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“I believe I can.” Dupree struggled to his feet.

Picking up the goblet in one hand and carrying the pistol in the other, he limped across the room toward them.

“My mother was wrong. It seems Andreas is a man of sentiment. Of course I couldn’t be sure until he actually brought the Wind Dancer to ransom your life. ”

He knelt beside them, carefully extending his bad leg to one side, and held out the goblet to Jean Marc. “Drink it.” He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Juliette’s head. “Or I’ll shoot and splatter her brains from here to kingdom come.”

Juliette inhaled sharply. “Don’t do it, Jean Marc. He’ll kill me anyway.”

“But not right away,” Dupree said. “I have a plan to school you in the same stimulating way I did your mother, the marquise.”

“Then kill me now.”

Dupree shook his head. “Think about it, Andreas. There are always possibilities. While she’s alive, she has a chance of being rescued. Etchelet might be able to save her from me. Or the potion I put in the goblet may be a drug and not a poison.” He smiled. “Of course, the chances of both are slim.”

“Don’t drink it.” Juliette pleaded, her gaze clinging to Jean Marc’s. “Please don’t drink it.”

“I have to drink it.” Jean Marc took the goblet and smiled into her eyes. “You see, the bastard’s right. I am a man of sentiment when it comes to you, ma petite.”

“No,” she whispered.

“It will all come to the same thing. If I don’t drink it, he’ll shoot me.” He lifted the goblet. “And this will give you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance. Not if it means—Don’t!”

He paused with the goblet at his lips and smiled lovingly at her. “It’s all right, Juliette. It’s only for a little while. Remember? Everything leads me to you. Even this.”

He drained the goblet.

“Jean Marc!”

His face contorted with agony and the goblet fell from his hand. Both hands clutched his throat. He tried to speak, but only a ghastly croak emerged. He slumped sidewise to the floor.

Juliette screamed and hurled herself across his body. “He’s dead. You’ve killed him!”

“I certainly hope so. That was the purpose.”

Tears ran down Juliette’s cheeks as she tried to creep nearer Jean Marc’s still body, hampered by the ropes that bound her. “Poison. It wasn’t a drug. It was a poison.”

“And very efficient too.” Dupree pocketed the pistol and pulled the gag back into her mouth.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to mourn him, but I have business at the Temple.

” He stood up and gazed at Jean Marc’s dark head cradled half against, half beneath Juliette’s breast. “What a touching picture. I really can’t bear to part the two of you by putting you back in the armoire.

” He limped across the room and picked up the chest.

“I’ll return tomorrow after I take this lovely thing to my mother and we’ll get rid of Andreas and begin your lessons.”

Juliette’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as she huddled closer to Jean Marc’s body.

Dupree limped to the door, set the chest down until he opened it, and then struggled to pick it up again. “Good day, Citizeness. Until tomorrow.”

5:10 P.M .

Louis Charles grabbed at his throat, his blue eyes pleading desperately as he tried to speak.

“What is it?” Madame Simon jerked the goblet away. “What is it, Charles?”

The little boy slumped to the floor.

“You said the drug wouldn’t hurt him.” Madame Simon whirled on Dupree. “You said it would just put him to sleep.” She sidled toward the fallen child.

Dupree stepped between her and the boy. “He is asleep.”

The woman tried to peer over Dupree’s shoulder at Louis Charles. “Then why is he so still?”

“He’s not hurt.” Curious bitch. Dupree moved around her and threw the sheet he carried over the boy’s body. “The drug works quickly.” He turned to the woman. “Roll the boy up in the sheet and then in another blanket and carry him down to the cart in the courtyard.”

She hesitated.

“Do it,” Dupree ordered. “Or do you want me to report to Citizen Robespierre that you’re not loyal to the republic.”

“Citizen Robespierre knows we’re loyal.” Madame Simon took a step closer to the shrouded body of the little boy. “Take the sheet off him. I want to see if he’s—”

“There’s no time. Are you going to stand there while even now Darrell may be on his way to rescue the boy?

” He frowned. “Perhaps there’s a reason for your disobedience.

Perhaps you’ve been bribed by Darrell to help the boy escape and don’t wish Citizen Robespierre to keep him safe for the republic. ”

“No!” Madame Simon hurried forward and began to carefully roll the boy up in the sheet. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt. It will take only a moment. I must make sure Charles can breathe through this sheet.”

“I have no objection to waiting…a moment,” Dupree said blandly, watching her throw the blanket over the limp body of the boy. “Citizen Robespierre would be most upset if you hurt the child.”

6:15 P.M .

Dark had fallen by the time Dupree halted the laundry cart in the alley behind Robespierre’s lodgings and the thick fog made the gardens, alcoves, and even the houses themselves barely visible for more than a few feet.

He could hear the scampering of the rats in the garbage piled on the cobblestones but could catch only a faint glimpse of their eyes as they darted to escape the wheels of the cart.

Happiness surged through him as he clumsily got down from the wagon, tied the horse’s reins to the iron railings of a garden gate, and limped to the back of the wagon.

The bed of the wagon was piled high with blankets and linens, and he was forced to burrow for a minute before he found the chest with the Wind Dancer he had placed in the wagon before he’d gone to the Temple.

As he lifted the chest out of the cart, one of the sheets shrouding the boy pulled free, revealing Louis Charles’s silky fair hair.

Dupree swore with annoyance beneath his breath.

He was tempted not to bother to recover the child.

The thick, cold fog and the foul smell of garbage belching from the cobblestones of the alley made it doubtful anyone would venture out of their warm houses and discover the wagon.

Yet it was essential no one find the whelp’s body until Nana brought Danton and the soldiers to confront Robespierre.

He set the chest down on the cobblestones and carefully tucked the sheet back over Louis Charles’s head before pulling a blanket and several sheets on top of him.

Then he picked up the chest and limped down the alley to the street. Going up and down the stairs of the Temple had been a hideous strain, and his hip and bad leg throbbed with agony.

Yet what did the pain matter when his soul soared with exhilaration?

He had done it! He had triumphed over all his enemies, he had carved himself a place in the court of Comte de Provence and perhaps history itself by killing the boy, and he had the Wind Dancer safe in his hands to give to his mother.

He reached the street and painfully made his way to the hired carriage he’d arranged to have waiting for him a few houses from Robespierre’s residence.

“Clairemont. It’s just outside the barriers.

I’ll give you the direction once we reach the village,” he said as he opened the door of the carriage and set the oak chest inside before levering himself inside and onto the seat.

He leaned wearily back in the coach and sighed with contentment as it started to roll down the street.

He had been good. No one could say he had not been very good indeed. Now he could go home to his mother for his reward.

“Quick, Catherine.” Francois moved swiftly out of the shadows of the alcove of the back door of the house across the alley from Robespierre’s residence. He ran toward the wagon and in another moment he had unwrapped Louis Charles from his shroud of linens and blankets.

“Is he all right?” Catherine appeared beside him, her gaze fixed worriedly on the boy’s still body. “Oh, dear, how pale he is.”

Louis Charles opened his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Stinks.”

Catherine laughed shakily in relief as she helped the boy to an upright position in the cart. “You’re in an alley. Of course it stinks.”

“No, all these dirty sheets stink.” Louis Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It was most unpleasant lying here covered with all this dirty linen all the way from the Temple. No more laundry wagons, Catherine.”

“No more laundry wagons,” Catherine agreed as she reached over and hugged him. “We have a carriage waiting two streets from here.” She helped him down from the wagon. “Can you walk?”

“Of course. I wish you’d been there to see how well I did.

It was just like one of Maman’s theatricals.

” Louis Charles clutched his throat and croaked melodramatically.

“I remembered everything you told me to do. I was so good, Citizeness Simon thought I was really ill. You should have been there to see me.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I was terribly afraid just knowing what was happening.” She draped the cloak she was carrying about the boy’s shoulders. “You did wonderfully well without us, Louis Charles.”

“The stuff didn’t taste good.” Louis Charles grimaced. “What was it?”

“Olive oil and bitters. Jean Marc had a taste of it earlier today and he was in complete agreement with you.” Francois put a tricorned hat on the child’s head. “Keep your head down and the hat shadowing your face.”

Louis Charles nodded as he fell into step with them.

“I saw Dupree get into a carriage. He’s going to Clairemont just as I told you he would.” Nana joined them as they reached the end of the alley, her gaze anxiously searching Louis Charles’s face. “He looks well enough.”

“This is Nana Sarpelier, Louis Charles,” Francois said. “You owe her a great debt. She substituted the olive oil for the poison Dupree had planned on giving you and tricked him into helping us.”