Saint-Méard goes on to say how, during that morning, they discussed among themselves what was the easiest way in which to receive death. The slaughter in the streets never stopped, and some of them went from time to time to the window to observe and make reports. "They reported that those certainly suffered the most and were the longest in dying who tried in any way to protect their heads, inasmuch as by so doing they warded off the sabre-cuts for a time, and sometimes lost both hands and arms before their heads were struck. Those who stood up with their hands behind their backs seemed to suffer least, and certainly died soonest.... On such horrible details did we deliberate." Towards afternoon, overwhelmed by fatigue and anxiety, Saint-Méard threw himself on his bed and slept. He awoke after a comforting dream, which he felt certain was an omen of good fortune. But he and the others were now consumed by thirst; it was twenty-six hours since they had had anything to drink. A gaoler fetched them a jug of water, but could tell them nothing as to their fate. The long agony of waiting drew to an end. "At eleven at night, several persons armed with swords and pistols ordered us to place ourselves in single file, and led us out to the second wicket, next to the place where the trials were being held. I got as near as I could to one of our guards, and managed little by little to engage him in conversation." This man was an old soldier and a Provençal, and when he found that Saint-Méard could talk the rude patois of that district—scarcely intelligible in Paris—he grew quite friendly, fetched him a tumbler of wine to hearten him, and counselled him as to what he should tell the judges. The Provençal let him stand where he had a glimpse of the court, and he saw two prisoners thrust to the bar and condemned almost unheard; a moment later, their death-cries reached his ears. Two hours passed thus; it was one o'clock in the morning, but still the judges heard, condemned, and sent their victims out to die by sword and hatchet in the street, where in places the blood was ankle deep, and the dead lay in piles. All at once Saint-Méard heard his name called. "After having suffered an agony of thirty-seven hours, an agony as of death itself, the door opened and I was called. Three men laid hold of me, and haled me in." By the glare of torches, "I saw that dreadful judgment bar, where liberty or death lay for me. The President, in grey coat, sword at his side, stood leaning against a table, on which were papers, an ink-stand, pipes, and bottles. Around the table were ten persons, sitting or standing, two of whom were in sleeveless jackets and aprons; others were asleep, stretched on benches. Two men in shirts all smeared with blood kept the door; an old turnkey had his hand on the bolt....