“Surrender!” cried Gevrol.

The man’s lips moved, but in spite of a visible effort he could not articulate a syllable.

“Don’t do any mischief,” continued the inspector, “we are in force, you can not escape; so lay down your arms.”

“I am innocent,” exclaimed the man, in a hoarse, strained voice.

“Naturally, but we do not see it.”

“I have been attacked; ask that old woman.  I defended myself; I have killed—­I had a right to do so; it was in self-defense!”

The gesture with which he enforced these words was so menacing that one of the agents drew Gevrol violently aside, saying, as he did so; “Take care, General, take care!  The revolver has five barrels, and we have heard but two shots.”

But the inspector was inaccessible to fear; he freed himself from the grasp of his subordinate and again stepped forward, speaking in a still calmer tone.  “No foolishness, my lad; if your case is a good one, which is possible, after all, don’t spoil it.”

A frightful indecision betrayed itself on the young man’s features.  He held Gevrol’s life at the end of his finger, was he about to press the trigger?  No, he suddenly threw his weapon to the floor, exclaiming:  “Come and take me!” And turning as he spoke he darted into the adjoining room, hoping doubtless to escape by some means of egress which he knew of.

Gevrol had expected this movement.  He sprang after him with outstretched arms, but the table retarded his pursuit.  “Ah!” he exclaimed, “the wretch escapes us!”

But the fate of the fugitive was already decided.  While Gevrol parleyed, one of the agents—­he who had peered through the shutters—­had gone to the rear of the house and effected an entrance through the back door.  As the murderer darted out, this man sprang upon him, seized him, and with surprising strength and agility dragged him back.  The murderer tried to resist; but in vain.  He had lost his strength:  he tottered and fell upon the table that had momentarily protected him, murmuring loud enough for every one to hear:  “Lost!  It is the Prussians who are coming!”

This simple and decisive maneuvre on the part of the subordinate had won the victory, and at first it greatly delighted the inspector.  “Good, my boy,” said he, “very good!  Ah! you have a talent for your business, and you will do well if ever an opportunity—­”

But he checked himself; all his followers so evidently shared his enthusiasm that a feeling of jealousy overcame him.  He felt his prestige diminishing, and hastened to add:  “The idea had occurred to me; but I could not give the order without warning the scoundrel himself.”

This remark was superfluous.  All the police agents had now gathered around the murderer.  They began by binding his feet and hands, and then fastened him securely to a chair.  He offered no resistance.  His wild excitement had given place to that gloomy prostration that follows all unnatural efforts, either of mind or body.  Evidently he had abandoned himself to his fate.