"By what authority do you arrest my friend?" inquired Dupré.
"By the President's order."
"But where is your authority? Where are your papers? Why is this arrest made?"
The sergeant shook his head and said—
"We have the orders of the President, and that is sufficient for us.
Stand back, please!"
The next instant Dupré found himself alone, with the squad and their prisoner disappearing down a back street. For a moment he stood there as if dazed, then he turned and ran as fast as he could, back to the theatre again, hoping to meet a carriage for hire on the way. Arriving at the theatre, he found the lights out, and the manager on the point of leaving.
"Lemoine has been arrested," he cried; "arrested by a squad of soldiers whom we met, and they said they acted by order of the President."
The manager seemed thunderstruck by the intelligence, and gazed helplessly at Dupré.
"What is the charge?" he said at last.
"That I do not know," answered the actor. "They simply said they were acting under the President's orders."