Robespierre rose, and after walking a few moments to and fro the room in thought, opened the door and summoned one of the Jacobins without.  To him he gave his orders for the watch and arrest of Tallien’s servant, and then threw himself again into his chair.  As the Jacobin departed, Guerin whispered,—­

“Is not that the Citizen Aristides?”

“Yes; a faithful fellow, if he would wash himself, and not swear so much.”

“Didst thou not guillotine his brother?”

“But Aristides denounced him.”

“Nevertheless, are such men safe about thy person?”

“Humph! that is true.”  And Robespierre, drawing out his pocketbook, wrote a memorandum in it, replaced it in his vest, and resumed,—­

“What else of Tallien?”

“Nothing more.  He and Legendre, with the unknown, walked to the Jardin Egalite, and there parted.  I saw Tallien to his house.  But I have other news.  Thou badest me watch for those who threaten thee in secret letters.”

“Guerin! hast thou detected them?  Hast thou—­hast thou—­”

And the tyrant, as he spoke, opened and shut both his hands, as if already grasping the lives of the writers, and one of those convulsive grimaces that seemed like an epileptic affection, to which he was subject, distorted his features.

“Citizen, I think I have found one.  Thou must know that amongst those most disaffected is the painter Nicot.”

“Stay, stay!” said Robespierre, opening a manuscript book, bound in red morocco (for Robespierre was neat and precise, even in his death-lists), and turning to an alphabetical index,—­“Nicot!—­I have him,—­atheist, sans-culotte (I hate slovens), friend of Hebert!  Aha!  N.B.—­Rene Dumas knows of his early career and crimes.  Proceed!”

“This Nicot has been suspected of diffusing tracts and pamphlets against thyself and the Comite.  Yesterday evening, when he was out, his porter admitted me into his apartment, Rue Beau Repaire.  With my master-key I opened his desk and escritoire.  I found herein a drawing of thyself at the guillotine; and underneath was written, ’Bourreau de ton pays, lis l’arret de ton chatiment!’ (Executioner of thy country, read the decree of thy punishment!) I compared the words with the fragments of the various letters thou gavest me:  the handwriting tallies with one.  See, I tore off the writing.”

Robespierre looked, smiled, and, as if his vengeance were already satisfied, threw himself on his chair.  “It is well!  I feared it was a more powerful enemy.  This man must be arrested at once.”

“And he waits below.  I brushed by him as I ascended the stairs.”

“Does he so?—­admit!—­nay,—­hold! hold!  Guerin, withdraw into the inner chamber till I summon thee again.  Dear Payan, see that this Nicot conceals no weapons.”

Payan, who was as brave as Robespierre was pusillanimous, repressed the smile of disdain that quivered on his lips a moment, and left the room.