"Name of a name, what is happening?" every one queries in affright.
And gossip, conjectures, rumours, hold undisputed sway.
"Robespierre is dictator of France!"
"He has ordered the arrest of all the Members of the Convention."
"And the massacre of all the prisoners."
"Pardi, a wise decree! As for me, I am sick of the eternal tumbrils and the guillotine!"
"Better finish with the lot, say I!"
"Robespierre! Robespierre!" comes as a far-off echo, to the accompaniment of thundering hoofs upon the cobblestones.
And so, from mouth to mouth! The meek and the peace-loving magnify these rumours into approaching cataclysm; the opportunists hold their tongue, ready to fall in with this party or that; the cowards lie in hiding and shout "Robespierre!" with Henriot's horde or "Tallien!" in the neighbourhood of the Tuileries.
Here the Convention has reassembled, and here they are threatened presently by Henriot and his artillery. The members of the great Assembly remain at their post. The President has harangued them.