the poor fellow in his agony was giving utterance to dreadful groans.

"Someone has tickled him well," said a fourth, "but what does it matter?
We had better finish the job."

Five or six musket shots followed, and the groans ceased.

The name of the man who had just expired was Louis Lichaire; it was not
against him, but against his nephew, that the assassins had had a grudge,
but finding the nephew out when they burst into the house, and a victim
being indispensable, they had torn the uncle from the arms of his wife,
and, dragging him towards the citadel, had killed him as I have just
related.

Very early next morning I sent to three commissioners of police, one
after the other, for permission to have the corpse carried to the
hospital, but these gentlemen were either not up or had already gone out,
so that it was not until eleven o'clock and after repeated applications
that they condescended to give me the needed authorisation.

Thanks to this delay, the whole town came to see the body of the
unfortunate man. Indeed, the day which followed a massacre was always
kept as a holiday, everyone leaving his work undone and coming out to
stare at the slaughtered victims. In this case, a man wishing to amuse
the crowd took his pipe out of his mouth and put it between the teeth of
the corpse--a joke which had a marvellous success, those present
shrieking with laughter.

Many murders had been committed during the night; the companies had
scoured the streets singing some doggerel, which one of the bloody