placed as sentry at the door of the court-martial. He told me, ‘You know I sha’n’t let you in.’ When I saw the poor gendarme leave the room he looked at me imploringly; he had probably detected in my eyes a look of sympathy. And when he was told that he might go out—hearing the yells of the mob—he turned towards me and said, ‘But I shall be stoned to death;’ and, in fact, it was perfectly fearful to hear the shouts of the crowd outside. I could not withstand the impulse, and I took my place by his side, and tried to address the crowd. ‘Think on what you are going to do—surely you won’t murder the father of eight children.’ The words were hardly out of my mouth when a kind of signal was given. I was shoved back against the wall, and one National Guard, clapping his hand on his musket, ejaculated, ‘You know, you old rascal, there is something for you here,’ and he drove his bayonet through my whiskers. The unfortunate gendarme was taken across the place, close to the shop where they sell funeral wreaths, but there was no firing party in attendance. He then took to his heels, but was pursued, captured, and put to death. I began to feel rather bewildered, and some one urged me to return to the prison, which I did. A young linesman was then brought in. He was quite a young fellow, barely twenty; his hands were tied behind his back. They decided to kill him within the prison. They set upon him, beat him, tore his clothes, so that he had hardly a shred of covering left; they made him kneel, then made him stand up, blindfolded him then uncovered his eyes; finally they put an end to his long agony by shooting him, and flung the body into a costermonger’s cart close to the gate. Several priests had got out of the prison of La Roquette. The Abbé Surat, on passing over a barricade, was so imprudent as to state who he was, and showed some articles of value he had about him. He had got as far as about the middle of the Boulevard du Prince Eugène, when he was arrested and taken back to the prison, where they prepared to shoot him. But the young woman whom I have before mentioned, with a revolver in one hand and a dagger in the other, rushed at him exclaiming, ‘I must have the honour of giving him the first blow.’ The abbé instinctively put his hands out to protect himself, crying, ‘_Grâce! grâce!_’ Whereon this fury shouted, ‘_Grâce! grâce! en voilà un maigre_,’ and she discharged her revolver at him. His body was not searched, but his shoes were removed. Afterwards his pastoral cross and 300 francs were found about him. The boys detained in the prison were set at liberty. The smaller ones were made to carry pails of petroleum, the others had muskets given them, and were sent to fight. Six of them were killed; the remainder came back that night, and on the following day. About a hundred boys were taken to Belleville by a member of the Commune, quite a young man; they were wanted to make sand-bags, to be filled with earth to form barricades.”