"Comment! have I the honor of saluting Monsieur Lenoir?"
Whereupon Lenoir, thrown off his guard by the suddenness of the address, hesitates--seems about to reply--checks himself--quickens his pace, and passes without a word.
The next instant he is surrounded. The butt ends of four muskets rattle on the pavement--the sergeant's hand is on his shoulder--the sergeant's voice rings in his ear.
"Number two hundred and seven, you are my prisoner!"
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE END OF BRAS BE FER.
Lenoir's first impulse was to struggle in silence; then, finding escape hopeless, he folded his arms and submitted.
"So, it is Monsieur Müller who has done me this service," he said coldly; but with a flash in his eye like the sudden glint in the eye of a cobra di capello. "I will take care not to be unmindful of the obligation."
Then, turning impatiently upon the sergeant:--