If Manginot was thus acting with an energy worthy of praise, he received none from Caffarelli, who was distressed at the turn affairs had taken, and wished that the affair of Quesnay might be reduced to the proportions of a simple incident.  He interrogated the prisoners with the reserve and precaution of a man who was interfering in what did not concern him, and if he learned from Flierle much that he would rather not have known about the persistent organisation of the Chouans in Calvados, he could get no information concerning the deed that had led to his arrest.

The German did not conceal his fear of assassination if he should speak, Allain having promised, on June 8th, at the bridge of Landelle, “poison, or pistol shot to the first who should reveal anything, and the assistance of two hundred determined men to save those who showed discretion, from the vengeance of Bonaparte.”

Things were different in Paris.  The police were working hard, and Fouche was daily informed of the slightest details bearing on the events that were taking place in Lower Normandy.  For several weeks detectives had been watching a young man who arrived in Paris the second fortnight of May; he was often seen in the Palais-Royal, and called himself openly “General of the Chouans,” and assumed great importance.  The next report gave his name as Le Chevalier, from Caen, and more information was demanded of Caffarelli.  The Prefect of Calvados replied that the description tallied with that of a man who had often been denounced to him as an incorrigible royalist; he was easy to recognise as he had lost the use of his left arm: 

The police received orders not to lose sight of this person.  He lived at the Hotel de Beauvais, Rue des Vieux-Augustins, a house that had been known since the Revolution as the resort of royalists passing through Paris.  Le Chevalier went out a great deal; he dined in town nearly every night, with people of good position.  He was followed for a fortnight; then the order for his arrest was given, and on July 15th he was taken, handcuffed, to the prefecture of police and accused of participation in the robbery at Quesnay.

Le Chevalier was not the man to be caught napping.  His looks, his manner and his eloquence had got him out of so many scrapes, that he doubted not they would once more save his life.  The letter he wrote to Real on the day of his arrest is so characteristic of him—­at once familiar and haughty—­that it would be a pity not to quote it: 

“Arrested on a suspicion of brigandage, of which it is as important to justify myself as painful to have to do it, but full of confidence in my honour, which is unimpeachable, and in the well-known justice of your character, I beg you to grant me a few minutes’ audience, during which—­being well disposed to answer your questions, and even to forestall them—­I flatter myself that I can convince you that the condition of my affairs and, above all, my whole conduct in life, raise