m 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.)

The two generous companions, we rejoice to find, did not perish. But it
is time that Jourgniac de Saint-Meard should speak his last words, and
end this singular trilogy. The night had become day; and the day has
again become night. Jourgniac, worn down with utterm