He quietly held her hand during the long carriage ride to the Place de la Révolution. When they arrived at the square he pushed ruthlessly through the huge, excited crowd, making a place for them directly before the guillotine.
He took Juliette’s hand again as the throng roaredwith delight when the cart bearing the queen arrived at the platform.
Marie Antoinette was dressed in a white piqué gown, white bonnet, black stockings, and red prunella high-heeled shoes, the finery in poignant contrast to her shorn head, sunken cheeks, and frightened eyes.
Juliette swallowed to keep back the bile threatening to choke her. She must not faint.
The queen must see her.
Fight the dizziness, fight the despair. She would be better soon. She had promised Jean Marc she wouldn’t swoon.
The queen climbed the steps, stumbling as she reached the platform and trod on the foot of Sanson, the executioner. “Pardon, Monsieur,” she stammered. “I did not mean it.”
Juliette could barely see through the veil of tears. The crowd was yelling, the queen desperately looked at those in the crowd, as if searching for help which would not come.
Shemustsee her.
Juliette fumbled at the ribbons beneath her chin and tore off her bonnet, at the same time stepping closer to the platform.
At last, Marie Antoinette’s frightened gaze fell on Juliette. For an instant, the faintest flicker lightened the terror in her face.
Then the executioner pushed her toward the guillotine.
A moment later Sanson triumphantly held up the queen’s head for the approval of the crowd.
But Juliette was not there to see it. Jean Marc was already pushing through the crowd, propelling Juliette forcefully across the square toward the side street where the carriage waited.
“I’ve lost my bonnet,” Juliette said woodenly. “I must have dropped it on the ground by the platform.”
“Yes.” As they broke free from the crowd Jean Marc’s arm encircled Juliette’s waist and hurried her toward the carriage
“She saw me. Did you see her expression? Just for a moment, she saw me.”
“Yes, she knew you were there.” Jean Marc opened the door and lifted her into the carriage. “Home,” he called to the coachman before he climbed into the coach after her.
He pulled Juliette into his arms and rocked her in an agony of sympathy as the carriage rolled down the cobblestoned streets away from the Place de la Révolution.
“I didn’t swoon. I promised you I wouldn’t—”
She slumped against him in a dead faint.
When she awoke she was in Jean Marc’s bed, unclothed except for a white satin robe. Jean Marc lay naked beside her, his arms holding her with the same gentle strength as they had in the carriage. The velvet drapes at the window were drawn, and tall white candles burned in the candelabrum across the room.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I broke my promise. I didn’t mean to be so much trouble to you.”
“Be quiet.” Jean Marc’s gentle kiss on her temple belied the roughness of his words.
“Will it ever stop?” she asked in wonder. “So much blood…” She was silent a moment. “They were glad to see her die. Did you hear them cheering?”
Jean Marc didn’t answer.
“Why should they be so happy? Didn’t they understand? She wasn’t brilliant like Madame de Staël, she was only an ordinary woman. She made mistakes but she never truly meant to be cruel.”
Jean Marc reached over and took a goblet from the table by the bed. “Fruit juice. You’ve eaten nothing all day. Drink it.”
She obediently swallowed the tart drink and he put the goblet back on the table. He drew her closer, cradling her cheek in the hollow of his naked shoulder.
“I’m so tired, Jean Marc.”
