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Sergeant Lefranc shuffled his feet, an embarrassed smirk on his face. “Well, 1 can see I made a mistake. Please accept my apologies, madame. Although it was most suspicious—the way you attempted to avoid being stopped.”

“Not at all, sir. You see, I have heard horrible tales of your deserters, how they prey upon the countryside like marauding brigands. When I saw the blue coats, I had no notion who might be after me, and being but a defenseless female …”

Belle allowed her lashes to drift downward, all the while watching covertly for any sign the sergeant might disbelieve her.

But the man was only too eager to agree. “Of course, Madame Gordon. Such journeys are indeed hazardous for a lady with no male protector.”

It was fortunate, Belle thought, that the sergeant did not see the way Phillipe flushed and glowered at him.

“Perhaps,” Sergeant Lefranc continued, moistening his lips, considering there are these deserters prowling about, my men and I should provide you an escort to your destination.”

Although Belle greeted the suggestion with concealed dismay, a spirit of mischief also stirred inside her.

Ever since the Revolution had first swept through France, she had had more than one occasion to escape to the coast, but she had never done so decorously escorted by a contingent of the Revolutionary Army.

Yet when she caught a glimpse of Madame Coterin’s face sick with apprehension, Belle suppressed the devilish impulse to make even more a fool of Sergeant Lefranc than she already had.

She graciously refused his offer, assuring him that she did not mean to travel much farther that day. When he continued to press her, she silenced him by saying, “And I have no wish to get you into difficulties, sir, by drawing you so far away from your garrison.”

The sergeant stopped in midsentence, clamping his lips together and looking uncomfortable.

It was just as she suspected, Belle told herself.

The good Lefranc had already exceeded his authority by traveling even this far from the town of Elboeuf.

After a few more weak protestations, he was content to take his leave of her, pressing a kiss upon the back of her hand before closing the coach door.

The sergeant remounted his horse and signaled to her coachman that he was free to continue.

Belle heard Feydeau spit out a final oath before whipping up the horses. As the coach lumbered into movement, a heavy silence settled over the interior, a silence that remained unbroken until they saw the last of Sergeant Lefranc and his farewell salute.

“Insolent dog,” Phillipe muttered, glaring out the window.

“He was but carrying out his mission,” Belle said.

Madame Coterin released the death grip she held upon Sophie long enough to cross herself. “Thank the Bon Dieu.”

“Not God, Maman,” Phillipe said. “We must thank Mademoiselle Isabelle.” His eyes lit up with admiration. “Never have I known any other woman possessing such sangfroid, such courage.”

I was simply carrying out my mission,” Belle said.

But that was not true, she thought. She was being paid to spy upon the French army, to gauge the extent of military preparations in France, not to rescue the Coterin family.

She would likely receive a blistering communication from Victor Merchant regarding her deviation from duty.

Ah, well. Belle shrugged. She would consign it to the fire as she did with all the unpleasant notices from her employer.

“In any case,” she said aloud to forestall further compliments from Phillipe, “we stood in no danger. Luckily the sergeant was not looking for us.”

“Lucky indeed!” Phillipe’s face clouded. “For all the protection I provided, sitting there like a great lump. I should have?—”

“You should have done exactly what you did. Kept quiet and kept your head. You behaved most sensibly.”

The bitter set of Phillipe’s mouth showed that he was unconvinced by Belle’s words. She thought it best to let the matter drop, but Madame Coterin chimed in, scolding her son.

“Oui. We want none of your heroics, I beg of you, my Phillipe. It is bad enough to have lost your poor papa to this accursed folly. I will not see the Revolution consume my boy as well.”

Phillipe flushed with mortification.

“According to your Consul Bonaparte’s decrees, the Revolution is over,” Belle said dryly.

“The Revolution will never be over.” Phillipe’s hands clenched. “Not until the monarchy is restored, the killing of King Louis avenged, not until his brother is seated upon the throne?—”

“ Tais-toi , Phillipe!” his mother cried. “You grow to sound more like your papa. I cannot bear it. I care not who governs France. All I want is peace, to keep my children safe.”

It was a prayer many French mothers had voiced during the endless years since the mobs of Paris had pulled down the Bastille stone by stone, since Dr. Guillotin’s grim invention had been erected in the Place de Grave, since the streets had flowed with so much blood even the horses pulling the tumbrils of the condemned had reared back in fear.

Fresh tears coursed down Madame Coterin’s cheeks. Belle leaned across the seat to take the woman’s hand in a strong clasp.

“And so you shall keep them safe, madame. I promise you. It is not much farther to the coast. By nightfall we shall be crossing the channel to England, a new life for all of you.”

Madame Coterin stiffened. Belle sensed the rebuff and withdrew her hand immediately. She understood only too well, she thought with some bitterness. Madame might be grateful to Belle for the rescue, but Belle was, after all, a spy, scarcely an occupation any decent woman would pursue.

Madame Coterin sniffed, struggling to compose her features. “I beg your pardon. It is not my custom to carry on so. But I am so very tired.”

“Of course,” Belle said. “You should try to rest. It will not be long before we reach the next posting station.”

Madame nodded. She sagged back against the cushions, gathering her little girl up in her arms. A strange child, the little Sophie, Belle thought.

So quiet one often forgot she was there, even her weeping muted as though she had learned at a tender age, if one must cry, it was best done as silently as possible.

Belle’s gaze traveled to each of the Coterins in turn, Sophie, her eyes overlarge in her wan face, Madame Coterin, her dark hair prematurely streaked gray and Phillipe, the squaring of his slight shoulders doing little to hide the fact he felt just as frightened, just as lost as his mother and sister.

Damn Laurent Coterin to hell, Belle thought.

Although she and the late chevalier had both worked for the same network of royalist agents, Coterin had been an amateur, a hopelessly incompetent spy.

He had been arrested on suspicion of intercepting Napoleon’s dispatches, and easily convicted because Laurent had put his notes in the old Julius Caesar code, a cipher so simple a child could break it.

The chevalier had crowned his folly by getting himself shot in a botched escape attempt from prison.

But in Belle’s eyes Coterin’s most unpardonable sin had been implicating his innocent family in his activities, while never making any provision for their safety in the event of his being discovered.

“Is the sun in your eyes, mademoiselle?”

Belle was startled out of her reflections by Phillipe’s voice. “I beg your pardon?”

“You scowled so just a moment ago. I thought the sun might be bothering you. I could draw the shades if you wish.”

“By all means. If you want to announce to the world we have something to hide.”

“Oh. Of course not.” The young man gave her a rueful smile. “How clever you are, mademoiselle, to think of such small details.”

It was one of the reasons she was still alive, Belle thought. But she merely returned Phillipe’s smile and lapsed into silence. Despite the rough sway of the carriage, Madame Coterin and her daughter managed to drift into a sleep borne of exhaustion.

Their journey, which had begun when Belle had met them with the coach in the Rouvray Forest outside of Paris three days ago, had been an arduous one, though not as eventful as Belle had anticipated.

They had only been stopped once and that by Sergeant Lefranc.

But the apprehension of being overtaken had been in itself nerve-racking, that and the additional distress caused by one of the carriage poles snapping outside of Rouen.

But soon, Belle prayed, very soon she would bring this mission to a successful conclusion.

Unable to relax, Belle stared out the window at the gentle monotony of the Norman country-side, the flat meadows dotted with cows, here and there the gray stone of a farmhouse or an apple orchard, the trees laden with ripening fruit.

No grand, breathtaking vista, and yet the scene was somehow more satisfying with its aura of peace, of normalcy.

She watched the sun setting behind a wheat field recently harvested.

As the fiery orb bathed the sky in a glow of rose and gold, a rare sense of tranquility stole over Belle.

She would have liked to have clung to the feeling, but was disturbed all too soon. The leather seat creaked as Phillipe shifted and cleared his throat. Reluctantly she dragged her gaze from the window and realized the young man was staring at her, likely had been doing so for some time.

The last rays of the sun caught the shine of his beardless face, the brightness of his eyes. Was he regarding her perhaps a shade too tenderly? Belle had caught such an expression on his face more than once, but she kept hoping that she only imagined what it portended.

When she caught him staring, the boy averted his eyes. He coughed again. “I was wondering, mademoiselle?—”

“Yes?” Belle’s tone was not encouraging.

“Well …” Phillipe swallowed. “I was wondering. How did a lady like you became involved in this dangerous work? Indeed, I envy you. Such an exciting life you must lead.”