initial the sun of thermidor was setting in a blood-red sky, while évariste wandered, gloomy and careworn, in the marbeuf gardens, now a national park frequented by the parisian idlers. there were stalls for the sale of lemonade and ices; wooden horses and shooting-galleries were provided for the younger patriots. under a tree, a little savoyard in rags, with a black cap on his head, was making a marmot dance to the shrill notes of his hurdy-gurdy. a man, still young, slim-waisted, wearing a blue coat and his hair powdered, with a big dog at his heels, stopped to listen to the rustic music. évariste recognized robespierre. he found him paler, thinner, his face harder and drawn in folds of suffering. he thought to himself:

"what fatigues, how many griefs have left their imprint on his brow! how grievous a thing it is to work for the happiness of mankind! what are his thoughts at this moment? does the sound of this mountain music perhaps distract him from the cares of government? is he thinking that he has made a pact with death and that the hour of reckoning is coming close? is he dreaming of a triumphant return to the committee of public safety, from which he withdrew, weary of being held in check, with couthon and saint-just, by a seditious majority? behind that impenetrable countenance what hopes are seething or what fears?"

but maximilien smiled at the lad, in a gentle, kind voice asked him several questions about his native valley, the humble home and parents the poor child had left behind, tossed him a small piece of silver and resumed his stroll. after taking a few steps, he turned round again to call his dog; sniffing at the marmot, it was showing its teeth at the little creature that bristled up in defiance.

"to heel, brount!" he called, "to heel!"—and he plunged among the dark trees.

gamelin, out of respect, did not interrupt his lonely walk; but, as he gazed after the slender form disappearing in the darkness, he mentally addressed his hero in these impassioned words:

"i have seen thy sadness, maximilien; i have understood thy thought. thy melancholy, thy fatigue, even the look of fear that stamps thy face, everything says: 'let the reign of terror end and that of fraternity begin! frenchmen, be united, be virtuous, be good and kind. love ye one another....' well then, i will second your designs; that you, in your wisdom and goodness, may be able to put an end to our civil discord, to our fratricidal hate, turn the headsman into a gardener who will henceforth cut off only the heads of cabbages and lettuces. i will pave the way with my colleagues of the tribunal that must lead to clemency by exterminating conspirators and traitors. we will redouble our vigilance and our severity. no culprit shall escape us. and when the head of the last enemy of the republic shall have fallen under the knife, then it will be given thee to be merciful without committing a crime, then thou canst inaugurate the reign of innocence and virtue in all the land, oh! father of thy country!"

the incorruptible was already almost out of sight. two men in round hats and nankeen breeches, one of whom, a tall, lean man of a wild, unkempt aspect, had a blur on one eye and resembled tallien, met him at the corner of an avenue, looked at him askance and passed on, pretending not to recognize him. when they had gone far enough to be out of hearing, they muttered under their breath:

"so there he goes, the king, the pope, the god. for he is god; and catherine théot is his prophetess."

"dictator, traitor, tyrant! the race of brutus is not extinct."

"tremble, malefactor! the tarpeian rock is near the capitol!"

the dog brount ran towards the pair. they said no more and quickened their pace.