The deep silence in the hall was re-established. The scattering conversation ceased. Robespierre was on the platform. His features, ordinarily impassible as a mask of marble, were now marked with a bitter irony, and he uttered his words in a voice that was at once curt, sonorous and metallic: "It is not to me, citizens, that the flight of the first functionary of the State comes as a disastrous event. This day could be the finest day of the Revolution. It can still become so! The recovery of the forty millions which the entertainment of this royal individual costs would be the least of its blessings. But for that, citizens, other measures must be taken than those adopted by the National Assembly. And I seized the moment when the session was suspended to come here to speak to you of these measures, which there they do not allow me to propose. In deserting now his post, the King has chosen the very moment when the priests are trying to raise up against the Constitution all the idiots and blind-men who have survived the light of philosophy in the whole eighty-three departments of France; the moment when the Emperor of Austria and the King of Sweden are at Brussells to receive this perjured and deserting King. That does not alarm me a bit. Oh, no! Let Europe league herself against us--the Revolution will conquer Europe! "No, I fear not the coalition of Kings," continued Robespierre, in a tone of proud disdain. "But do you know, fellow citizens, what frightens me? It is to hear our enemies hold the same language as we, it is to hear them exclaim like us, that we must rally to the defense of the Constitution. Louis XVI does not count alone on the assistance of foreign forces to re-enter his kingdom in triumph; he counts as well on the support of a party within, which to-day wears the mask of patriotism; of that party the National Assembly is the accomplice." This new affirmation, so clear, so precise, of the culpable conduct of the Assembly excited afresh the murmurs of the Jacobins and the applause of the people. Every ear was strained to catch, with anxious impatience, the measures which Robespierre was about to announce as necessary to make this the most splendid day of the Revolution. "What I have just said to you is the exact truth," proceeded Robespierre solemnly. "But could I make the National Assembly listen to the truth? No! I was not heard. Ah, I know, this denunciation is dangerous for me. What does that matter--it is useful for the public good. This denunciation will sharpen for me a thousand poniards! I shall become an object of hatred to my colleagues of the Assembly, who are nearly all counter-revolutionists--some through ignorance, others through fear, some through private reasons, others through blind confidence, others through corruption. I devote myself to hate--to death. I know it!" added Robespierre, with stoical tranquility.