’Baudin de la Chenaye was called; sixty years of virtues could not save him.  They said, “A l’Abbaye:”  he passed the fatal outer-gate; gave a cry of terror, at sight of the heaped corpses; covered his eyes with his hands, and died of innumerable wounds.  At every new opening of the grate, I thought I should hear my own name called, and see Rossignol enter.

’I flung off my nightgown and cap; I put on a coarse unwashed shirt, a worn frock without waistcoat, an old round hat; these things I had sent for, some days ago, in the fear of what might happen.

’The rooms of this corridor had been all emptied but ours.  We were four together; whom they seemed to have forgotten:  we addressed our prayers in common to the Eternal to be delivered from this peril.

’Baptiste the turnkey came up by himself, to see us.  I took him by the hands; I conjured him to save us; promised him a hundred louis, if he would conduct me home.  A noise coming from the grates made him hastily withdraw.

’It was the noise of some dozen or fifteen men, armed to the teeth; as we, lying flat to escape being seen, could see from our windows:  “Up stairs!” said they:  “Let not one remain.”  I took out my penknife; I considered where I should strike myself,’—­but reflected ’that the blade was too short,’ and also ‘on religion.’

Finally, however, between seven and eight o’clock in the morning, enter four men with bludgeons and sabres!—­’to one of whom Gerard my comrade whispered, earnestly, apart.  During their colloquy I searched every where for shoes, that I might lay off the Advocate pumps (pantoufles de Palais) I had on,’ but could find none.—­’Constant, called le Sauvage, Gerard, and a third whose name escapes me, they let clear off:  as for me, four sabres were crossed over my breast, and they led me down.  I was brought to their bar; to the Personage with the scarf, who sat as judge there.  He was a lame man, of tall lank stature.  He recognised me on the streets, and spoke to me seven months after.  I have been assured that he was son of a retired attorney, and named Chepy.  Crossing the Court called Des Nourrices, I saw Manuel haranguing in tricolor scarf.’  The trial, as we see, ends in acquittal and resurrection. (Maton de la Varenne, Ma Resurrection in Hist.  Parl. xviii. 135-156.)

Poor Sicard, from the violon of the Abbaye, shall say but a few words; true-looking, though tremulous.  Towards three in the morning, the killers bethink them of this little violon; and knock from the court.  ’I tapped gently, trembling lest the murderers might hear, on the opposite door, where the Section Committee was sitting:  they answered gruffly that they had no key.  There were three of us in this violon; my companions thought they perceived a kind of loft overhead.  But it was very high; only one of us could reach it, by mounting on the shoulders of both the others.  One of them said to me, that my life was usefuller than theirs:  I resisted, they insisted:  no denial!  I fling myself on the neck of these two deliverers; never was scene more touching.  I mount on the shoulders of the first, then on those of the second, finally on the loft; and address to my two comrades the expression of a soul overwhelmed with natural emotions. (Abbe Sicard:  Relation adressee a un de ses amis, Hist.  Parl. xviii. 98-103.)