so long refused every species of mercy to their fellow-creatures. Le Bas
alone had calmness enough to despatch himself with a pistol-shot. Saint
Just, after imploring his comrades to kill him, attempted his own life
with an irresolute hand, and failed, Couthon lay beneath the table
brandishing a knife, with which he repeatedly wounded his bosom, without
daring to add force enough to reach his heart. Their chief, Robespierre,
in an unsuccessful attempt to shoot himself, had only inflicted a
horrible fracture on his under-jaw.

In this situation they were found like wolves in their lair, foul with
blood, mutilated, despairing, and yet not able to die. Robespierre lay
on a table in an anti-room, his head supported by a deal-box, and his
hideous countenance half-hidden by a bloody and dirty cloth bound round
the shattered chin.[1]

[1] It did not escape the minute observers of this scene, that
he still held in his hand the bag which had contained the fatal
pistol, and which was inscribed with the words, _Au grand
monarque_, alluding to the sign, doubtless, of the gunsmith who
sold the weapon, but singularly applicable to the high
pretensions of the purchaser.

The captives were carried in triumph to the convention, who, without
admitting them to the bar, ordered them, as outlaws, for instant
execution. As the fatal cars passed to the guillotine, those who filled
them, but especially Robespierre, were overwhelmed with execrations from
the friends and relatives of victims whom he had sent on the same
melancholy road. The nature of his previous wound, from which the cloth
had never been removed till the executioner tore it off, added to the
torture of the sufferer. The shattered jaw dropped, and the wretch