“So it was to gratify his own spite,” they thought, quivering with rage, “that he sets everybody to fighting and killing one another--that he ruins us, and drives us into exile. We will see.” The fugitives went to the nearest house after crossing the frontier. It was a lonely inn, about a league from the little village of Saint-Jean-de-Coche, and was kept by a man named Balstain. They rapped, in spite of the lateness of the hour--it was past midnight. They were admitted, and they ordered supper. But Lacheneur, weak from loss of blood, and exhausted by his long tramp, declared that he would eat no supper. He threw himself upon a bed in an adjoining room, and was soon asleep. This was the first time since their meeting with Lacheneur that his companions had found an opportunity to talk together in private. The same idea had occurred to both of them. They believed that by delivering up Lacheneur to the authorities, they might obtain pardon for themselves. Neither of these men would have consented to receive a single sou of the money promised to the betrayer; but to exchange their life and liberty for the life and liberty of Lacheneur did not seem to them a culpable act, under the circumstances. “For did he not deceive us?” they said to themselves. They decided, at last, that as soon as they had finished their supper, they would go to Saint-Jean-de-Coche and inform the Piedmontese guards. But they reckoned without their host. They had spoken loud enough to be overheard by Balstain, the innkeeper, who had learned, during the day, of the magnificent reward which had been promised to Lacheneur’s captor. When he heard the name of the guest who was sleeping quietly under his roof, a thirst for gold seized him. He whispered a word to his wife, then escaped through the window to run and summon the gendarmes. He had been gone half an hour before the peasants left the house; for to muster up courage for the act they were about to commit they had been obliged to drink heavily. They closed the door so violently on going out that Lacheneur was awakened by the noise. He sprang up, and came out into the adjoining room. The wife of the innkeeper was there alone. “Where are my friends?” he asked, anxiously. “Where is your husband?” Moved by sympathy, the woman tried to falter some excuse, but finding none, she threw herself at his feet, crying: “Fly, Monsieur, save yourself--you are betrayed!” Lacheneur rushed back into the other room, seeking a weapon with which he could defend himself, an issue through which he could flee! He had thought that they might abandon him, but betray him--no, never! “Who has sold me?” he asked, in a strained, unnatural voice. “Your friends--the two men who supped there at that table.” “Impossible, Madame, impossible!” He did not suspect the designs and hopes of his former comrades; and he could not, he would not believe them capable of ignobly betraying him for gold.