter! These horsemen are alwaysclumsy runners. If you cannot run, I will carry you. They will probablyfire at us, but they will miss us."

  "And your wife?" asked Lacheneur.

  The honest mountaineer shuddered; but he said:

  "She will join us."

  Lacheneur took his friend's hand and pressed it tenderly.

  "Ah! you are noble people," he exclaimed, "and God will reward you foryour kindness to a poor fugitive. But you have done too much already.I should be the basest of men if I consented to uselessly expose you todanger. I can bear this life no longer; I have no wish to escape."

  He drew the sobbing woman to him and kissed her upon the forehead.

  "I have a daughter, young and beautiful like yourself, as generousand proud. Poor Marie-Anne! And I have pitilessly sacrificed her to myhatred! I should not complain; come what may, I have deserved it."

  The sound of approaching footsteps became more and more distinct.Lacheneur straightened himself up, and seemed to be gathering all hisen
ergy for the decisive moment.

  "Remain inside," he said, imperiously, to Antoine and his wife. "I amgoing out; they must not arrest me in your house."

  As he spoke, he stepped outside the door, with a firm tread, a dauntlessbrow, a calm and assured mien.

  The soldiers were but a few feet from him.

  "Halt!" he exclaimed, in a strong, ringing voice. "It is Lacheneur youare seeking, is it not? I am he! I surrender myself."

  An unbroken stillness reigned. Not a sound, not a word replied.

  The spectre of death that hovered above his head imparted such animposing majesty to his person that the soldiers paused, silent andawed.

  But there was one man who was terrified by this resonant voice, and thatwas Chupin.

  Remorse filled his cowardly heart, and pale and trembling, he tried tohide behind the soldiers.

  Lacheneur walked straight to him.

  "So it is you who have sold my life, Chupin?" he said, scornfully. "Youhave not forgotten, I see plainly, how often Marie-Anne has filled yourempty larder--and now you take your revenge."

  The miserable wretch seemed crushed. Now that he had done this fouldeed, he knew what treason really was.

  "So be it," said M. Lacheneur. "You will receive the price of my blood;but it will not bring you good fortune--traitor!"

  But Chupin, indignant with himself for his weakness, was already tryingto shake off the fear that mastered him.

  "You have conspired against the King," he stammered. "I have done onlymy duty in denouncing you."

  And turning to the soldiers, he said:

  "As for you, comrades, you may rest assured that the Duc de Sairmeusewill testify his gratitude for your services."

  They had bound Lacheneur's hands, and the party were about todescend the mountain, when a man appeared, bareheaded, covered withperspiration, and panting for breath.

  Twilight was falling, but M. Lacheneur recognized Balstain.

  "Ah! you have him!" he exclaimed, as soon as he was within hearingdistance, and pointing to the prisoner. "The reward belongs to me--Idenounced him first on the other side of the frontier. The gendarmes atSaint-Jean-de-Coche will testify to that. He would have been capturedlast night in my house, but he ran away in my absence; and I have beenfollowing the bandit for sixteen hours."

  He spoke with extraordinary vehemence and volubility, beside himselfwith fear lest he was about to lose his reward, and lest his treasonwould bring him nothing save disgrace and obloquy.

  "If you have any right to the reward, you must prove it before theproper authorities," said the officer in command.

  "If I have any right!" interrupted Balstain; "who contests my right,then?"

  He looked threateningly around, and his eyes fell on Chupin.

  "Is it you?" he demanded. "Do you dare to assert that you discovered thebrigand?"

  "Yes, it was I who discovered his hiding-place."

  "You lie, impostor!" vociferated the innkeeper; "you lie!"

  The soldiers did not move. This scene repaid them for the disgust theyhad experienced during the afternoon.

  "But," continued Balstain, "what else could one expect from a vile knavelike Chupin? Everyone knows that he has been obliged to flee from Francea dozen times on account of his crimes. Where did you take refuge whenyou crossed the frontier, Chupin? In my house, in the inn kept by honestBalstain. You were fed and protected there. How many times have I savedyou from the gendarmes and from the galleys? More times than I cancount. And to reward me, you steal my property; you steal this man whowas mine----"

  "He is insane!" said the terrified Chupin, "he is mad!"

  Then the innkeeper changed his tactics.

  "At least you will be reasonable," he exclaimed. "Let us see, Chupin,what you will do for an old friend? Divide, will you not? No, yousay no? What will you give me, comrade? A third? Is that too much? Aquarter, then----"

  Chupin felt that all the soldiers were enjoying his terriblehumiliation. They were sneering at him, and only an instant before theyhad avoided coming in contact with him with evident horror.

  Transported with anger, he pushed Balstain violently aside, crying tothe soldiers:

  "Come--are we going to spend the night here?"

  An implacable hatred gleamed in the eye of the Piedmontese.

  He drew his knife from his pocket, and making the sign of the cross inthe air:

  "Saint-Jean-de-Coche," he exclaimed, in a ringing voice, "and you, HolyVirgin, hear my vow. May my soul burn in hell if I ever use a knife atmy repasts until I have plunged this, which I now hold, into the heartof the scoundrel who has defrauded me!"

  Having said this, he disappeared in the woods, and the soldiers took uptheir line of march.

  But Chupin was no longer the same. All his accustomed impudencehad fled. He walked on with bowed head, a prey to the most sinisterpresentiments.

  He felt assured that an oath like that of Balstain's, and uttered bysuch a man, was equivalent to a death-warrant, or at least to a speedyprospect of assassination.

  This thought tormented him so much that he would not allow thedetachment to spend the night at Saint-Pavin, as had been agreed upon.He was impatient to leave the neighborhood.

  After supper Chupin sent for a cart; the prisoner, securely bound, wasplaced in it, and the party started for Montaignac.

  The great bell was striking two when Lacheneur was brought into thecitadel.

  At that very moment M. d'Escorval and Corporal Bavois were making theirpreparations for escape.