Robespierre continues his dreadful way, his eyes fixed and glassy, his face wrapped in the bandage which holds his jaw together, and partly hides it like some ghastly mask. By his side sits Hauriot, livid and terrified, covered with the mud and filth of the sewer into which he had fallen. Couthon and Augustin Robespierre, pitifully mutilated, are lying at the bottom of the cart. Saint-Just alone stands erect, his hands bound, and retains his scornful air. The tumbrils enter the Rue Saint-Honoré near the Jacobin Club, where two days before the Incorruptible reigned supreme. The martyrdom is not over. They are before the house of the Duplays. The _cortège_ stops. At a given signal a child dips a broom in a pail of blood, and sprinkles the front door. "Ha! Robespierre, here is your cavern branded with the blood of your victims!" cries a voice. A plaintive howl is heard from behind the blood-smeared door. It is Blount, who has scented his master. Robespierre shuts his eyes but it is useless, for he can hear! People question each other in the crowd. Where are the Duplays? In prison! The father at Plessis, the mother at Sainte-Pilagie with her young son. Lebas has killed himself! His body is there in one of the carts. As to the daughters, they have fled, most probably. But now for the guillotine! The _cortège_ continues its way, while the heart-rending moans of Blount can still be heard in the distance. That cry of the faithful dog, recognising his master and calling to him, is the last adieu to Robespierre from his recent home. The first tumbril is already at the top of the Rue Saint-Florentin. A man turns out of the street and runs in the direction of the Rue de la Révolution. The crowd cry after him-- "Hallo, there! will you not see the Incorruptible's head cut off? Stop! stop! Don't be so chicken-hearted!" But the man is already far away. It is Olivier, returning from the Committee of General Security, where he had at last succeeded in having his passport countersigned, after endless trouble. He tries to cross the Rue Saint-Honoré, but the crowd fills the street; so he retraces his steps, followed the Jardin des Tuileries, and reaches the Rue Saint-Florentin, at the very moment when the tumbrils are at hand. Away from them he hurries, towards the Rue de Rocher, where Clarisse and Thérèse are impatiently awaiting him in their room. The landlady, anxious to be taken back to favour, has been worrying them with officious attention since the morning. Olivier bursts in upon them eagerly-- "It's done! Now we can start! Is the carriage ready?" The widow Beaugrand is in despair. "Then you have decided to go? Will you not wait until to-morrow? I have such a nice supper prepared!" Olivier grows impatient. Clarisse and Thérèse get ready to start. "It's all right! Everything is arranged," says the landlady. "The carriage has been ordered, and is just two steps from here."