"Well, we shall see," said Robespierre, favourably inclined to a change, adverse as he was to the idea of a military commander remaining too long in the same post. And he began his letter to Saint-Just, at the same time lending an ear to Lebas, who was telling Duplay of certain rumours coming from the army of the aspiration of some of its chiefs to the dictatorship. But Duplay interrupted him-- "_Sapristi_! I had almost forgotten!" Robespierre raised his eyes inquiringly. "I have a letter also to give you." "From whom?" asked the Incorruptible, reassured as soon as he knew it was only a letter. "From a prisoner, I think, who very innocently confided it to one of our spies. It was given to me just now at the Tribunal." Duplay searched in his pockets, and having found the letter, handed it to Robespierre, who continued writing. "Look at it with Lebas," he said. Lebas took the letter, and going to the mantel-piece, commenced to read it by the light of a candle. Duplay, in the act of filling his pipe, looked over his shoulder. It was Clarisse's letter to Robespierre, and read thus-- "I should not write to you if I had only my own life to plead for. But I have to protect that of two children, my niece imprisoned here with me and a son of nineteen years, who may be arrested at any moment and sent to the scaffold, and good God, by whom! CLARISSE." Robespierre had now finished his letter to Saint-Just, and whilst closing it, asked-- "Well, and the letter?" "It is a woman who supplicates you for her niece imprisoned with her," answered Lebas. Robespierre, annoyed, stopped him, saying curtly that he received twenty such letters every day. "She also supplicates you for her son," added Lebas, still perusing the note. Robespierre simply shrugged his shoulders and sealed his letter to Saint-Just. "Always the same refrain!" he said. "Shall I throw it in the basket, then?" "Yes, do, for goodness' sake!" But Duplay took the letter from Lebas's hands, twisted it into a spill, and ignited it at the candle to light his pipe. Robespierre now rose and went towards the harpsichord, where he was received with joyous exclamations. "Here you are at last!" Cornélie whispered a few words to Buonarotti, and placed a new piece of music before him. "As a reward," she said, "Buonarotti will sing you one of his latest compositions." "And the words are by a friend of yours," added Madame Lebas, with a mysterious air. Robespierre, puzzled, asked the name of this friend, but Victoire wished him to guess, and when he demurred a battle of words ensued, in which his stronger will prevailed. "Very well, then! We will tell you the poet's name." And as he was all attention, they exclaimed in chorus-- "Maximilian Robespierre!" The Incorruptible smiled. What were they talking about? He the author of a poem! "Yes." Before he had time to protest, Cornélie recited the first verse-- "_Crois-moi, jeune et belle Ophélie..._"