"Arrest them!" said the leader of the men, in whom they recognized the German commissary, Weisslicht. "Arrest them! We are in Germany."
"You lie!" roared Morestal, fighting with wild energy. "You have not the right.... It's a dirty trap!"
It was a violent struggle, but did not last long. He received a blow on the chin with the butt of a rifle, reeled, but continued to defend himself, hitting and biting his adversaries. At last, they succeeded in throwing him and, to stifle his shouting, they gagged him.
Jorancé, who had taken a leap to the rear and was standing with his back to a tree, resisted, protesting:
"I am M. Jorancé, special commissary at Saint-Élophe. I am on my own ground here. We are in France. There's the frontier."
The men flung themselves upon him and dragged him away, while he shouted at the top of his voice:
"Help! Help! They're arresting the French commissary on French soil!"
A report was heard, followed by another. Morestal, with a superhuman effort, had knocked down the policeman who held him and once more took to flight, with a cord cutting into one of his wrists and with a gag in his mouth.
But, two hundred yards further, as he was turning towards the Col du Diable, his foot knocked against the root of a tree and he fell.