"Is it really true? Are you free?" asked Clarisse.
"Yes, quite free! I will tell you all about it presently. But we must secure a passport if we want to leave Paris.... Let us make haste!"
The two women passed out under Olivier's protection, and descended the Hôtel de Ville's grand staircase through the crowd, which followed fallen Robespierre with cries of "Victory! Victory!"
CHAPTER XV
DEATH'S KINDLY VEIL
Robespierre has thus been vanquished for the second time!
Where will they take him? To the Tuileries, to the Convention, into the very midst of the victorious National Assembly, where the dying despot is to be exposed to the raillery of the populace, before being carried to the scaffold. Robespierre is laid down in the courtyard of the Hôtel de Ville, and placed with infinite care on a litter. They lift his head and bind up his wound, for he must live long enough to receive the final retribution. The bullet has but half robbed the scaffold of its prey.
Artillerymen now come forward, and take him up again, but Robespierre, still unconscious, knows nothing of what is passing round him. They lift the wreck of what was once the Incorruptible and continue their way. Saint-Just walks in the rear between two gendarmes, his hands bound behind him, very pale, with head erect, and perfectly indifferent to the insults hurled at him—the only one of his allies who is with Robespierre in the hour of defeat. The others are either dead, hidden or fled. But their turn will come, for hot search is afoot for the cowards and fugitives.
The gloomy cortège crosses the Place de la Grêve, and moves in the direction of the quay, on its way to the Tuileries, beneath a cloudless sky that smiles after the rain, as the stars are gradually effaced by the first gleams of dawn. It is three o'clock. The cortège is followed by a curious and gaping crowd. Passers-by stop and ask, "What is it?"
"Robespierre, who is wounded. They are taking him to the Convention."