General Leflo was lodged in the Pavilion inhabited in the time of the Duc de Bourbon by Monsieur Feucheres.  That night General Leflo had staying with him his sister and her husband, who were visiting Paris, and who slept in a room, the door of which led into one of the corridors of the Palace.  Commissary Bertoglio knocked at the door, opened it, and together with his agents abruptly burst into the room, where a woman was in bed.  The general’s brother-in-out sprang out of bed, and cried out to the Questor, who slept in an adjoining room, “Adolphe, the doors are being forced, the Palace is full of soldiers.  Get up!”

The General opened his eyes, he saw Commissary Bertoglio standing beside his bed.

He sprang up.

“General,” said the Commissary, “I have come to fulfil a duty.”

“I understand,” said General Leflo, “you are a traitor.”

The Commissary stammering out the words, “Plot against the safety of the State,” displayed a warrant.  The General, without pronouncing a word, struck this infamous paper with the back of his hand.

Then dressing himself, he put on his full uniform of Constantine and of Medeah, thinking in his imaginative, soldier-like loyalty that there were still generals of Africa for the soldiers whom he would find on his way.  All the generals now remaining were brigands.  His wife embraced him; his son, a child of seven years, in his nightshirt, and in tears, said to the Commissary of Police, “Mercy, Monsieur Bonaparte.”

The General, while clasping his wife in his arms, whispered in her ear, “There is artillery in the courtyard, try and fire a cannon.”

The Commissary and his men led him away.  He regarded these policemen with contempt, and did not speak to them, but when he recognized Colonel Espinasse, his military and Breton heart swelled with indignation.

“Colonel Espinasse,” said he, “you are a villain, and I hope to live long enough to tear the buttons from your uniform.”

Colonel Espinasse hung his head, and stammered, “I do not know you.”

A major waved his sword, and cried, “We have had enough of lawyer generals.”  Some soldiers crossed their bayonets before the unarmed prisoner, three sergents de ville pushed him into a fiacre, and a sub-lieutenant approaching the carriage, and looking in the face of the man who, if he were a citizen, was his Representative, and if he were a soldier was his general, flung this abominable word at him, “Canaille!”

Meanwhile Commissary Primorin had gone by a more roundabout way in order the more surely to surprise the other Questor, M. Baze.

Out of M. Baze’s apartment a door led to the lobby communicating with the chamber of the Assembly.  Sieur Primorin knocked at the door.  “Who is there?” asked a servant, who was dressing.  “The Commissary of Police,” replied Primorin.  The servant, thinking that he was the Commissary of Police of the Assembly, opened the door.