For one hour Couthon kept the Committee in suspense, entertaining them with Saint-Just's favourite theme, Robespierre's single-minded patriotism, but still no Saint-Just appeared. The Committee began to feel annoyed, and soon Carnot, who suspected treachery, spoke out boldly. It was nothing less, he said, than a preconcerted plan between Couthon, Saint-Just, and Robespierre. Couthon protested. "You do wrong to speak ill of the patriot Robespierre! You are basely calumniating a friend of your childhood!" "If I am base, you are a traitor!" retorted Carnot, beside himself with rage. But Couthon, anticipating a storm, took up his crutches and stumped off, protesting as he went. Sinister sounds now reached the Committee. They had been betrayed! Saint-Just was going to denounce them from the tribune! The document he had been drafting before them, there on that table, was nothing more or less than the indictment of the Committee! Barère had just received trustworthy information to that effect. Robespierre had drawn up a list of eighteen names of those destined for the scaffold. A deputy entered and asked for Billaud-Varennes. He was told that Billaud had just gone out, but would return shortly. "Ah! Here is Fouché!" some one exclaimed. It was in truth Fouché, the deputy, who now entered. He was beset with questions. Yes! they were not mistaken, he told them. Robespierre was now going to throw off the mask, and denounce some of his colleagues. "And I am sure he has not forgotten me," added Fouché, ironically. He was immediately surrounded by eager questioners. The names? Did he know the names? they asked anxiously. Fouché did not know; but everybody was threatened, and each must look after himself; the sitting would soon begin. All turned their eyes anxiously to the clock. It was not yet noon; they had still twelve minutes! Now another deputy came in, breathless with the news that Robespierre had just entered the Hall of the Convention, with his brother Augustin, Couthon, Saint-Just, Lebas, and all his followers. The galleries, crowded to excess, had received the Incorruptible with loud cheers. "Hark, the rabble are applauding; he has hired his usual _claque_," said one. "That's true," another answered. "Since five this morning the Robespierrists, male and female, have taken possession of the galleries, yelling, feasting, and drinking." "They are already drunk." "Well! Let us go and offer our heads to the drunkards!" exclaimed Fouché. But just then a door on the right opened, and Billaud-Varennes entered. Every one paused. "Here is Billaud at last." Billaud was looking anxious, and wiping his brow, worn out with the heat, he asked for a glass of beer. They eagerly questioned him. "Was it true, then? They would have to fight?" "Yes! fight to the death. They ought to have listened to him. Robespierre had told him plainly enough that there would be war. And now that they could not prove the plot...."