The Festival of the Supreme Being! The coming triumph of Robespierre, the open parade of his hypocrisy and pride, amidst the acclamations of a servile multitude dominated by a tyrannical and terrorising Dictator! Olivier's whole soul revolted against the injustice of human destiny which placed supreme power in the hands of such a tyrant. The image of his mother and Thérèse, arrested by this man's orders, rose again before his eyes. Suddenly he stopped. On the Place de la Révolution, between the statue of Liberty and the entrance to the Tuileries, his astonished sight fell on an erection which, to all appearance, was being taken down--cross-bars of wood, lowered by the aid of ropes and pulleys, and an enormous knife slowly descending. Olivier turned pale, his knees shaking under him. It was the guillotine! The hideous, barbarous word breathing death--a horrible, ghastly death--rang in his ears, and was re-echoed by mock voices of despairing victims, the guil ... lo ... tine--the guil ... lo ... tine--the guil ... lo ... tine. Yes, this was the guillotine! There it rose in front of him, the atrocious, abominable machine, which had caused the best blood of France to flow, the instrument of human butchery, which had severed so many heads; there it rose amidst the festive preparations, as a fearful warning! The knife continued its descent, slowly, silently, mirroring the sun in blue metallic reflections, which seemed to sparkle in its rays. Olivier followed every movement, with fascinated horror. When the huge blade disappeared the young man shook himself together with an effort, and seeing a woman of the people passing, questioned her-- "What was that?" The woman was wary in her answer, the question appeared to her so ingenuous. "It's Madame Robespierre!" "I know it is the guillotine," replied Olivier, "but I wish to know what they are doing there." "They are taking it away." "Ah!" he exclaimed, much relieved. "But it is to be put up elsewhere." "Where?" he asked, again cast down. "At the Place de la Bastille." And she added with a smile: "It seems there are still some aristocrats to settle." Olivier gave her an anxious, searching glance, but reading mere ignorance in her eyes, he was reassured, and began to wonder at the indifference of this people, this simple, open-hearted race, which had allowed themselves to be duped so many long months. He looked around him at the vast square which, as the horrible scaffold was removed, wore quite a festive air, smiling under its gay decorations of flags and coloured devices and girandoles, which were characteristic of the jovial humour and the drollery of the French populace, always so light-hearted. All this increased his own misery.