Pale and anxious, he followed the procession to the Champ de Mars, where the _fête_ was to close with one crowning patriotic demonstration. He felt that his supremacy was tottering, and wondered how many more discordant notes would disturb the prevailing harmony. Alas! there were already signs of jarring discord. Certain members of the Convention talked aloud in a free, sarcastic strain, on the road, openly exchanging opinions, emboldened by Olivier's public insult. Words of dark and ominous import reached the ears of Robespierre--words of hatred and scorn, of tragic foreboding, and portentous prophecy. "I despise and hate him!" said one. "There is but one step from the Tarpeian Rock to the Capitol!" said another. And a third added: "A Brutus may yet arise!" To close the mouths of these backbiters, he mentally reflected, and to save all, nothing was wanted but the _vox populi_, the supreme and national mandate, uprising from the assembled multitude and re-echoed through the whole of France: "Robespierre Dictator! Dictator for life!" But the Incorruptible awaited any such acclaim in vain. The _fête_ of the Champ de Mars which followed was wanting in the brilliancy and magnificence of the preceding festival. Every one was hot and unstrung. Robespierre again addressed the people, who, tired from having stood so long under a burning sun, were listless and absent-minded. The demonstration was drawing to its close amidst a general feeling of depression. Nothing but confusion reigned on the march homeward. Robespierre was to return to the Tuileries to meet several of his colleagues, but instead, he hurried away, fully resolved to shut himself up in his room and open his door to no one, not even to the Duplays, who had dogged his steps the whole way back, trying to catch him up, and only succeeding at the threshold of their house, where Robespierre begged them to have their little festive party without him. "I want rest," he said. "The _fête_ went very well, didn't it?" asked mother Duplay. "Yes, very well!" replied Robespierre. "Then you are satisfied?" "Perfectly!" As Cornélie began to tell him of some details which she thought had escaped him, he put her off gently, saying-- "Was it so? Indeed! Well, you will tell me that to-morrow." "What! You will not dine with us?" "No; I must ask to be excused." And as she pressed him to join them, he repeated-- "No, no; I must beg you to excuse me! _Au revoir_ till to-morrow! _Au revoir!_" With these words he went up to his room and locked himself in. Every one was in low spirits at the Duplays' that evening. They scarcely tasted their supper. No one was deceived by Robespierre's feigned indisposition; they were well aware that the _fête_ had been a great disappointment to him, and they shared his chagrin, though they determined that this should be in no way apparent. "We must not disturb his meditations," observed mother Duplay.