No! No! He was raving! ... Why! he was accusing the mother of his child! For she was the mother of his son! Then he alone was in fault; ... he who had her arrested for no reason! For no reason? Was that so certain? And he sought about in his mind for excuses. Yes! he was the dupe of Fate, the tool of blind Destiny! Why had Clarisse been there? Why had she been implicated with the secret interview? Why? Ah! why?
With closed eyes, still repeating that unanswered "Why?" he fell into a half sleep. Little by little the image of a cell in the prison of La Bourbe rose before him; Clarisse was there. She appeared to him, as he had seen her in her youth, at the Rue des Lions, with her sweet pale face, large blue eyes, fair silken hair, so fair ... so fair.... He began to wonder that one so young and frail should have a son so big as Olivier! His dream-thoughts became more confused.... She was now Olivier's fiancée.... He was promising her to marry them in London, through the intervention of Vaughan ... of Fox.... Fox was all powerful in England, as he, Robespierre, was in France.... His head gradually sunk on his shoulder, and he fell asleep at last.
The lamp, turned very low, shed upon him a flickering light, pale and subdued as the glow of a sanctuary lamp, softening as if in pity the stern lines of his troubled countenance, which even in sleep did not relax the painful contraction of its features. He had fallen asleep, dressed as he was, his head aslant, his arms hanging by his sides listlessly. Now and then, his whole frame would twitch and quiver nervously, and vague, incoherent words escaped his lips at intervals; harsh, guttural sounds fell from him suddenly in that silent apartment, whose curtains and drapery in the subdued light assumed the soft and delicate tints of a young girl's chamber.
Its hangings were really of damask, with designs of white flowers on a blue ground, cut out of an old dress by Madame Duplay. This was the one obvious attempt at ornament. The Incorruptible's room was otherwise very modestly furnished, containing only the armchair in which he had fallen asleep, a few cane chairs, a very simple desk, a plain deal bookcase overladen with books and fastened to the wall, and a bed of walnut-wood.
The room was situated, as already said, in a wing which connected the main building occupied by the Duplay family with an outhouse opening on the Rue Saint-Honoré. It also communicated with little Maurice's room, to whom the Incorruptible in his leisure hours gave lessons in history, and on the duties of a citizen. The child, who had been sent early to bed on the arrival of the police-agents with Olivier, now slept soundly.
At about three o'clock, the boy awoke with a start. He heard a noise in the next room, and, thinking he recognised Robespierre's voice, turned over to sleep again. It was not the first time his good friend had talked aloud in his sleep. But he was awakened again by the falling of a chair, and jumped from his bed anxiously and ran to open the door. In the flickering light of the nearly extinguished lamp he discerned the Incorruptible standing erect, still dressed, and gesticulating wildly as if pushing some one back. The boy advanced towards him, asking what was amiss. Robespierre stared at him with a frightened look, then folding him in his arms, he fell on his knees moaning. Between his groans the child could catch the words—
"My son! ... My son!"
Then the lamp went quite out.
The child gently disengaged himself. Bon ami had called him his son! Yes, he was his son, his affectionate and dutiful son. Then with tender solicitude he helped him to rise. The day was already peeping through the half-closed shutters. Maurice with some difficulty succeeded in replacing his friend on the armchair in which he had passed the night, and asked him if he wished for anything. But Robespierre had fallen asleep again.
The boy returned to his room, walking backwards on tiptoe, fearing to awaken him, and went to bed again.