Page 84 of Souvenir Heart

His companions made sympathetic noises as the serving maid set down a tray of glasses and two bottles of wine. She uncorked one and began pouring.

“I’m guarding enemies of the people.” The soldier slapped his chest. “Most of ‘em will be headless in a ditch by the end of the week. Why the hell does it matter how I stand?”

The soldier next to him, a man with eyes so close set he appeared fascinated by his own nose, nodded in agreement. “Bastard lectured me about how my uniform looks sloppy. Like that’s his job as a prosecutor?”

Prosecutor? Marcus’s pipe had gone out; he nudged his neighbor for a light.

“Sloppy,” the man repeated, shaking his head, “As if the rat fuckers are going to escape because my waistcoat’s unbuttoned.”

“It’s hot as hell in there.”

“I’d like to see him stand guard all night.”

The bar maid finished filling their glasses and left after reassuring the men she’d be back shortly with their food.

“Fouquier-Tinville’s wife must have changed the stick up his ass last night.” The guards’ snorts of laughter were accompanied by cautious looks to determine whether anyone might be listening. “Because he was on a tear this morning.”

One of those looks landed on Marcus; he tilted his head back and blew a neat set of smoke rings into the air.

“I hear a prisoner escaped last night,” a young guard with greasy blond hair said in a hushed voice.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“No one has ever escaped the Conciergerie.”

“No, no,” the brown-haired guard said, “I heard it, too. A woman.”

“How?”

“No one knows. All I heard is when they did the roll call this morning, one was missing.”

Marcus took another puff of his pipe, schooling his face to appear disinterested.

“I heard it was the daughter of that old finance minister.”

“Necker?”

“No, he’s in Geneva. De Joley. Comte Verignac.”

“Now there’s one that’s overdue for a date with Mme Guillotine.”

“I heard he’s in Austria.”

“I’ve heard he’s hiding in Jura.”

“I heard he took half the treasury with him.”

“Bastard.”

“Someone must have paid to get her out.”

“Who’d they pay?” The soldiers all leaned closer. “Not Fouquier-Tinville?”

Marcus set down his pipe and leaned forward, pretending to scratch his ankle.

“They say he takes money to let certain people go,” the blond guard hissed.