Clos was met by a company, and seeing Trestaillons, with whom he had always been friends, in its ranks, he went up to him and held out his hand; whereupon Trestaillons drew a pistol from his belt and blew his brains out.

Calandre being chased down the rue des Soeurs-Grises, sought shelter in a tavern, but was forced to come out, and was killed with sabres.

Courbet was sent to prison under the escort of some men, but these changed their minds on the way as to his punishment, halted, and shot him dead in the middle of the street.
A wine merchant called Cabanot, who was flying from Trestaillons, ran into a house in which there was a venerable priest called Cure Bonhomme.
When the cut-throat rushed in, all covered with blood, the priest advanced and stopped him, crying: "What will happen, unhappy man, when you come to the confessional with blood-stained hands ?" "Pooh!" replied Trestaillons, "you must put on your wide gown; the sleeves are large enough to let everything pass." To the short account given above of so many murders I will add the narrative of one to which I was an eye-witness, and which made the most terrible impression on me of, anything in my experience.
It was midnight.

I was working beside my wife's bed; she was just becoming drowsy, when a noise in the distance caught our attention.

It gradually became more distinct, and drums began to beat the 'generale' in every direction.