noble men and martyrs." The warder, Henrion, was put in charge
of the place, and planted it with beds of flowers.

The execution over, the leaders searched the cells of their victims.
In most of them they found nothing; in two were worn cassocks, and
in the archbishop's was his pastoral ring. One of the party said
the amethyst in it was a diamond; another contradicted him, and
said it was an emerald. The bodies lay unburied until two o'clock in
the morning, when four or five of those who had shot them despoiled
them, one hanging the archbishop's chain and cross about his own
neck, another appropriating his silver shoe-buckles. Then they
loaded the bodies on a hand-barrow and carried them to an open
trench dug in Pere la Chaise. There, four days later, when the
Versaillais had full possession of the city, they were found. The
archbishop and the Abbe Duguerrey were taken to the archbishop's
house with a guard of honor, and are buried at Notre Dame. The
two Jesuit fathers were buried in their own cemetery, and Judge
Bonjean and the hospital chaplain sleep in honored graves in Pere
la Chaise.

After these executions a large number of so-called
"hostages,"--ecclesiastics, soldiers of the line, _sergents de
ville_, and police agents remained shut up in La Roquette. It was
Saturday, May 27, the day before Whit Sunday. Says the Abbe Lamazou,--

"It was a few minutes past three, and I was kneeling in my cell
saying my prayers for the day, when I heard bolts rattling in the
corridor. We were no longer locked in with keys. Suddenly the door
of my cell was thrown open, and a voice cried: 'Courage! our time
has come.' 'Yes, courage!' I answered. 'God's will be done.' I
had on my ecclesiastical habit, and went out into the corridor.
There I found a mixed crowd of prisoners, priests, soldiers, and
National Guards. The priests and the National Guards seemed resigned
to their fate, but the soldiers, who had fought the Prussians, could
not believe it was intended to shoot them. Suddenly a voice, loud as
a trumpet, rose above the din. 'Friends,' it cried, 'hearken to a
man who desires to save you. These wretches of the Commune have
killed more than enough people. Don't let yourselves be murdered!
Join me. Let us resist. Sooner than give you up I will die with
you!' The speaker was Poiret, one of the warders of the prison. He
had been horrified by what had been done already, and when ordered
by his superiors to give up the prisoners i