into a large half-ruined house, in the lower portion of which, a wine shop, for the accommodation of the poorer classes, was kept open.  Here they learnt, from the neighbours, that he had been seen to enter the house, and an old woman, who alone kept her position behind the counter, confessed with some hesitation, that a man, answering the description of him they sought, bad entered the shop about an hour since; that he had hastily swallowed a large quantity of brandy, and then, instead of leaving the shop, had rushed through the inner door and gone upstairs.

“He wasn’t here a minute in all,” said she; “and he said nothing about paying for what he took—­and, when I saw him going in there, I thought it best to let him have his own way.”

“And he is there still,” said Chapeau, who had now again joined his master.

“Unless he went out through the window, he is; there is no other way out than what you see there.”

“Go up, Chapeau,” said Henri, “and take two or three with you; if he be there, he must come down; but remember that he is an officer, and in misfortune.”

“I will remember,” said Chapeau, “that he sent us word to Chatillon, that he would not leave alive in La Vendee a father or mother to lament their children, or a child to lament its parents:  those were bitter words; maybe he will be sorry to have them brought to his memory just at present.”

“Remember what I tell you, Chapeau,” said his master; “whatever he may have said, it is not now your duty to sit in judgment on him.”

“For God’s sake, gentlemen, don’t do him a harm here,” said the old woman; “for mercy’s sake, Monsieur,” and she turned to Henri, “don’t let them take his life; to tell you the truth, when he begged for some hole to hide in, I bid him to go upstairs; I could do no less.  I should have done the same if it had been one of you.”

Henri said what he could to tranquillize her, assuring her that the man should, at any rate, not be killed before her eyes; and this seemed to be sufficient to reassure her.  Chapeau and four others had gone upstairs; and those below were not kept waiting long, before the heavy tread of the men descending was heard on the stairs, as though they were carrying down a weight among them.  Such was the case:  Henri stepped forward and opened the door; and as he did so, the men staggered into the room with their burden, and then gently dropped upon the floor the dead body of the republican General.  The unfortunate man had shot himself.

Henri turned out of the shop without saying a word; and as the others prepared to follow him, one of the men knelt down beside the body, and wrenched from the hand, which still held it fast, the fatal pistol which had so lately done its work.  “At any rate,” said he,” there is no use in leaving this behind us; I doubt not but I can make a better use of it than General Lechelle has done.”