It would be difficult to describe the strange tone in which this narrative was related. The undulation of the phrases, their stops and their stations, then the peculiar monotone in which the words fell from Théophraste’s lips while he was in the hypnotic sleep. His face sometimes expressed anger, sometimes contempt, and sometimes terror. M. Lecamus, who had seen Cartouche’s portrait, recalled that at certain times there was a striking resemblance to that of Théophraste. Just as he was relating the incident of passing Magdelen, and the downpour of rain, Théophraste’s face showed a most peculiar expression, changing from joy to most overwhelming despair. M. Eliphaste, leaning over the bed, asked him: “What then, Cartouche?” Théophraste replied in a rattling voice: “I killed a passerby.” The operation continued, but it was only by degrees that M. Eliphaste wished to bring Cartouche to the hour of his death. Before making him live his death, it was necessary to make him live a little of his life. That was the reason that M. Eliphaste had thrown the spirit of Cartouche back to the month of April, 1721. Though the minutes following were terrible for the onlookers, they were worse for Cartouche, who was passing through the end of his career the second time. It was not until October 11, 1721, that the treason bore fruit. Coustard, sergeant in the company of Cha-bannes, took forty men and four sergeants with him, all of whom were designated by Duchatelle, Cartouche’s lieutenant, who had betrayed him. This little army, in citizen clothes, concealing its arms very mysteriously, surrounded the house pointed out by Duchatelle. It could not have been more than nine o’clock in the evening when they arrived in sight of the tavern, Au Pictolet, kept by Germain Tassard and his wife, near the Rue des Trois Bornes. Tassard was smoking his pipe on the doorstep, when Duchatelle came up and demanded, “Is there nobody upstairs? No? Where are the four ladies?” Tassard, who expected this question, said, “Go up.” The little troop rushed in, and when they came to the room above, they found Boloquy and Cartouche drinking wine before the fireplace. Gaillard was in bed, and Cartouche was seated on the bed, mending his breeches. They rushed upon him. The attack was so sudden that he had no time to make any resistance. They tied him with strong ropes, and, placing him in the coach, took him prisoner to Monsieur the Secretary of State. Then he was taken to the Grande Châtelet. He was in his shirt, having had no time to put on his breeches. He kept cool, congratulating the lieutenant who had betrayed him on the fine livery he wore. As the coach passed down the road, it nearly crushed some poor wretch who was in the way, and Cartouche, seeing his plight, shouted to him that phrase which he seemed to have affected, “It is necessary to look out for the wheel.”