"That is true," answered Thérèse, glad enough to be convinced.
Clarisse took the paper gently from her hands, saying, "Instead of reading all this awful news, which inflames your imagination, go, dear, and arrange our room a little." And she added in half a reproachful tone: "You have not even looked at it, yet!"
Then gently pushing her into the room, she shut the door sharply behind her.
A terrible fear had taken possession of Clarisse. Why in his letter to her had Robespierre sedulously avoided mentioning Olivier's whereabouts? Turning to Urbain, she addressed him in a hoarse voice: "You say you saw this young fellow?"
The good man evinced surprise at her strange recurrence to the subject.
"I had the honour to tell you so just now, citoyenne."
Then Urbain would recollect him? What was he like? His face? The colour of his eyes? But that was too much to ask. He was in such a state, so broken down. How was he dressed?
Urbain could just remember. He described the costume: grey carmagnole and breeches, black and grey striped waistcoat.
It was Olivier's costume! There was no longer any possible doubt. It was he!
"It is he! It is he!" she kept repeating, falling at last into a chair, on the point of swooning.