"The blood of Danton chokes thee!" cries one man. And these words seem like the last blow dealt to the fallen foe. The next moment the voice of an obscure Deputy is raised, in order to speak the words that have been hovering on every lip: "I demand a decree of accusation against Robespierre!" "Accusation!" comes from seven hundred throats. "The decree of accusation!" The President jingles his bell, puts the question, and the motion is passed unanimously. Maximilien Robespierre--erstwhile master of France--is decreed _accused._ CHAPTER XXXIV THE WHIRLWIND §1 It was then noon. Five minutes later, the Chosen of the People, the fallen idol, is hustled out of the Hall into one of the Committee rooms close by, and with his friends--St. Just, Couthon, Lebas, his brother Augustin, and the others--all decreed accused and the order of arrest launched against them. As for the rest, 'tis the work of the Public Prosecutor--and of the guillotine. At five o'clock the Convention adjourns. The deputies have earned food and rest. They rush to their homes, there to relate what has happened; Tallien to the Conciergerie, to get a sight of Theresia. This is denied him. He is not dictator yet; and Robespierre, though apparently vanquished, still dominates--and lives. But from every church steeple the tocsin bursts; and a prolonged roll of drums ushers in the momentous evening. In the city all is hopeless confusion. Men are running in every direction, shouting, brandishing pistols and swords. Henriot, Commandant of the Municipal Guard, rides through the streets at the head of his gendarmes like one possessed, bent on delivering Robespierre. Women and children fly screaming in every direction; the churches, so long deserted, are packed with people who, terror-stricken, are trying to remember long-forgotten prayers. Proclamations are read at street corners; there are rumours of a general massacre of all the prisoners. At one moment--the usual hour--the familiar tumbril with its load of victims for the guillotine rattles along the cobblestones of the Rue St. Antoine. The populace, vaguely conscious of something stupendous in the air--even though the decree of accusation against Robespierre has not yet transpired--loudly demand the release of the victims. They surround the tumbrils, crying, "Let them be free!" But Henriot at the head of his gendarmes comes riding down the street, and while the populace shouts, "It shall not be! Let them be free!" he threatens with pistols and sabre, and retorts, bellowing: "It shall be! To the guillotine!" And the tumbrils, which for a moment had halted, lumber on, on their way. §2 Up in the attic of the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette, Marguerite Blakeney heard but a mere faint echo of the confusion and of the uproar.