Once in his room, Robespierre sank exhausted into a chair. At last he was alone! He could now give free vent to his long suppressed emotion. The feeling uppermost at the moment was one of dread dismay, as the terrible position rose before his mind, with all its fearful consequences. He gave no thought to the insult, it was the fate of the two women which haunted him. If he saved them it would atone for all in the eyes of his son. They had been arrested, thrown into prison, and cast for death, but he would set them free. Who had arrested them? What had they done? Were they implicated in some seditious plot which would render it difficult to deliver them? As to Olivier's release, he would see to that. By causing things to drag a little, Olivier's trial could be put off until Robespierre had the power in his own hands, and could act as he liked towards his son. It was after all his concern, for it was he whom Olivier had insulted, and not the Republic, which he could not yet impersonate. Had he even been proclaimed dictator, and sole representative of France, he would, he supposed, have had the right to pardon. It would seem but natural that his first act on accession to power should be an act of clemency! The most important thing then at present was that Olivier should remain in prison as long as possible under the closest supervision. But again, why had the women been arrested? By whose orders? They were perhaps at that very moment at the Conciergerie, on their trial, before the Revolutionary Tribunal. He could, no doubt, secure their acquittal, but what if the inquiry brought Olivier's name to light? "I am wandering!" he caught himself exclaiming. How, indeed, could the name of Olivier be mentioned during the trial? The young man had nothing to do with it. He had insulted Robespierre, it was to him personally he had to answer. The Incorruptible rubbed his eyes, unable longer to follow the thread of his own thoughts. He was suddenly reminded of the law to be submitted by him next day to the Convention, the vindictive law which would ensure conviction without proof, evidence, or even cross-examination. This law would be of twofold service to him; it would rekindle the Terror, would help Robespierre to get rid of those who were still in his way, and be the means of reducing the two women to silence, thus saving not only Olivier's life, but theirs also. Olivier would then see that Robespierre was not the monster he imagined, for he would owe the lives of his mother and of his _fiancée_ to him, the very man he had so wantonly insulted! Robespierre's reflections were suddenly interrupted by a knock. He started up. Some one was calling him. He listened, and recognising Lebas's voice, hastened to open the door. "I saw a light through your window," said Lebas, "and knew you had not yet gone to bed." "Well, what have you learnt?" Robespierre asked anxiously. "They are still at the prison of La Bourbe." "Both of them?"