Juliette gazed after her, her emotions in tumult. She had not expected to feel such melancholy. Over theyears she had tried to vanquish the affection she felt for the queen. She had told herself it was foolish for her to care for someone who had no more fondness for her than she did for the lambs of Le Hameau. She had told herself that only her painting was important and Marie Antoinette didn’t matter in her life. Yet today all she could remember was that long-ago night when she had first met Marie Antoinette and the queen had taken her in her arms and cradled her and asked her to be her friend. Poor butterfly. All the brilliant flowers of her garden had withered and now she, too, was fading away.
“Here now. Don’t just stand there. Come along,” the lamplighter said, low and harsh.
Juliette reluctantly turned away from the doorway through which Marie Antoinette had disappeared. She fell meekly into step behind the lamplighter, following him across the courtyard toward the gate.
François Etchelet was as grimly silent on the drive from the Temple as he had been when he had met Juliette earlier. Clearly, he was not pleased with her. At first his reticence suited Juliette very well. She was finding it difficult to shake off the depression that had settled on her since she had met with the queen. They were near the Place Royale when Juliette finally roused herself to speak. “I don’t see why you’re angry with me. It was you who told me I shouldn’t remain with Catherine.”
“I didn’t tell you not to go to Vasaro.” He looked straight ahead. “And I most certainly didn’t tell you to stay in Paris and embroil us all in treasonous activities.”
“I’m not embroiling anyone in treason.” She tilted her head to gaze shrewdly at him. “And if you objected so heartily to my going to see the queen, why did you arrange the bribe?”
“It was Georges Jacques’s decision. He thought it safer to indulge you in this stupidity.” He gazed at herface. “And was your conversation with Citizeness Capet worth the risk to all of us?”
“Her Majesty,” she corrected him. “And don’t tell me that’s one of the things your precious republic has changed, for I won’t believe it Being a citizeness wouldn’t suit her at all. She doesn’t know how to be anything but a queen.”
“I’ll call her whatever—” He stopped and shrugged. “Perhaps that’s her tragedy. Do you know her well?”
“Since I was a small child. She was kind to me.”
“You can’t help her, you know.”
Juliette was silent.
“Guards in the courtyard, commissioners from the Commune, are on duty in their apartments day and night.”
“Just like Versailles,” Juliette said softly. “She always hated all those people gaping at her when she arose in the morning and went to bed at night. Some of those silly women of the court used to quarrel over who would hand the queen her chemise in the morning.”
“I assure you the commissioners aren’t acting as maidservants to her.” The sarcasm vanished from his tone as he looked at her soberly. “This is the end, Juliette. You’ll get no more help from either Georges Jacques or myself. It’s too dangerous. Ever since the royal family tried to escape from the Tuileries last year, the Commune has been seeing plots behind every bush.”
“Did I ask for help?”
“Not yet. But that doesn’t mean you won’t. I’ll be very glad when Jean Marc sends you on your way to Vasaro. I received a message from him this morning asking me to call on him tomorrow.”
“He probably wants you to arrange departure papers for me.”
“Now, that’s a service I’ll be happy to render. Passing the barriers should be safe enough for you now. Dupree left Paris this morning.”
“Danton arranged it?”
François shook his head. “Marat sent him on amission. Andreas could have saved himself a handsome dowry if he’d waited a few days.”
“But we didn’t know that.” Juliette frowned. “You won’t tell Jean Marc about my going to the Temple? It would serve no purpose and only cause problems for me.”
“I’ll keep silent.” He paused. “If you give me your word you won’t try to see the queen again before you leave Paris.”
She nodded. “You have it. I have no need to go back there.” She shivered. “And it made me too sad. She’s not the same as she was at Versailles.”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “Nothing is the same. No one can bring back the past, and those who try will face the guillotine.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you would release the blade.”
“If necessary.” He added soberly, “But it would not be by my will. In many ways I’ve come to admire you.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“Your courage.” He smiled faintly. “Not your good sense.”
She burst out laughing. “And I admire your honesty, if not your tact. It greatly relieves me to know that you’d regret parting my head from my shoulders.”
