Most of the Jacobins were atheists. If they worshipped anything, it was Reason; if they were impelled by any emotion, it was probably as much a hatred of the old regime as a love of Liberty. But not Robespierre. He believed in God. Not the old God of the Church, to be sure, but a new, enlightened God, that he had invented: a Supreme Being whose vehicle was the Revolution, and whose expression would be the new world of free and reasonable men.

He was quite open about it. Just recently, on the great open space of the Champ de Mars south of the river, he had organized a huge Festival to the Supreme Being which thousands had attended. Some found it pretentious, even laughable, but as Robespierre had given his long and grandiloquent speech, it was clear that this extraordinary Jacobin was not just a soldier of the Revolution, but a visionary, a high priest.

Perhaps this was his strength. Perhaps this was what made him so ruthless, so unbending. The servant of a Supreme Being has little fear of hurting mortal men.

Yet he was still a mortal himself. He could be jealous, even petty.

“There is a problem, however, citizen,” the judge continued.

“What problem?”

“This doctor says the woman is pregnant.”

Maximilien Robespierre looked at Émile Blanchard calmly. His face gave nothing away.

“Do I know you?” he asked at last.

“I attended you once,” said Émile, “at the request of your own doctor, Souberbielle, when he was indisposed.”

“I remember you. Souberbielle thought highly of you.”

Blanchard bowed.

“You say she is pregnant?”

“I do.”

Robespierre continued to stare at him.

“Was Danton one of your patients?”

“Yes. For a while.”

The question was obviously dangerous, but it would be unwise to be caught out in a lie. Robespierre seemed to be satisfied.

“Is there room at the Temple prison?” he asked the judge, who nodded.

“De Cygne has been sentenced to death. Let it be done at once, then. I think his wife should go to the Temple … for the moment.”

Blanchard saw the judge make a note.

Robespierre turned to leave. Then he seemed to think of something.

“Citizen Blanchard: You have said that you are sure this woman is pregnant. Very well. In a little time, we shall see.” He paused, and raised his hand in admonition. “But, should it turn out that you have lied, that you have made this claim in order to pervert the course of justice, then you yourself will go before the Tribunal. I shall see to it myself.”

He turned, and left the courtroom without another word.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Émile Blanchard stood in the huge open square between the Tuileries Gardens and the great avenue of the Champs-Élysées. The Place Louis XV, it had been named, but now it was called the Place de la Révolution. And in its center stood the guillotine.