The paid guard collected themselves before the Convent, demanding powder to blow the gate and demolish the den of the Republicans. They were laughed at; they were applauded; they were hissed. The street was full of people, looking at one another, ready to come to blows. It was plain to be seen that one of those misunderstandings had taken place which places the gun to one’s shoulder without one’s knowing upon whom to fire. All at once, I could perceive, in the Rue Luxembourg, a man gliding down the street, with an evident desire to pass unnoticed. I pulled my master’s coat, and whispered to him, “The Citizen Robespierre.” It was indeed none other but he, who had been sent to the Assembly, and who had arrived there just in time to have the door shut on his nose. It was evident that if he was recognised by the paid guard, he would run the risk of being shot. He was at this moment recognised by a group of persons, and cheered. No doubt, they were Jacobins. He quickened his pace, descending the street, to gain speedily the Faubourg St. Honoré. At the Rue de Luxembourg, several cries were raised of “Vive Robespierre!” He turned pale, and hesitated whether to take the Luxembourg or continue his road. He continued. “Vive Robespierre!” again cried a man. “And since it is absolutely necessary to have a King, why not have him?” Robespierre thought himself lost. He looked on all sides for shelter. Duplay rushed towards him. “At my house—at my house, citizen!” said he. “My name is Duplay! I am master carpenter, and a good citizen!” “Yes, yes—at our house!” said Madame Duplay and Mademoiselle Cornelie. And all three—the man and the two women—surrounded Robespierre, who, without the slightest resistance, allowed himself to be led into the alley. I entered last, and locked the door. The retreat was effected so prudently, that hardly a soul had perceived the manœuvre. Those that did see him said nothing, so that no noise was made at the door. Robespierre was extremely pale. He sat down, or rather fell, on the first chair that came in his way. Mademoiselle Cornelie wiped his forehead with her pocket-handkerchief, while Madame Duplay brought him a glass of fresh water. I placed the glass to his lips, but his hand shook so, that he made the glass chink against his teeth. However he drank, looked around him, tried to smile, and said, “I see that I am with friends.” “Say, rather, with admirers—with devoted admirers!” replied M. Duplay. “Oh, yes!” replied the three women. “Oh, if I had known it,” said M. Duplay, “I would not have allowed you to present yourself at the National Assembly.” “How so?” said Robespierre. “Yes; it was Réné,”—M. Duplay pointed me out,—“it was Réné, a good young man, a staunch patriot, and a friend of M. Drouet de St. Menehould, who, you know, arrested the King; it was Réné who came and announced the massacre on the Champ de Mars. We have but one bond to the Jacobins, and, as I belong to the club——”