Page 85 of Souvenir of Love

“Give ’em back, then, citizen.”

“Not until we know whether these people are spies, citizen.”

“Regard,” James whispered to Marcus, “the discipline of the new order.”

“You.” Jean turned to James. “What were you saying? I won’t have prisoners speaking in code.”

“I’m sorry,” James said in a tone that was less than apologetic. “I was unaware we were prisoners. What I said to my companion here was that I hoped your stomach was in good order.”

“And why should you be concerned with the workings of my stomach?”

James put a hand to his gorge. “Because I have seen Duval without his patch. Indeed, when I hired the man, I insisted he wear it. Believe me, citizen, when the man says his eye is not pretty, he is generously understating the case.”

The stout soldier glared at Henri, who snapped, “Step to it, and let us find the truth of this matter.”

“Why amIthe one always having to see to the nasty work?” Jean muttered, walking toward Duval as though he had heavy stones in his boots. “The farmer with the boil, the baby with the spots, the old woman with the vomiting sickness…”

“These are desperate times!” Henri said sternly. “The enemies of the people will take on any guise to escape the retribution of the Republic.” He waved with his handful of identity papers at Duval’s patch. “Inspect it.”

Jean’s expression was grim, and his fingers shook as he reached for the stained scrap of leather.

“Is this really necessary?” Elizabeth tried to step forward but was prevented by the rifle of one of the guardsmen. “Look at the man.” She gestured over the bar of the gun. “Look at his clothes, his hair, his teeth. You can’t honestly believe?—”

“Do not tell us what to believe, citizeness.” Henri glared at her. “Your kind has done that in this country for far too long.” He turned back to Jean. “Lift the damn thing!”

As if he were flipping a spider from a plate, Jean flipped up the patch, covered his mouth, and staggered back.

“What did you see?” Henri demanded.

“Yellow ooze, clots of blood”—Jean gagged through his fingers—“and the devil knows what else.” He whispered, “Bits of eyeball.”

“Are you certain?”

“Feel free to look for yourself!”

Henri unconsciously took a step backward. “Your word is sufficient.” He nodded at Joley. “Cover that up.”

Joley smiled, revealing his stained teeth. “As you wish, citizen.”

James saw a grin flicker across Andre’s face; it was truly astonishing what eggs, jam, a dab of paint, and spirit gum could achieve.

Henri, who was still holding the company’s papers in his hands, looked around at them and at the stout soldier who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and raised his voice. “You think it is unnecessary to be so thorough in our inspections? To raise a woman’s skirts and to expose a working man’s festering wound? And I tell you yes, a thousand times, yes. The citizens of this country are fighting for their lives against the insidious forces of the ancient regime. Our enemies are clever. They try to disguise themselves as friends, neighbors, sympathetic foreigners. No one is above suspicion and no one is above the law.”

“Revolution is not for those with delicate stomachs,” he continued, looking pointedly at Jean. “Yesterday we received word that Citizen Marat stormed the National Assembly and expelled twenty-two members—Girondins.”

“But why?” Surprise made James speak before he thought. “They were amongst the first aristocrats to renounce their titles. And all of them voted for the execution of the king…”

“Do not call him the king; he died as Citizen Capet, nothing more,” Henri corrected him sharply. “What you say about the Girondins is true, but we have since learned that they have been deceiving the people. Fortunately, Citizen Marat uncovered their perfidy. Most have been imprisoned. Some have fled to Caen, but rest assured they will find no haven there. Or here.”

“That is in the opposite direction of where we are headed. Surely you do not suspect us of being amongst their number.”

“Not them.” The thin man handed Joley his papers, apparently unaware—or uncaring—that the comte’s hand was shaking. Then he returned Marcus’s, Andre’s, and David’s. When James stepped forward, he put up his hand.

“Is there a problem?” James said, frowning.

“No problem at all. At least not for them.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They are free to go.”

“I thought you said you did not suspect us of being Girondins,” Elizabeth said.