on the bench, doffed his little cape, his hat with the brim turned up à la Henri IV., summoned the judges, repeated the fatal formula against Robespierre, Couthon, Saint-Just, and the whole of the frightful band with as much firmness as on the previous day he had pronounced the formula 'by and in the name of Robespierre. All the forms of the ceremonial were completed in short order; in less than half an hour the condemned men had, to use the judge's phraseology, 'their toilet made, their boots greased,' and could go to their destination. . . . So I urged on Fouquier, saying, 'Come now, let us make a start.' 'We will start at once,' replied Fouquier quickly, and even with really triumphant alacrity; 'but where shall we take them to?' 'Why, to the usual place, where so many have preceded them.' 'But,' said Fouquier to me in an undertone, with an air of respectful and intimate confidence, 'for a week, citizen representative, we have been sending our condemned to the Barrière du Trône; we have given up using the Place de la Révolution.' 'Return to it, then,' I said, with a determined gesture; 'the way to it shall be past Robespierre's house; the prophecy must be fulfilled!' 'Poor Danton,' said Fouquier-Tinville, with an air of being moved to pity, 'there was a patriot for you!' believing, the knavish and cruel Fouquier, that he could obliterate by this appearance of regret the fact that he, Fouquier, had been
