a sound like a badly executed volley, mingled
with a sort of muffled report. In a moment
there is a terrible gap in the king's escort,
and there arise cries of rage and terror, for the
boulevard is strewn with dead and dying men
and horses, Men have fallen behind and round
the king, but he and his sons are unhurt. In
tin- lane facing the house, and under the terrace
of the Turkish Garden, a rain of shot had in
the same way cut a path through the crowd.

The excitement was almost maddening. The
spectators and the National Guards flew in all
directions, as if an ambuscade battery had
opened upon them and was about to fire again.
A whirlwind of fear swept the boulevard. Had
the earth opened, or fire fallen from heaven?
No one knew what had happened. But there
lay the heap of torn and bleeding men, and
there was the waft of smoke still drifting from
the fatal window where the blind was lifted for
air. Lenormand had been right after all; the
popular terror had some foundation. This was
the blow that was threatened. And what was to
follow? In a moment the more resolute men,
the soldiers especially, who are accustomed to
any suddenness of death, threw themselves upon
the door of No. 50, from whose top window the
smoke still kept breaking out in thick whiffs.

The king was unhurt, all but a graze on the
forehead from a bullet. The mane of his horse
had also been skimmed by a shot. The horse,
starting, had struck the king's arm against the
head of the Duc de Nemour's horse, and for a
moment Louis thought that he was hit. The
horses of the two princes, who rode forward
eager for their father's safety, were also grazed;
but he relieved their anxiety by a few words.
Then with one look of deep grief at the carnage
around him, the king rode forward, reassuring
the National Guards by his presence and his
words.

When the crowd of soldiers and citizens
went to raise the wounded, they found forty-two
persons had been struck and nineteen mortally
wounded. The nineteen included the following:
Poor old Marshal Mortier, sixty-seven
years old, struck by a ball that had penetrated
his left ear, traversed the muscles of his neck,
and fractured his second cervical vertebra;
Marquis Lachasse de Verigny, aged sixty,
struck in the head by the bullet, and his horse
killed by five balls in the neck; the marquis
died that night. Colonel Raffé, of the gendarmerie
of tne Seine, aged fifty-six; he expired
in the night. Count Oscar de Villette,
captain of artillery, thirty-four years old; skull
fractured by two slugs. Rieussee, a lieutenant-
colonel of the 8th legion of National Guards
—- a great sportsman and proprietor of a
horse-breeding establishment at Virolflay; killed by
three bullets. Labrousse, seventy-two years,
old, a tax collector of the 7th arrondissement
struck in the right arm and abdomen; died
two days after. Léger, mathematical instrument
maker, and grenadier of the 8th legion;
Benettet, ebony carver, and grenadier of the
8th legion; killed on the spot. Prudhomme,
marble cutter, and sergeant of grenadiers; dead
Ricard, wine merchant and grenadier; dead.
Brunot and Inglar, weavers; dead. Ardouin,
a journalist; dead. Madame Ledernct; shot in
he thigh. Madame Briosne; four wounds in the
highs. Madame Langoray, a workwoman,
mother of four children, one of whom was in
ler arms when she fell dead. Rose Alison, a
servant; wounded in the thigh. Louise Josehine
Remy, a little girl of fourteen, dead.
Leclerc, an apprentice of thirteen years old,
died a month afterwards.

The twenty-three wounded consisted of five
superior officers, eight National Guards, five
workmen, three children, and five women;
there were all ages and all classes, generals and
bakers, a chef d'escadron and a dyer, the son of
a mayor and a street gamin; a lady fell beside
her dying husband and dead sister; there were
wounds of every kind, in the breast and on the
head, thighs and feet, hands and mouth. A
hair-breadth of difference in the elevation of the
ambuscade battery, and more than two hundred
persons would have been mowed down by that
storm of slugs and bullets; a second sooner,
and the king must have fallen, riddled by shots.

Before the wounded and the dead could be
removed to the hospital of St. Louis or the
neighbouring houses, No. 50 had been surrounded
by a crowd of enraged and shouting men,
commissaries of police, police agents, National
Guards, and maddened citizens. All the doors
were at once blocked up by the crowd; the
ground floor and the first floor, where M. Durant's
wine-shop was, was ransacked and searched in
every part. M. Jacquemin, a commissary of the
police, was the first to ascend to the third floor.
A kick or two of his foot, and the barricaded door
fell in, and M. Jacquemin and three Municipal
Guards, seven or eight National Guards, and M.
Bessas Lamégie, mayor of the 10th arrondissement,
rushed in. The first two rooms were
empty; in the third, which was thick with smoke,
they found at the open window a rough framework,
like a clumsy table with the top removed;
in this had been screwed twenty-five gun-barrels;
some of these were split and shattered, almost
all displaced by the terrible explosion. On the
right-hand side was a fireplace, in which blazed a
fire of straw and wood. The police, suspecting
some trap in a fire too large for a garret on a hot
July day, at once scattered and put out the fagots.

As the men's eyes grew accustomed to the
thick sulphurous smoke oozing from hell itself
as it seemed to their excited minds, they saw
that the room was empty, but that there were
smears of fresh blood on the wall. On the floor,
near the door, lay a pierced grey hat, with pieces
of torn gun-barrel near it. All at once M. Jacquemin,
crying " They are here," springs on a
door in the wall facing the window, but it proved
to be only a large cupboard containing some straw
and a mattress. Returning through the two
rooms, the soldiers and police found on the left
hand a small kitchen, with a window looking out
upon the court-yard. Here also there was a hat
pierced with fragments of gun-barrels, and there
were prints of fresh blood. There is a ladder in
one comer, and a trap-door in the ceiling. This