"Oh, no! she must not look at such a spectacle. Better kneel down and pray.... Pray for those about to die and for them also, yes for themselves, with all her soul!" Thérèse fell on her knees and joined her hands, her large blue eyes, brimful of tears, lifted towards Saint Gervais, the deserted church, where the lingering spirit of outraged religion might perhaps accomplish a miracle! The terrible tumult now burst on their ears like the rumble of thunder. As it drew nearer, separate sounds were distinguishable; screams, ribald laughter, hooting, degrading clamour, and coarse jokes reached them; all the hatred and fury of the Parisian populace was manifest in those hideous revels. The crowd was ushering the first tumbril into the Rue du Martroy, preceded by the mænads of the guillotine, loathsome, drinkbesotted viragoes, who yelled, and contorted themselves, dancing the _Carmagnole_ in front of the condemned. Discordant strains of revolutionary songs rose above the rumbling of the cart-wheels, the clank of horses' hoofs, and the cracking of whips. Robespierre had half opened the shutters, and tried to distinguish the first cart through the dense crowd. Clarisse struggled with him to look also, but the Incorruptible held her back resolutely. "No; I will look alone!" "Do you see him? Tell me; is he there?" "No," he replied, still preventing her from approaching. Then, as Robespierre made an eager movement, she gasped in her agony-- "He is there; I know it!" and again she struggled to reach the window. "I swear to you he is not there!" and exhausted he quitted hold of her to wipe his brow. The first tumbril had passed. The songs and cries of the mob surrounding it were lost in distance, and these muffled sounds were mingled with the murmurs of the crowd awaiting the other tumbrils. Olivier was not in the first. But the second? He was perhaps in the second? Clarisse would have cried out in her despair, but she struggled against the mad impulse and suppressed her choking sobs lest she should reveal the awful truth to Thérèse, who, still on her knees, her eyes turned to the desecrated church, prayed aloud: "_Our Father Which art in Heaven; hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come; Thy will be done...._" But she was interrupted by another outburst from the mob announcing the second tumbril. Already scraps of the furies' songs reached her from the distance: "_Dansons la Carmagnole! Vive le son Vive le son Dansons la Carmagnole Vive le son Du canon!..._" Clarisse, taking advantage in a moment of Robespierre's relaxed vigilance, pressed nearer to the windows. "The second cartload!" "There are two of them," said Robespierre, who, taller than she, could command a more distant view. Two! two carts! It was impossible for Olivier not to be in one of them. Clarisse felt it! He must be there! "He is there, I feel it.... I tell you he is there!"