I mounted a dark staircase, and found the indicated corridor, and in that corridor, No. 19. I knocked; a powerful voice said, “Come in!” I turned the key in the lock, and saw a young man in his shirt-sleeves, working by an open window at the correction of proofs. He was so absorbed in his work, that I approached and touched him before he turned round. The book, the proofs of which he was correcting, was, I could see, entitled, “Mespasse temps ou le Voirvel organe.” The preoccupation of the young poet was caused by the desire to find a rhyme. The rhyme found, he turned to me. “Pardon,” said he; “what want you?” “Citizen St. Just,” replied I, “I come on behalf of Citizen Robespierre.” “You?” “Yes. He desires your presence immediately.” “Where?” “If you are not prepared, I will leave you the address; but if you are, I will conduct you thither.” “Is he at the Rue Saintange?” “No; he is close by here—in the Rue St. Honoré.” “At the Jacobins?” “There are no longer Jacobins. The club is dead.” “Who dared do it?” “The paid guard, who, an hour before, dared do another thing.” “What was the other thing?” “Fire on the people at the Champ de Mars—slay, perchance, six or seven hundred persons!” St. Just shouted with rage. “What! you a patriot—the friend of M. Robespierre,—and not know better than that what takes place in Paris?” said I. “I promised my publisher to have those proofs corrected by Thursday; and in order to accomplish this I told the servant not to disturb me for anything. He brought my breakfast in my chamber, and here is my dinner already served. I have not had time to eat. I knew last night from the Jacobins they must withdraw the petition; and I doubted not that, the petition withdrawn, there might be a disturbance at the Champ de Mars. But let us not lose a moment. Since Robespierre requires me, I am at his orders.” The young man put on a white waistcoat, irreproachable in its cleanliness; a gray coat; a sword and dagger he hung at his side; then took his hat, and said but the words, “Show the way!” I went in front, and he followed. CHAPTER XLVII. A BREAK. Here comes a break in my personal adventures during the course of the great struggle for liberty throughout France. I leading the way, and St. Just following, we went down the Rue St. Anne, and had almost reached the Rue Neuve des Augustins, when the powerful voice of St. Just (one that was soon to be heard by the Nation, which was to hush at his first word) addressed me. “Citizen!” “Citizen St. Just?” “Give me the address whither we are going!” he said. “Why, I am leading you! Do you mistrust me?” His face flushed. “I mistrust no man,” he replied. “Then why do you ask for the address?” “By way of precaution.” “What need is there of precaution?” “Was not the Citizen Robespierre in danger not an hour since, by being in the streets?” “Yes.” “Then the Citizen St. Just is equally in danger of a bullet from the barrel of a paid guard.”