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 rested. One of them, who had left Boulogne three hours after me, told me that the whole city was plunged in grief at the execution of Christiern. "It is the only thing they can talk about," said he. "It was expected that the emperor would pardon him, but the telegraph signalled that he was to be shot. He had once narrowly escaped, but to-day he has suffered. It was piteous to hear him cry 'Pardon, pardon,' whilst endeavouring to raise himself after the first fire, amidst the bowlings of some dogs behind him, whom the shots had struck! It went to the very heart, but yet they finished their work. It was his destiny!"

Although this information caused me great affliction, I could not help thinking that Christiern's death would effect a diversion in favour of my escape; and as he told me nothing which seemed as if I had been missed on the general muster-call, I thought myself in security. I reached Bethune without mishap, and went to lodge with an old regimental acquaintance, who received me kindly. But however prudent one may be, there are always some unexpected occurrences: I had preferred the hospitality of a friend to a lodging at an auberge, and I had thereby placed myself in the jaws of danger; for my friend was recently married, and his wife's brother was one of those obstinate brutes, whose hearts, insensible to glory, only desires inglorious peace. As a natural consequence, the abode I had chosen, as well as those of all the young fellow's relations, were frequently visited by the gendarmes; and these very agreeable gentlemen invaded the residence of my friend long before day-break, and, without any respect to my slumbers, demanded to see my papers. For want of a passport, I endeavoured to enter into certain explanations with them, which was but lost labour. The brigadier, after viewing me attentively, cried out, "I am not mistaken, 'tis he; I have seen him at Arras; 'tis Vidocq!" I was compelled to get up, and in less than a quarter of an hour found myself in the prison of Bethune.