She was borne into the church (the only one now open in all Paris) upon a kind of litter, covered with oak branches, and followed by girls dressed in white, singing jubilant songs. About the altar were the opera choristers and others. The actress was now placed upon the altar, and she was worshipped by those present. The Bishop had been compelled to appear, and he sat motionless with fear, tears of shame coursing down his face. The burial places of the Kings were now invaded. The remains of a thousand years of kings were torn from the vaults of St. Denis, and cast into the country ditches. Nothing was spared—anything which suggested royalty, was destroyed. Meanwhile, Carrier, at Nantes, surpassed in outrage all that had gone before him. It was charitable to suppose he was sheer mad. Men, women, children, and especially priests, were shot down by Carrier’s orders. He said trial was useless. His rivals had abandoned the guillotine for the butchery of the soldier’s lead. Carrier improved upon this. He said he hated blood, so he positively sank hundreds, thousands of accused, in huge barges. They were carried down to the bottom, and there to this day they remain. Carrier was the deputy sent by the Convention, of which Robespierre was now King. These massacres lasted months. Some complaints were sent to Paris. Carrier seized two hundred of the principal merchants of the place, cast them into prison, tortured them, and then drowned the men. At last, his madness becoming apparent, he was recalled. Robespierre did not demand his punishment; and this omission of justice was one of the accusations brought against Robespierre at _his_ trial. A woman began the attack upon Robespierre. She was Rose Lacombe, beautiful, eloquent, revolutionary; but pitying and hating blood. She was seized with love for a young prisoner, tried to save him, failed, and she devoted herself to Robespierre’s death. Robespierre, to retain his popularity, determined to sacrifice Danton, Camille Desmoulins, and others. They fell—all of them. As these victims, on their way to execution, passed Duplay’s house, the shutters of which were closed, the crowd burst into a roar of applause. Robespierre watching, trembled. A very short span, and his time was to come. Herault de Sechelles was the first to alight from the cart. He turned to embrace Danton, when the executioner pulled him away. “Brute!” said Danton; “but you cannot prevent our lips touching in the basket.” Camille Desmoulins was the last but one of the four. He was quite resigned. He looked at the knife, then turning to the people, he said, “Look on at the end of the first apostle of liberty! He who murders me will not survive me long!” “Send this lock of hair to my mother,” he said to the executioner. They were his last words. Danton ascended last. He never looked more haughty and defiant. For one moment he broke down. “Wife!” he screamed.