Robespierre threw himself on him, and pinning him to the wall, said breathlessly—
"Don't call, I tell you! Don't call!"
Then lowering his voice he muttered in a dry whisper—
"Be quiet, man, I say! Be quiet! ... It is my son!"
"Ah!" and Lebas looked at him in stupefied amazement.
When he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise, he asked in a low voice—
"Why do you not tell him so?"
Could Robespierre tell him? Tell the lad who loathed him! Would he believe him? Olivier would say it was false, or how could he hate him so?
"Oh, no! I cannot tell him that I am his father!" he said sadly, sinking down exhausted on a chair.
Lebas took his hand and pressed it sympathetically, deeply touched.