Page 75 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Michel breakfasted late with Lucien and Isabelle after they had finished feeding the troupe.

‘I gave them the shed,’ Lucien told Isabelle.

‘Good. And some blankets?’

‘Blankets too. They asked for a candle. I gave them one.’

‘What for?’ Michel asked.

‘That lion is dying. Werner was up all night with him. We moved him to the shed at daybreak.’

‘Why did no one wake me?’ Michel stood.

‘Sit down. Werner says he wants just him and Frieda.’

‘I should at least take a look, see if there is any way I can help?’

‘Fine, a quick look, but there’s nothing you can do, I’m afraid. It’s the end.’

Michel went to the rear of the barn, where Lucien’s shed had been emptied of its tools and detritus to give room to the elderly lion.

Michel had seen Aramis only once, at a performance. His gait had been slow, his eyes glazed as if blind. He knocked lightly on the wooden door and waited.

‘Michel.’ Frieda opened the door, her eyes filled with tears.

Without thinking he took her hands in his. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She moved aside so he could see past her. There lay Aramis, his breathing slow and raspy, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Werner lay on the floor next to him, his little hand stroking his mane and whispering gentle words as the lion pulled each breath in.

‘He won’t leave his side,’ she said quietly.

‘Is there nothing that can be done?’

She shook her head.

‘I should go in.’

‘Michel?’ Werner turned towards the door. His eyes were red, the skin underneath puffy.

‘Werner, I’m so sorry.’

Werner stood and coughed, wiping tears from his face. ‘We can’t leave today,’ he gestured at Aramis, ‘but Lucien’s wife is worried about our presence here. I told Lucien one of us would go with him to see this Gehring, to try and get approval to stay awhile.’

‘I can go,’ Michel said.

‘No. I was thinking Serge – can you summon him?’

‘I think Michel would be better,’ Frieda said. ‘You know how Serge can be, and his very bulk may cause offence.’

Werner looked Michel up and down. ‘I suppose Michel looks harmless enough – and he has the face of a simpleton. It may beg some sympathy.’

Despite the slur, Michel smiled a little – it was almost good to see that Werner had not yet lost all of his gruffness.

‘I’ll go right away.’ Michel nodded at him. ‘And I’m sorry again.’

Werner turned from him, then lay down on the floor once more, to talk to his friend for one last time.

Isabelle had two bottles of wine ready for Michel to take, as well as fresh bread, bacon, and some money Lucien had loaned the troupe.