The prisoners were some of them running to and fro, pitifully trying
between the grim brick walls to find a way of escape. Some set their
bare feet in the niches of the brick and strove to climb over. Some lay
prone on their faces, either shot dead or waiting for the guards to come
round (as they did every five or ten minutes) to finish the wounded by
blowing in the back of their heads with a charge held so close that it
singed the scalp.

As I stood and looked at this horrible shooting match, a human shambles,
suddenly I was seized and pushed along, with the young girl beside me,
towards the wall. Horror took possession of me. "I am Chief Servitor at
the Hôtel de Ville," I cried. "Let me go! It will be the worse for you!"

"There is no more any Hôtel de Ville!" cried one. "See it blaze."

"Accompany gladly the house wherein thou hast eaten many good dinners!
Go to the Fire, ingrate!" cried another of my captors.

So for very shame, and because the young maid was silent, I had to cease
my crying. They erected us like targets against the brick wall, and I
set to my prayers. But when they had retired from us and were preparing
themselves to fire, I had the grace to put the young girl behind me. For
I said, if I must die, there is no need that the young maid should also
die--at least, not till I am dead. I heard the bullets spit against the
wall, fired by those farthest away; but those in front were only
preparing.

Then at that moment something seemed to retard them, for instead of
making an end to us, they turned about and listened uncertainly.