She said, “But it doesn’t fit in this room. It belongs in an elegant salon.”
“I thought in a few days we’d leave for Vienna and take it to the Comte de Provence.”
She shook her head. “He’d claim it for the Bourbons. I have no intention of handing it over to him.”
“Very well, we won’t tell him we have it.”
“We?”
“Youhave it,” he amended quickly. “It’s yours, Mother.”
She turned back to the statue and smiled with pleasure. “Yes, it’s mine.”
“But you’ll come to Vienna with me?” Dupree pleaded. “The count will wish to honor me, and I want to share that glory with you. Now that the boy is dead, the count is heir to the throne. You could reign in his court.”
“I could have my own court here in Paris. I don’t need the Comte de Provence.” She touched the golden filigree cloud on which the Pegasus ran. “Everyone will want to come to my salon and see the Wind Dancer. They’ll fight for invitations. Of course, I’ll have to seek a means to pacify the National Convention, but I’ll find a way.”
Panic rose in him. “Very well, if you don’t want to go to Vienna, we’ll stay here.”
“No.” She turned to look at him. “I’ll stay here. You’ll go to Vienna.”
She was sending him away. His worst nightmare was staring at him from her implacable face.
For an instant, terror held him speechless. “Please,” he stammered. “You know I can’t go without you. I want to be with you, Mother. Always.”
“Look at you. You’d be an embarrassment, not a help to me.”
“No.” He fell to his knees, scarcely noticing the jolt of pain in his leg. “Vienna’s too far away. You know I can’t bear to be away from you. I beg you to reconsider.”
His mother turned away. “I’ll expect you gone by morning.” She moved to the archway leading to the stairs. “Good-bye, Raoul.”
He scrambled to his feet again. He wasn’t going to be able to persuade her. She was sending him away and this time she would not let him come back.
“Mother!”The word was a howl of agony.
She looked back over her shoulder with a frown. “Don’t be difficult, Raoul. You know what happens when you become—”
The front door burst open.
“Citizen Dupree?” An officer in the uniform of the National Guard strode into the room, followed by four soldiers. “You’re to come with us. You’re under arrest.”
“By whose order?” Dupree gazed at him numbly, scarcely able to comprehend the man’s words.
She was sending him away.
“How dare you barge into my home?” Anne Dupree asked coldly. “Whatever my son has done, I’m a loyal citizen of the republic.”
“That will be decided by Citizen Robespierre. He’s waiting in the carriage outside.”
She would never permit him near her again.
“I’ll not go,” Anne Dupree said. “Raoul, tell him he’s not to force me to—”
But Dupree was being hustled through the front doorway by two soldiers. She reluctantly followed him out of the cottage to the waiting carriage.
Icy rage froze Robespierre’s delicate features into a menacing mask as he stepped down onto the cobblestones from the carriage. “I’m a just man. Because of your past service to the republic I give you one chance to defend yourself before I condemn you. You’re Raoul Dupree, Marat’s former agent?”
“Yes,” Raoul said dully.
