The hours were flying by. This incident had occupied ten minutes more—ten centuries—and the last trace of order had vanished. Lacheneur could have wept with rage. Suddenly calling Maurice and Chanlouineau to his side, he said: “I place you in command, do everything you can to hurry these idiots onward. I will ride as fast as possible to the Croix d’Arcy.”
He started, but he was only a short distance in advance of his followers when he perceived two men running towards him at full speed. One was clad in the attire of the middle classes; the other wore the old uniform of captain in the emperor’s guard.
“What has happened?” cried Lacheneur in alarm.
“Everything is discovered!”
“Good heavens!”
“Major Carini has been arrested.”
“By whom? How?”
“Ah! there was a fatality about it! Just as we were perfecting our arrangements to seize the Duke de Sairmeuse, he himself surprised us. We fled, but the cursed noble pursued us, overtook Carini, caught him by the collar, and dragged him to the citadel.”
Lacheneur was overwhelmed; the abbe’s gloomy prophecy again resounded in his ears.
“So I warned my friends, and hastened to warn you,” continued the officer. “The affair is an utter failure!”