replacing his pen upon the
inkstand. "Now to more important matters. These deaths will create no
excitement; but Collot d'Herbois, Bourdon De l'Oise, Tallien," the
last name Robespierre gasped as he pronounced, "THEY are the heads of
parties. This is life or death to us as well as them."

"Their heads are the footstools to your curule chair," said Payan, in
a half whisper. "There is no danger if we are bold. Judges, juries, all
have been your selection. You seize with one hand the army, with the
other, the law. Your voice yet commands the people--"

"The poor and virtuous people," murmured Robespierre.

"And even," continued Payan, "if our design at the Fete fail us, we must
not shrink from the resources still at our command. Reflect! Henriot,
the general of the Parisian army, furnishes you with troops to arrest;
the Jacobin Club with a public to approve; inexorable Dumas with judges
who never acquit. We must be bold!"

"And we ARE bold," exclaimed Robespierre, with sudden passion, and
striking his hand on the table as he rose, with his crest erect, as a
serpent in the act to strike. "In seeing the multitude of vices that
the revolutionary torrent mingles with civic virtues, I tremble to be
sullied in the eyes of posterity by the impure neighbourhood of these
perverse men who thrust themselves among the sincere defenders of
humanity. What!--they think to divide the country like a booty! I
thank them for their hatred to all that is virtuous and worthy! These
men,"--and he grasped the list of Payan in his hand,--"these!--not
WE--have drawn the line of demarcation between themselves and the lovers
of France!"

"True, we must reign alone!" muttered Payan; "in other words, the state
needs unity of will;" working, with his strong practical mind, the
corollary from the logic of his word-compelling colleague.

"I will go to the Convention," continued Robespierre. "I have absented
myself too long,--lest I might seem to overawe the Republic that I have
created. Away with such scruples! I will prepare the people! I will
blast the traitors with a look!"

He spoke with the terrible firmness of the orator that had never
failed,--of the moral will that marched like a warrior on the cannon. At
that instant he was interrupted; a letter was brought to him: he opened
it,--his face fell, he shook from limb to limb; it was one of the
anonymous warnings by which the hate and revenge of those yet left alive
to threaten tortured the de