"Bear the woman to the witness-room, but the instant she revives bring her back." The roll-call was begun--the simple attestation of individuality that had replaced the pleas of advocates and the taking of testimony. Encouraged by its first success, the audience began to murmur: "They say the Quartier St. Antoine is in revolt against Robespierre." "The Convention will surely declare him under arrest." "If he falls, the executions will stop." "I say the trial ought to stop until we see." "Yes, postpone the trial." "What! There are traitors, then, in the room!" cried Fouquier, who, the better to see, had mounted a step. Before his threatening glance the movement of clemency died away. Again was heard the monotonous voice of the clerk intoning the roll and the listless responses of the accused. In the stand one of the jury impatiently pulled out a watch, another stifled a yawn. All at once there was a craning of heads. An interruption had come; the voice of the young boy was protesting: "Citoyen, the accusation is for my brother. I am not twenty-six. I have done nothing against the Republic. Citoyen, I am sixteen. I have my papers to prove it." A greffier nodded his head in confirmation, and extended a handful of papers toward the judge, saying: "Citoyen, he speaks the truth." Murmurs ran through the crowd: "It's a mistake!" "He's a child!" "Release him!" On the judges' bench the figure of Dumas arose. "And if you are only sixteen," he cried brutally, "in the matter of crime you are fully eighty." Then, with a furious gesture, he added: "Pass on, and make haste!" The murmur of revolt from the audience was overwhelmed in a sudden roar of astonishment. Dumas had been arrested! The counter-revolution had come! Those who had not seen the arrest cried: "But what has happened?" "Tell us! Tell us!" Others answered: "Dumas!" "Arrested!" "The counter-revolution has come!" A voice cried: "The quartiers are in arms!" "True?" "The tocsin is ringing!" "They'll make an end of Robespierre?" "Impossible!" "It's true! Haven't they arrested Dumas?" "Suspend the trial!" "Mercy! Clemency!" All eyes turned to Fouquier, who answered contemptuously and stubbornly: "Justice must take its course!" At Dossonville's side the blacksmith, with the sudden frenzy of prophecy, cried: "Fouquier, beware! The guillotine is waiting for you!" While with brawny shoulders he wriggled free of the willing crowd, Dossonville looked for the hundredth time at Nicole. She had not abandoned her calm; only a slight frown told of the havoc the sudden opening and closing of the gates of hope played in her soul.