same moment, left the back of the cab—­which Petit, and another policeman called Buffet, had at last succeeded in outrunning,—­threw himself on the reins, and allowing himself to be dragged along, mastered the horse, which stopped, exhausted.  Buffet took one step towards Georges, who stretched him dead with a pistol shot; with a second ball the Chouan rid himself, for a moment at least, of Caniolle.  He still thought, probably, that he could hide himself in the crowd; and perhaps he would have succeeded, for Destavigny, who had run up, “saw him before him, standing with all the tranquillity of a man who has nothing to fear, and three or four people near him appeared not to be thinking more about Georges than anything else.”  He was going to turn the corner of the Rue de l’Observance when Caniolle, who was only wounded, struck him with his club.  In an instant Georges was surrounded, thrown down, searched and bound.  The next morning more than forty individuals, among them several women, made themselves known to the judge as being each “the principal author” of the arrest of the “brigand” chief.

By way of the Carrefour de la Comedie, the Rues des Fosses Saint-Germain and Dauphine, Georges, tied with cords, was taken to the Prefecture.  A growing mob escorted him, more out of curiosity than anger, and one can imagine the excitement at police headquarters when they heard far off on the Quai des Orfevres, the increasing tumult announcing the event, and when suddenly, from the corps de garde in the salons of the Prefect Dubois the news came, “Georges is taken!”

A minute later the vanquished outlaw was pushed into the office of Dubois, who was still at dinner.  In spite of his bonds he still showed so much pride and coolness that the all-powerful functionary was almost afraid of him.  Desmaret, who was present, could not himself escape this feeling.

“Georges, whom I saw for the first time,” he said, “had always been to me a sort of Old Man of the Mountain, sending his assassins far and near, against the powers.  I found, on the contrary, an open face, bright eyes, fresh complexion, and a look firm but gentle, as was also his voice.  Although stout, his movements and manner were easy; his head quite round, with short curly hair, no whiskers, and nothing to indicate the chief of a mortal conspiracy, who had long dominated the landes of Brittany.  I was present when Comte Dubois, the prefect of police, questioned him.  His ease amidst all the hubbub, his answers, firm, frank, cautious and couched in well-chosen language, contrasted greatly with my ideas about him.

“Indeed his first replies showed a disconcerting calm.  One may be quoted.  When Dubois, not knowing where to begin, rather foolishly reproached him with the death of Buffet, ‘the father of a family,’ Georges smilingly gave him this advice:—­’Next time, then, have me arrested by bachelors.’”