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

“Remain inside,” he said, imperiously, to Antoine and his wife.  “I am going out; they must not arrest me in your house.”

As he spoke, he stepped outside the door, with a firm tread, a dauntless brow, 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 you are 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 an imposing majesty to his person that the soldiers paused, silent and awed.

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

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

Lacheneur walked straight to him.

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

The miserable wretch seemed crushed.  Now that he had done this foul deed, 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 trying to shake off the fear that mastered him.

“You have conspired against the King,” he stammered.  “I have done only my duty in denouncing you.”

And turning to the soldiers, he said: 

“As for you, comrades, you may rest assured that the Duc de Sairmeuse will testify his gratitude for your services.”

They had bound Lacheneur’s hands, and the party were about to descend the mountain, when a man appeared, bareheaded, covered with perspiration, and panting for breath.

Twilight was falling, but M. Lacheneur recognized Balstain.

“Ah! you have him!” he exclaimed, as soon as he was within hearing distance, and pointing to the prisoner.  “The reward belongs to me—­I denounced him first on the other side of the frontier.  The gendarmes at Saint-Jean-de-Coche will testify to that.  He would have been captured last night in my house, but he ran away in my absence; and I have been following the bandit for sixteen hours.”

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

“If you have any right to the reward, you must prove it before the proper authorities,” said the officer in command.

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