The poor women still hoped.  Perhaps the wound was serious, but Baudin was young, and had a good constitution.  “They will save him,” said they.  Gindrier was silent.  At the office of the Commissary of Police the truth was revealed.—­“How is he?” asked Madame L——­ on entering.  “Why?” said the Commissary, “he is dead.”  “What do you mean?  Dead!” “Yes; killed on the spot.”

This was a painful moment.  The despair of these two women who had been so abruptly struck to the heart burst forth in sobs.  “Ah, infamous Bonaparte!” cried Madame L——.  “He has killed Baudin.  Well, then, I will kill him.  I will be the Charlotte Corday of this Marat.”

Gindrier claimed the body of Baudin.  The Commissary of Police only consented to restore it to the family on exacting a promise that they would bury it at once, and without any ostentation, and that they would not exhibit it to the people.  “You understand,” he said, “that the sight of a Representative killed and bleeding might raise Paris.”  The coup d’etat made corpses, but did not wish that they should be utilized.

On these conditions the Commissary of Police gave Gindrier two men and a safe conduct to fetch the body of Baudin from the hospital where he had been carried.

Meanwhile Baudin’s brother, a young man of four-and-twenty, a medical student, came up.  This young man has since been arrested and imprisoned.  His crime is his brother.  Let us continue.  They proceeded to the hospital.  At the sight of the safe conduct the director ushered Gindrier and young Baudin into the parlor.  There were three pallets there covered with white sheets, under which could be traced the motionless forms of three human bodies.  The one which occupied the centre bed was Baudin.  On his right lay the young soldier killed a minute before him by the side of Schoelcher, and on the left an old woman who had been struck down by a spent ball in the Rue de Cotte, and whom the executioners of the coup d’etat had gathered up later on; in the first moment one cannot find out all one’s riches.

The three corpses were naked under their winding sheets.

They had left to Baudin alone his shirt and his flannel vest.  They had found on him seven francs, his gold watch and chain, his Representative’s medal, and a gold pencil-case which he had used in the Rue de Popincourt, after having passed me the other pencil, which I still preserve.  Gindrier and young Baudin, bare-headed, approached the centre bed.  They raised the shroud, and Baudin’s dead face became visible.  He was calm, and seemed asleep.  No feature appeared contracted.  A livid tint began to mottle his face.

They drew up an official report.  It is customary.  It is not sufficient to kill people.  An official report must also be drawn up.  Young Baudin had to sign it, upon which, on the demand of the Commissary of Police, they “made over” to him the body of his brother.  During these signatures, Gindrier in the courtyard of the hospital, attempted if not to console, at least to calm the two despairing women.