The book, the proofs of which he was correcting, was, I could see, entitled, “Mespasse temps ou le Voirvel organe.”
The preoccupation of the young poet was caused by the desire to find a rhyme.
The rhyme found, he turned to me.
“Pardon,” said he; “what want you?”
“Citizen St. Just,” replied I, “I come on behalf of Citizen Robespierre.”
“You?”
“Yes. He desires your presence immediately.”
“Where?”
“If you are not prepared, I will leave you the address; but if you are, I will conduct you thither.”
“Is he at the Rue Saintange?”