But Clarisse, whose curiosity was now satisfied, tried to turn attention from these gloomy subjects, her mother's heart telling her they would reawaken Olivier's apprehensions. She soon found a pretext. Madame de Narbonne passed them with her little girl, holding a basket of fruit, of which the child partook without restraint. "What lovely cherries!" exclaimed Clarisse. Madame de Narbonne stopped to offer her some, but Clarisse declined, and when pressed, said-- "Not for me, thanks; but my niece will perhaps taste them." When Thérèse also asked to be excused, Olivier intervened. "Only taste," he said, and as she still declined, "Will you allow me, mademoiselle?" he asked, taking a bunch from the basket which the child now carried. And he held one of the cherries up to his _fiancée's_ lips. "Won't you take one to please me?" Clarisse could not help smiling. Olivier saw the smile. "And you, also, mamma!" he said. Clarisse allowed herself to be persuaded, looking gratefully at the kind prisoner to whose good nature that little family scene was due, and Olivier was beginning to renew his playful persuasions to Thérèse, when a bell sounded from behind the big grating, tolling slowly. Madame de Narbonne turned pale. "The call!" she gasped. All conversation now ceased; men and women fell into groups, or left each other abruptly, looking anxiously towards the iron gate, as if expecting some one to appear. Olivier felt the universal shudder of dread, and his fears were again awakened. "The call! What call!" he asked. But the Marquise de Choiseul had gone away with Madame de Narbonne, carrying the little child along with them, in great haste. Olivier, turning round, met only the supplicating look of his mother, who had perhaps understood. "What is it?" he asked. "I don't know," she said, with an effort. Thérèse clung tremblingly to Clarisse, feeling that something terrible was to happen, and Olivier going towards one of the prisoners to question him was soon joined by Clarisse and Thérèse. "The call? Why, it is the summons to such of the prisoners as are destined to appear before the Revolutionary Tribunal. The bell had been rung to assemble all the prisoners to meet the Recorder, who, with list in hand, will read the names of those selected by the Revolutionary Tribunal for trial." "You mean for condemnation!" interrupted Olivier, with indignation. The prisoner nodded assent. "So all those who are named..." "Will be taken in a cart to the Conciergerie, and..." "And?" "Ascend the scaffold two days after," said the prisoner in conclusion, apparently resigned to his fate. "Then it may be one of us, mamma?" asked Thérèse, bursting into tears. Clarisse tried to master her emotion. "No..." she said. "It's too soon ... isn't it? ... tell her..." And she implored Olivier with a look. "How can one know?" he said, driven to distraction. "Oh no! ... I assure you! ... You will see.... It is impossible! ..."