Lacheneur walked straight to him.
“So it is you who have sold my life, Chupin?” he said, scornfully. “You have not forgotten, I see plainly, how often Marie-Anne has filled your empty larder—and now you take your revenge.”
The miserable wretch seemed crushed. Now that he had done this foul deed, he knew what treason really was.
“So be it,” said M. Lacheneur. “You will receive the price of my blood; but it will not bring you good fortune—traitor!”
But Chupin, indignant with himself for his weakness, was already trying to shake off the fear that mastered him.
“You have conspired against the King,” he stammered. “I have done only my duty in denouncing you.”
And turning to the soldiers, he said:
“As for you, comrades, you may rest assured that the Duc de Sairmeuse will testify his gratitude for your services.”
They had bound Lacheneur’s hands, and the party were about to descend the mountain, when a man appeared, bareheaded, covered with perspiration, and panting for breath.
Twilight was falling, but M. Lacheneur recognized Balstain.