Only one precaution was earnestly recommended to them; to show themselves as little as possible at the windows of their sitting or bed room, so as not to attract the attention of neighbours. They were especially told to avoid this in the afternoon, from four to six. The windows looked on to the Rue du Martroy, through which the carts carrying the condemned passed. The scaffold was now installed at the Barrière du Trône Renversé, and it was the shortest way. The two women shuddered. "Unhappily we had no choice," Lebas added, seeing their repugnance, "but you will be warned by the cries of the crowd, and you can then retire to the dining-room which looks on to the courtyard. It lasts but a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, at the most." But Clarisse scarcely listened, her whole mind occupied with one thought, the longing to inform Olivier, whose whereabouts she hoped soon to learn, of their release from prison. "Could I write a few words to some one who is very dear to me?" she asked. "I wish to set his mind at rest about our welfare." Lebas replied in the affirmative, and she thanked him gratefully. He politely protested; she owed him no thanks, these were solely due to him whose orders he was executing. He then offered to take the letter himself, saying he would return for it in a quarter of an hour, as he had another urgent duty to fulfil. And he retired, leaving the two women with Urbain, who busied himself arranging the furniture of the sitting-room. Thérèse, now full of hope, gave thanks to God. They would perhaps soon see Olivier again. What joy! But to whom did they owe their release? She looked inquiringly at her aunt. Clarisse owned that she believed it was to an ex-secretary of Thérèse's grandfather, now all-powerful, and to whom she had written from the prison of La Bourbe. Thérèse seemed astonished that her aunt had not told her of this. But Clarisse made the very plausible excuse that she did not wish to raise her hopes, not knowing whether her appeal would have success. The young girl was now looking through the shutters of one of the windows which Urbain had partly opened. "Ah! there is a church!" she exclaimed, and immediately she thought that if they were allowed to go out she would go and pray for their protector, for he could not be all-powerful and not have done wrong; he must belong also to the Government of Terror. At the mention of a church, Clarisse approached the window. She recognised the building; it was St. Gervais Church, on whose portal could be read in large letters the sadly ironical inscription: "National Property, to be let as a Warehouse." At Clarisse's request Urbain had placed an ink-stand and blotting-paper on the table, and Clarisse hearing it was ready turned round joyfully. "At last I can write to Olivier!" she thought.