Page 63 of The Count’s Charade

Jean-Marc’s cheeks darkened. “I recognise only the government of France as my master, citizen.”

“Since when? From the beginning you will tell me, is it thus?”

The other was silent. Henri eyed him, feeling the anger burn in his gut. He must not allow it to inflame him. He needed his wits about him now. But the bitter gall of disillusion would not be entirely suppressed.

“One honours an enemy, citizen,” he said coolly. “But a turncoat one can only despise.”

Something flashed in Jean-Marc’s eyes, and died quickly. A sneer curved his mouth. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he brought out his pistol, but aiming only loosely. “You speak with authority for a man so close to death.”

Henri eyed the pistol, and wondered briefly if he had the strength to wrest it from that slack hold. Risky, but an opportunity might occur. His glance shifted from the pistol to Jean-Marc’s face.

“Were we not agreed you are not a fool?”

Loriot laughed and suddenly relaxed, shifting to the bed where he leaned nonchalantly against one of the posts, the barrel of his pistol pointing to the floor.

“Is it impossible to realise, Henri, that a man may change? We began as young hotheads, mon ami, and we knew not what we fought. Yes, we took these identities and seized our chance to get close to the top. To have gambled so far was a miracle. But Citizen Robespierre —”

He paused, and Henri saw in his eye the gleam of fanaticism that had characterised Le Directeur and his ilk. Was it possible Jean-Marc had truly experienced a change of heart? The man straightened.

“He taught me, Henri. Could you not also see it? He made me understand why this revolution was necessary. Piece by piece I came to recognise that all who opposed it must be sacrificed.”

Nausea twisted in Henri’s stomach. “Even your kinsmen? Your friends?”

Jean-Marc’s features relaxed, and there was almost a smile to be seen. “You strike a chord there, Henri. It is why I found a way to come to you here.”

What new ploy was this? Henri searched his face. “I do not understand you.”

The smile came, and it was almost the old one of the affection of their shared youth. “That is your trouble, mon ami. For that you are my friend, I desire to give you this one chance. To redeem yourself, to live.”

Momentarily thrown off balance, Henri frowned. “How?”

Jean-Marc’s pistol hand waved an arc. “Renounce your former loyalties and join our cause.”

Henri almost laughed in his face. “Are you mad?”

“It is a good cause, Henri, you have seen that for yourself,” said the other, straightening. “And you are too good a man to be lost for the sake of this lost cause you have continued to believe in. Come back with us, and I will see you released from all accusations.”

“As if you have such power!”

“In my new post, I have more power than you realise.”

It was a trick. It must be. Jean-Marc could not possibly suppose he was open to such a bargain? Not seeing fully what the man was at, Henri stalled.

“You are offering me my life if I will abandon my chosen path, as you have done. I presume I have the task to convince Sir James Levisham that he should place me in your charge. What would you desire I say to him?”

Jean-Marc uttered a sound of contempt. “We do not parley with these English! It is arranged, my friend. Your word only is needed.”

“And then?”

“And then we leave this place.”

“All four of us?”

The other nodded, looking smug. “We depart in secret, and make our way to the river across this marshland.”

“Where you will then shoot me unhindered, and leave my body to rot in the mire,” finished Henri. “I thank you, Jean-Marc, but I am not altogether a fool.”

Jean-Marc shrugged, losing some of the false air of camaraderie. “Believe as you wish.”