“But,” pleaded the innkeeper’s wife, still on her knees before him, “they have just started for Saint-Jean-de-Coche, where they will denounce you. I heard them say that your life would purchase theirs. They have certainly gone to summon the gendarmes! Is this not enough, or am I obliged to endure the shame of confessing that my own husband, too, has gone to betray you.” Lacheneur understood it all now! And this supreme misfortune, after all the misery he had endured, broke him down completely. Great tears gushed from his eyes, and sinking down into a chair, he murmured: “Let them come; I am ready for them. No, I will not stir from here. My miserable life is not worth such a struggle.” But the wife of the traitor rose, and grasping the unfortunate man’s clothing, she shook him, she dragged him to the door--she would have carried him had she possessed sufficient strength. “You shall not remain here,” said she, with extraordinary vehemence. “Fly, save yourself. You shall not be taken here; it will bring misfortune upon our house!” Bewildered by these violent adjurations, and urged on by the instinct of self-preservation, so powerful in every human heart, Lacheneur stepped out upon the threshold. The night was very dark, and a chilling fog intensified the gloom. “See, Madame,” said the poor fugitive gently, “how can I find my way through these mountains, which I do not know, and where there are no roads--where the foot-paths are scarcely discernible.” With a quick movement Balstain’s wife pushed Lacheneur out, and turning him as one does a blind man to set him on the right track: “Walk straight before you,” said she, “always against the wind. God will protect you. Farewell!” He turned to ask further directions, but she had re-entered the house and closed the door. Upheld by a feverish excitement, he walked for long hours. He soon lost his way, and wandered on through the mountains, benumbed with cold, stumbling over rocks, sometimes falling. Why he was not precipitated to the depths of some chasm it is difficult to explain. He lost all idea of his whereabouts, and the sun was high in the heavens when he at last met a human being of whom he could inquire his way. It was a little shepherd-boy, in pursuit of some stray goats, whom he encountered; but the lad, frightened by the wild and haggard appearance of the stranger, at first refused to approach. The offer of a piece of money induced him to come a little nearer. “You are on the summit of the mountain, Monsieur,” said he; “and exactly on the boundary line. Here is France; there is Savoy.” “And what is the nearest village?” “On the Savoyard side, Saint-Jean-de-Coche; on the French side, Saint-Pavin.” So after all his terrible exertions, Lacheneur was not a league from the inn. Appalled by this discovery, he remained for a moment undecided which course to pursue. What did it matter? Why should the doomed hesitate? Do not all roads lead to the abyss into which they must sink?