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The other guard drew his sword and stalked toward Jean with a stiff stride.

“Watch the master, Émile, while I deal with the servant.”

His quartermaster smiled and pointed his pistol at the tall man. “Avec plaisir, Capitaine.”

Jean had previously assessed the andirons as opponents. They were not well matched, as the ensuing swordfight made clear. This lumbering mercenary had strength on his side and, from his initial parries, some expertise. However, he lacked the finesse d’esprit Jean had been taught long ago as one of Pierre Donnatieu’s most avid pupils.

After a preliminary exchange, the guard lunged.

Jean parried and then backed away only to push in, slicing across the man’s cheek.

“Damn Frog!” the man bellowed, touching his face. His fingers came away covered in blood.

“Does the Swiss cow bellow?” Jean asked mockingly.

The mercenary raged and, with less precision than before, lunged.

Jean parried the thrust using his left hand to block the man’s arm and brought his own blade around his back and turned to sink his sword into the man’s belly. The guard had not expected the move, one Jean’s fencing master had taught him long ago.

The mercenary grabbed his belly, staggered to the wall and slid to the carpet. He would die but not soon. In some small measure, it compensated for what Henri must have suffered.

Jean wiped the sweat from his forehead with his lace cuff and faced the only miscreant left standing.

Vogelsang’s thin face already appeared like a death mask. He sank into his chair behind the desk.

“You directed the so-called accident that killed my father and brother? And the murder of the driver?”

The truth of it spoke loudly from Vogelsang’s guilty expression. He did not even cast blame on another as Jean had expected.

“And you arranged for the attack on my carriage near Saint Jean d’Angély?”

His nose in the air, Vogelsang replied, “I have no knowledge of these trivial country villages.”

“It was not trivial to my niece and my lady, nor to my quartermaster and driver both of whom were wounded in the attack. I can assure you, they will forever remember the name.”

“Let me have this one, Capitaine,” drawled Émile. “I am owed a blood debt and seek vengeance of my own.”

“If you wish, mon ami. I know you enjoy firing that pistol and I can think of no target more worthy.”

“No!” shouted Vogelsang “I have money. I can make you rich!”

“You do not have enough of France’s money to make up for the lives you have taken from me!” Jean threw back.

Vogelsang yanked open his desk drawer and pulled a pistol from its depths.

The shot rang loud in the room as Émile fired first. Vogelsang slumped in his chair and fell to the floor, joining his guard.

The maid came to the doorway, glanced at the bodies and screamed. Covering her mouth, she turned to stare in horror at Jean.

“Do not be concerned, Mademoiselle.” Jean spoke in a gentle voice. “I will send someone to remove the bodies. But lest you think we are brigands of the worst sort, know what has been done here is justice for the murder of my father, a nobleman, and my brother. There will be no inquiries.”

That night, Jean would arrange for the bodies to be dumped in the Seine. In the morning, they would be found along with others. All knew Paris could be a dangerous place.

Joanna heard the horses’ hooves in the courtyard and rushed from the parlor. Flèche opened the glass doors and Donet stepped inside, handing his hat, pistol and sword to the butler.

She went to him, looked into his eyes and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. The tension in his body told her the task had been difficult, but the relief she had glimpsed in his eyes told her it was finished. She had feared for him, but she had not tried to persuade him to stay. She never would.

Jean Donet had carved a life of danger for himself, winning the respect of his men and his country. More than one man looked up to him. More than one country had depended upon him. If she were to become his wife, she must let him face the danger and trust him to return. If the day ever came he did not, she would count herself lucky to have had the years with him she did.