f Vive le Roi. The mayor appeared, but the merry multitude
pretended not to know him, and when he ventured to remonstrate, they
told him, "his presence was unnecessary, and that he might retire."
During the 16th of October, every preparation seemed to announce a night
of carnage; orders for assembling and signals for attack were circulated
with regularity and confidence; Trestaillon reviewed his satellites, and
urged them on to the perpetration of crimes, holding with one of those
wretches the following dialogue:

_Satellite._ "If all the protestants, without one exception, are to be
killed, I will cheerfully join; but as you have so often deceived me,
unless they are all to go I will not stir."

_Trestaillon._ "Come along, then, for this time not a single man shall
escape." This horrid purpose would have been executed had it not been
for General La Garde, the commandant of the department. It was not till
ten o'clock at night that he perceived the danger; he now felt that not
a moment could be lost. Crowds were advancing through the suburbs, and
the streets were filling with ruffians, uttering the most horrid
imprecations. The generale sounded at eleven o'clock, and added to the
confusion that was now spreading through the city. A few troops rallied
round the Count La Garde, who was wrung with distress at the sight of
the evil which had arrived at such a pitch. Of this M. Durand, a
catholic advocate, gave the following account:

"It was near midnight, my wife had just fallen asleep; I was writing by
her side, when we were disturbed by a distant noise; drums seemed
crossing the town in every direction. What could all this mean! To quiet
her alarm, I said it probably announced the arrival or departure of some
troops of the garrison. But firing and shouts were immediately audible;
and on opening my window I distinguished horrible imprecations mingled
with cries of _vive le Roi!_ I roused an officer who lodged in the
house, and M. Chancel, Director of the Public Works. We went out
together, and gained the Boulevarde. The moon shone bright, and almost
every object was nearly as distinct as day; a furious crowd was pressing
on vowing extermination, and the greater part half naked, armed with
knives, muskets, sticks, and sabres. In answer to my inquiries I was
told the massacre was general, that many had been already killed in the
suburbs. M. Chancel retired to put on his uniform as captain of the
_Pompiers_; the officers re