"Open the window, it is stifling!"
He raised his eyes to Clarisse, who was standing near.
"Excuse me.... but I am almost broken down ... Come closer ... Take this chair ... Urbain has told you how things have gone with me?"
"Yes," Clarisse answered, seating herself, whilst Thérèse, standing by her side, examined with mixed feelings the face of the man whose terrible name she had so lately learnt.
A painful silence ensued. Clarisse, who burned to question him about Olivier, hesitated in view of the utter prostration of the man before her, whose own head was now at stake, but Robespierre divined her thoughts.
"You are thinking of your son?" he said.
"Yes, my son! Where is he?"
"Alas! I know nothing!" answered Robespierre.
Then, in a fainting voice, he told her of his useless inquiries at the Conciergerie, of the conspiracy of the Committee of Public Safety, who kept Olivier hidden away—where he did not know.
"Had I won the day at the Convention I should have delivered him—but now...."