u wilt be torn to pieces."

The Jacobin felt as if compelled to obey against his will. He went
forth muttering; he returned,--the stranger was still there. "Mille
tonnerres," he said to him, "I thank thee; the poltroon had my name in
his list for the guillotine."

With that the Jacobin Aristides sprang upon the table and shouted,
"Death to the Tyrant!"

CHAPTER 7.XI.

Le lendemain, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre se decida a prononcer son
fameux discours.
--Thiers, "Hist. de la Revolution."

(The next day, 8th Thermidor, Robespierre resolved to deliver his
celebrated discourse.)

The morning rose,--the 8th of Thermidor (July 26). Robespierre has gone
to the Convention. He has gone with his laboured speech; he has gone
with his phrases of philanthropy and virtue; he has gone to single out
his prey. All his agents are prepared for his reception; the fierce St.
Just has arrived from the armies to second his courage and inflame his
wrath. His ominous apparition prepares the audience for the crisis.
"Citizens!" screeched the shrill voice of Robespierre "others have
placed before you flattering pictures; I come to announce to you useful
truths.

....

"And they attribute to me,--to me alone!--whatever of harsh or evil
is committed: it is Robespierre who wishes it; it is Robespierre who
ordains it. Is there a new tax?--it is Robespierre who ruins you. They
call me tyrant!--and why? Because I have acquired some influence; but
how?--in speaking truth; and who pretends that truth is to be without
force in the mouths of the Representatives of the French people?
Doubtless, truth has its power, its rage, its despotism, its accents,
touching, terrible, which resound in the pure heart as in the guilty
conscience; and which Falsehood can no more imitate than Salmoneus could
forge the thunderbolts of Heaven. What am I whom they accuse? A slave
of liberty,--a living martyr of the Republic; the victim as the enemy of
crime! All ruffianism affronts me, and actions legitimate in others are
crimes in me. It is enough to know me to be calumniated. It is in my
very zeal that they discover my guilt. Take from me my conscience, and I
should be the most miserable of men!"

He paused; and Couthon wiped his eyes, and St. Just murmured applause
as with stern looks he gazed on the rebellious Mountain; and there was a
dead, mournful, and chilling silence through the audience. The touching
sentiment woke no echo.

T