Jourdan and his men trampled over the bodies and entered the holy precincts.

No one was there but the Virgin, and the wretched Lescuyer, still breathing.

Jourdan and his comrades took good care not to despatch Lescuyer; his death agony was a supreme means of exciting the mob.

They picked up this remnant of a sentient being, three-quarters dead, and carried it along, bleeding, quivering, gasping, with them.
Every one fled from the sight, closing doors and windows.

At the end of an hour, Jourdan and his three hundred men were masters of the town.
Lescuyer was dead, but what of that; they no longer needed his agony.
Jourdan profited by the terror he had inspired to arrest or have arrested eighty people, murderers, or so-called murderers of Lescuyer.
Thirty, perhaps, had never even set foot within the church.