All were killed, all slaughtered, men and women.

It was long in doing; the killers, we have said, were drunk and poorly armed.

But they succeeded.
Among these butchers was a child remarked for his bestial cruelty, his immoderate thirst for blood.

It was Lescuyer's son.

He killed and then killed again; he boasted of having with his childish hand alone killed ten men and four women.
"It's all right! I can kill as I like," said he.