He was in fact thinking of Clarisse, of her joy a few hours hence to have her son again, for Robespierre would take Olivier from the Conciergerie directly he was sure of his triumph at the Jacobins; he thought also of this triumph, now so certain, which would seem all the greater if Clarisse could witness it. She would see then how highly he was esteemed, admired, and loved by all true, honest Republicans, by all staunch soldiers of justice and humanity. Suddenly he stopped at the door of the Jacobins, and went in without even turning to see if any one was following. This building, once the property of the monks of St. James, had recently been turned by the Revolutionists into a political club. A powerful party reigned there, exercising an occult influence on the direction of public affairs and on the rulings of the Convention, whom they terrorised by their democratic arrogance and their violent, obstinate fanaticism. The meetings were held in a part of the building formerly known as the convent-church, opening on to a long gallery hung with portraits of monks, which led to the ancient library. At the lower end of this assembly-room an altar was still standing, stripped of all its ornaments and symbols of sacred services, now forgotten in the hall where fierce fanatics, breathing slaughter, hounded to death the victims of the guillotine. When empty, with its amphitheatre, its presidential stand, its tribune, the room had the aspect of an ordinary debating hall. When full, it was a tribunal of inquisition, the headquarters of terror and of fear. Robespierre had become the ruling spirit of the Club. He was their lord-paramount, whose word was absolute, and he was greeted on his appearance by a thunder of applause. The hall was filled with an enthusiastic crowd, exasperated at the partial defeat of their idol at the Tuileries. Robespierre, deeply touched, returned their salutations gratefully, and re-read his speech prepared for the Convention, interrupted at every point by loud approval. In order to stir their minds to the necessary pitch of excitement, he spoke of this as his last testament, and so induced another outburst of extravagant sympathy. "I will die with you, Robespierre!" called out one deputy. "Your enemies are the enemies of the whole nation!" cried another. "Say the word, and they shall no longer exist!" Robespierre looked at them with eyes full of gratitude. He was hoping that some one would commence an attack, that he might retaliate there and then, and so accentuate his triumph. He had perceived among the crowd his adversaries, Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois. They tried to speak, and were hissed; they persisted, and were greeted with cries of "To death with them!" Daggers even were drawn, and they had scarcely time to escape. The name of Robespierre was in every mouth in that vast hall, acclaimed with cries of wild approval that re-echoed to the very Tuileries.