"You can easily procure one at the police section. It is indispensable. We cannot keep you here without it. That is the law now."
"I know," said Olivier, forcing a smile, "Well, to-morrow I will put everything right, for to-day I have so much to do."
"To-morrow is décadi," the concierge remarked, "and it would be difficult for you."
"Then the day after to-morrow?"
"Very well," said the concierge, "but don't fail, for I am responsible, you know."
Olivier thanked him and hastened away. He had not reckoned on such a complication. If he could only see his mother and his fiancée, what mattered anything else? He retraced his steps towards the prison, this time taking the Rue de l'Arcade, and finding himself suddenly opposite the Madeleine, he turned into the Rue da la Révolution.
There he noticed an unusual stir, which increased as he neared the Place de la Révolution. The streets appeared very gay, gayer than those he had just left. On looking up he saw that the houses were decorated with tricolour scarves and flags, and that men perched on ladders were hanging garlands and foliage over the shop windows. At the entrance of the Place masts were being erected by a continuous stream of journeymen and workmen, with whom were mixed an increasing crowd of onlookers. Olivier thought of the previous day's fête, and of the platforms he had helped to construct.
"So the Paris Democratic Society are having their fête also," he said to himself.
On questioning a passer-by he was told that preparations were being made for a festival in honour of the Supreme Being, which was to take place the next day on the Place de la Révolution. Olivier had forgotten this in the confusion of his mind, though he had heard it spoken of among his comrades at the workshop.
The Festival of the Supreme Being! The coming triumph of Robespierre, the open parade of his hypocrisy and pride, amidst the acclamations of a servile multitude dominated by a tyrannical and terrorising Dictator!