e to hand,
chairs and benches were hurled about, the disorder was at its height; it
seemed as if the days of the Michelade and the Bagarre were about to
return, when suddenly the news of a terrible event was spread abroad, and
assailants and assailed paused in horror. General Lagarde had just been
assassinated.

As the crowd had foreseen, no sooner did the messenger deliver his
message than the general sprang on his horse, and, being too brave, or
perhaps too scornful, to fear such foes, he waited for no escort, but,
accompanied by two or three officers, set off at full gallop towards the
scene of the tumult. He had passed through the narrow streets which led
to the meeting-house by pushing the crowd aside with his horse's chest,
when, just as he got out into the open square, a young man named Boisson,
a sergeant in the Nimes National Guard, came up and seemed to wish to
speak to him. The general seeing a man in uniform, bent down without a
thought of danger to listen to what he had to say, whereupon Boisson drew
a pistol out and fired at him. The ball broke the collar-bone and lodged
in the neck behind the carotid artery, and the general fell from his
horse.

The news of this crime had a strange and unexpected effect; however
excited and frenzied the crowd was, it instantly realised the
consequences of this act. It was no longer like the murder of Marshal
Brune at Avignon or General Ramel at Toulouse, an act of vengeance on a
favourite of Napoleon, but open and armed rebellion against the king. It
was not a simple murder, it was high treason.

A feeling of the utmost terror spread through the town; only a few
fanatics went on howling in the church, which the Protestants, fearing
still greater disasters, had by this time resolved to abandon. The first
to come out was President Olivier Desmonts, accompanied by M. Vallongues,
who had only just arrived in the city, but who had immediately hurried to
the spot at the call of duty.

M. Juillerat, his two children in his arms, walked behind them, followed
by all the other worshippers. At first the crowd, threatening and
ireful, hooted and threw stones at them, but at the voice of the mayor
and the dignified aspect of the president they allowed them to pass.
During this strange retreat over eighty Protestants were wounded, but not
fatally, except a young girl called Jeannette Cornilliere, who had been
so beaten and ill-used that she died of her injuries a few days l