The circle had constantly and regularly narrowed; it compressed, indeed it strangled, this prodigious insurrection, thrown back in a definitive manner on to its last intrenchments.
In reality, it no longer existed; there remained only a few desperate bands, whose energy, however, never failed for a moment as long as there was a gun left to be fired.
During this supreme effort, Paris, almost entirely restored to law and order, was traversed by long files of prisoners, wearing on their faces an expression of fierce energy, and in many cases pride of their cause even in disaster; they marched bareheaded between two lines of cavalry, who rode gun in hand. They were all divested of their uniform of the National Guard, and were dressed in blouses, working-jackets, or coats.
Among the prisoners were a large number of women, who had taken an active part in the struggle, engaging, if possible, with even more fury than the men. Many had defended alone the barricades, firing resolutely upon the troops, fighting with a kind of pitiless rage, and, when they found themselves vanquished, throwing themselves recklessly upon the bayonets.
Many had worked actively in the construction of barricades, and a large number had aided in igniting the conflagrations, carrying everywhere, with inconceivable eagerness, explosive materials, petroleum, and incendiary bombs. With dishevelled hair, garments in disorder, they retained, amidst the soldiers who conducted them, a bearing of furious passion, venting itself occasionally by violent imprecations and wild cries.
Meanwhile, in the Prison de la Roquette, more victims were added to the insatiable rage of the Commune. On Thursday but one execution took place, that of the banker Jecker, who was called from his cell in the morning, and who has never been heard of since.
