commissioners;" it is especially to look after those who, "charged
with a special mission, would hold meetings to win over their
colleagues, . . . . and engage them in proceedings contrary to
their mandate."[24] In the first place, and before they are admitted
into Paris, their Jacobinism is to be verified, like a bale in the
customs-house, by the special agents of the executive council, and
especially by Stanislas Maillard, the famous September judge, and his
sixty-eight bearded ruffians, each receiving pay at five francs a day.
"On all the roads, within a circuit of fifteen or twenty leagues of
the capital," the delegates are searched; their trunks are opened, and
their letters read. At the barriers in Paris they find "inspectors"
posted by the Commune, under the pretext of protecting them against
prostitutes and swindlers. There, they are taken possession of, and
conducted to the mayoralty, where they receive lodging tickets, while
a picket of gendarmerie escorts them to their allotted domiciles.[25]
-- Behold them in pens like sheep, each in his numbered stall; there
is no fear of the dissidents trying to escape and form a band apart:
one of them, who comes to the Convention and asks for a separate hall
for himself and his adherents, is snubbed in the most outrageous
manner; they denounce him as an intriguer, and accuse him of a desire
to defend the traitor Castries; they take his name and credentials,
and threaten him with an investigation.[26] The unfortunate speaker
hears the Abbaye alluded to, and evidently thinks himself fortunate to
escape sleeping there that night. -- After this, it is certain that
he will not again demand the privilege of speaking, and that his
colleagues will remain quiet; and all this is the more likely

* because the revolutionary tribunal holds permanent sessions under
their eyes,