come out. One of
the soldiers had dismounted and tied his horse to the bars of the
window; while within the prison the noise of quick footsteps was heard,
doors opening and shutting heavily, all indicating the last
preparations....

Querelle remained silent for a long time, crouched up in a corner.
Suddenly, as if fear had driven him mad, he began to call desperately,
crying that he did not want to die, that he would tell all he knew,
imploring his gaolers to fly to the First Consul and obtain his pardon,
at the same time calling with sobs upon General Murat, Governor of
Paris, swearing that he would make a complete avowal if only he would
command the soldiers to return to their quarters. Although Murat could
see nothing in these ravings but a pretext for gaining a few hours of
life, he felt it his duty to refer the matter to the First Consul, who
sent word of it to Real. All this had taken some time and meanwhile the
unfortunate Querelle, seeing the soldiers still under his window and the
impatient crowd clamouring for his appearance, was in the last paroxysm
of despair. When Real opened the door he saw, cowering on the flags and
shaking with fear, a little man with a pockmarked face, black hair, a
thin and pointed nose and grey eyes continually contracted by a nervous
affection.

"You have announced your intention of making some revelations," said
Real; "I have come to hear them."

But the miserable creature could scarcely articulate. Real was obliged
to reassure him, to have him carried into another room, and to hold out
hopes of mercy if his confessions were sufficiently important. At last,
still trembling, and in broken words, with great effort the prisoner
confessed that he had been in Paris for six months, having come from
London with Georges Cadoudal and six of his most faithful officers; they
had been joined there by a great many more from Bretagne or England;
there were now more than one hundred of them hidden in Paris, waiting
for an opportunity to carry off Bonaparte, or to assassinate him. He
added more details as he grew calmer. A boat from the English navy had
landed them at Biville near Dieppe; there a man from Eu or Treport had
met them and conducted them a little way from the shore to a farm of
which Querelle did not know the name. They left again in the night, and
in this way, from farm to farm, they journeyed to Paris where they did
not meet until Georges called them together; they received their