"Not yet! But Lebas had taken them away with an order from Robespierre."
Here Fouché, picking up the order left on the table by Billaud-Varennes, showed it to Olivier, who read it in horrified amazement.
"Where are they then," he cried.
"At the Conciergerie, where they would be judged within twenty-four hours."
"The wretch! the wretch!"
He implored them that they might be released. The Committee were all-powerful!—They, powerful, indeed? They looked at him pityingly. He believed that? What simplicity! How could they release the two women when they were on the point of being sacrificed themselves? They would have difficulty enough to save their own heads!
"To-morrow," continued Fouché, "we shall most likely be with your mother, at the foot of the scaffold."
Olivier looked at them in terror. Was it possible? Was there no one that could be found to kill this dangerous wild beast?
Fouché, who had consulted his colleagues in a rapid glance, now felt the moment ripe.
"Assassinate him, you mean?" he asked.