He wore a light blue coat, nankeen breeches buttoned above the knees, where a stream of tri-colour ribbons was attached. White silk stockings and buckled shoes completed the array of this real Republican dandy. He was powdered of course, as usual, and had even indulged in an extra puff or so, but his most extravagant conceit was displayed in the lace waistcoat which spread like a filmy foam across his breast. The women went into ecstasies over this, and declared his taste exquisite. As he was taking leave, Cornélie appeared with an enormous bouquet of wild flowers and ears of corn in her hand. "And the bouquet?" she asked, giving it to him at the same time. "Ah! yes! I had forgotten it. How kind you are! _Au revoir_. I shall see you by and by, looking your best, I am sure!" And Robespierre, spick and span in his new clothes, all curled and perfumed, picked his way daintily across the courtyard. At the door he found Lebas, Simon the wooden-legged, and the boy Maurice Duplay awaiting him. They wished to escort him to the Tuileries. Didier, the agent, now came up, accompanied by two of his men, and they all started in the direction of the Rue Saint-Honoré, keeping to the right. The Incorruptible conversed with Lebas. A breeze stirred the flowers that decorated the front of the houses, wafting abroad their perfume. People were filling the streets from all directions, all in festive attire, with palms and ears of corn in their hands. On recognising the Incorruptible, they bowed to him; delighted, he discreetly returned their salutations. Robespierre had turned into the Passage des Feuillantes, and found himself on the terrace. Here a surprise awaited him. The garden was already, at that early hour, three-quarters full, looking like an immense sea with wave upon wave of tricolour ribbons, plumes, and cockades. He continued his way along the Terrace des Feuillantes, a smile on his lips, returning the greetings as he went, and then joined the stream of people moving towards the Tuileries, happy to lose himself in that crowd flocking to his own apotheosis. Flowers festooned the front of the Palace from end to end, lending to it the freshness of spring-tide. When Robespierre arrived he cast a hasty glance at the vast amphitheatre which awaited the National Convention. It was still empty. The amphitheatre extended from the gardens to the balcony of the Horloge, from which projected a tribune, erected above the seats of the deputies--the tribune of the President, his tribune. It was from there that he would speak to the people, assembled to hear and to applaud him.