A/N: Sorry for the mishap with the format last time. Hopefully it's all worked out this time around.

"I wish I had known when I signed on that these assignments would be so invigorating! I could have been spared much grief. Who knew it was so easy?" The voice was excited, young, and decidedly male. "He seemed genuinely surprised, but anyone in his position should have known that his end was nigh. Even so, it was quite thrilling."

A second, equally young-sounding man replied. "I did tell you not to worry about it. You are just too pre-occupied with yourself to listen to me," he paused. "Do tell me exactly what happened so that I may include in the report for Monsieur."

"Well, it was late last night, so it was quite dark when I confronted him at last. Like I said before—I was nervous. I didn't want to chance that someone could identify me after the fact," the original voice spoke. "I tracked him from the gentlemen's club I was told he frequents. Apparently it's one of those talking ones. The most exciting thing that goes on is a good, rousing debate. He made a few stops, a hoity-toity bistro, an apple cart, he picked up a new cane from a clothier, and then he took a back alley to return to his family home. At one point the alley emptied except for us, so that's where I did it. 'Mssr. Beauparlant!' I called. He sort of stumbled in surprise, then turned to face me.

'My good man!' He exclaimed and chuckled. 'You startled me. What are you doing out this time of the day? Only old ones such as myself have the disregard to walk about in the dead of night.'

I was not standing near to him, I did not want to spook him. 'I have been looking for you,' I had to raise my voice so he could hear. 'I have a message for you.'

'You've found me. Who sent you, young man?'

'Monsieur,' I replied. He jerked in shock and began to back away from me.

'I have no quarrel with him or his cause. Take that back to him, tell him to leave us be!' I'm sure he knew by now where this was going. As he backed away, I approached.

'He gave me a message for you. He instructed that you were only to hear it with your expiring breath—' which, I know he didn't really require that, but I think I got caught up in the moment—'so I have been sent to facilitate the process.'

I raised my revolver and he fell back against the stone wall. Then I pulled the trigger. The whole ordeal was quite exhilarating: the jerk of the gun, the sound of it firing, and the look on his face when he realized who I was. I must say," he paused "I can't wait to do it again. Has he given you another assignment for me?"

"Not as of yet. Napoleon's crowd is very careful. We thought for sure we had some of them in Versailles. Alas, they slipped through our fingers. The lot of them are making big trouble with Monsieur. Rumor on the street is that the King himself is in league with the bastard. That's why they're so difficult to pin down."

"No! Who is saying that?"

"A very reliable source from Paris."

"Then who are Napoleon's rebels rebelling against?"

"Methinks they are just rebelling for the sake of rebelling. And because they adore Napoleon. He is the champion of the people."

"No, they are rebelling against their lives. They have put up with all sorts of tyrannical nobility for long enough."

"You might want to be careful what you are saying. Remember that I do report directly to Monsieur."

"You wouldn't dare report your old friend for an innocent faux pas."

"You're right." He sighed. "I'm on edge recently. I constantly see the King's men out of the corner of my eye. Even now, I feel like we are watched. Do you ever get that impression?"

"I have it now."

Their voices ceased and I leaned farther forward into the curtain. Were they whispering? I wanted to hear. I leaned a bit farther into the thick curtain and let out a yelp when I put a hand up to grip the curtain and it rippled away from me, causing me to lose my balance and pitching me forward through the slit in the curtain and into the other half of the room. Once I'd managed to catch my balance and stood upright, I ended up once again staggering, backward this time, to get away from the two men suddenly towering over me.

"What in bloody hell are you doing in here?"

"I—I…" My voice stuck in my throat and my eyes grew wide as dessert plates.

They looked at each other.

"Just how—how long have you been here, Sweetheart?"

"O—only a minute." I squeaked as I regained my senses and began to slowly back away. These men were murderers. Like actual, real life cold-blooded killers. They slaughtered innocent people who only wanted a better life for themselves and their children. I had to get out of there, away from them. Where was Phillipe? God, my mother always told me my curious nature would get me in trouble. I never dreamed it would get me dead.

"Oh, boy. She heard enough to be scared."

"Come here, Sweetheart. We won't hurt you." One of them, the taller one, started toward me. I tripped over my own two feet trying to back out of his reach and smacked into the table by the door. He lunged toward me and grabbed me by the arms.

"No!" I tried to jerk away from him but he just slammed me into the table again. "No! Let go of me! Let go!"

The other one approached and a double-barreled handgun was pressed onto the side of my head. His other hand plastered itself to my mouth, effectively cutting off my cries. "Scream again and you won't live to see another morning. Now I'm going to remove my hand and we're all going to go for a little ride." He moved the gun from my head to my side and I could feel the bite of the metal through my dress. Then his fingers slowly peeled themselves away from my face. Once they were gone I took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Okay," the shorter one gripping my arms began, "let's go out through the back. Can't have any of the staff seeing us." He pulled me around and tucked my arm into his. We stepped toward the door and the tall one with the gun opened one of them. Shorty led me through and I felt the one with the gun close behind. The door clicked behind us as we made our way down the hall.

Footsteps sounded off the tile floor ahead of us. "Smile," the man beside me snapped.

A graceful smile sprang to my face. A maid passed us by.

A lifetime later, we reached a door that led out the back of the chateau. The man beside me spoke, "You will come with us. No protests. Remain calm and no harm will come to you," I nodded slightly. The man with the gun stepped into a waiting carriage in the back drive of Phillipe's chateau.

One thing puzzled me: what were these men doing in my friend's house?

I was pulled into the cab by the man with the gun and the other followed closely behind. Once the gunman had instructed the driver with a location he made sure I didn't hear, he turned to me. "How did you happen upon us?"

"I—I am—was a guest of Mssr. Davants. I was freshening up for dinner and became lost in the house. I thought I was supposed to stay in the parlor until the younger Mssr. Davants collected me. I didn't know there was someone else in the room. I apologize for snooping, but I was unnecessarily curious. I apologize." Tears sprang to my eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

In reality, I was not really as scared as I made out to be. I mean, yeah, my heart was racing and I felt slightly breathless, but I did still have my wits about me. My mind was spinning, examining the jostling of the carriage. The turns. The direction. When, if ever, was the best time to throw myself out the door and escape.

"I want to go home. When can I go home?" I tried not to let my voice shake. I wasn't successful.

The two of them shared a glance. A glance that made me extremely uneasy. "What's the first thing you heard? And don't lie, because he'll know," the gunman pointed to his shorter friend, whose lips kicked upward into an unnerving smirk.

I took a breath. If I told him I heard the thing about the person named "Monsieur" and the murder that had just occurred, they'd kill me for sure. If I told him the first thing I heard was about Napoleon, Shorty might know I was lying and they'd kill me. If I refused to answer, they'd kill me. I couldn't think of a scenario where I didn't end up dead. So I did the thing that gave me the best shot, I lied. "Something—" My voice cracked on the word, "something about Napoleon…" I tried to make just the right amount of eye contact that wouldn't make them overly suspicious. When I looked at the shorter one I saw something in his eyes I didn't like, so I did what all society women are trained to do in stressful situations like these: I fainted.

I made a little gasping noise and let my eyes roll back in my head before drifting my eyelids shut and crumpling back against the cushioned seat.

"Was it true?" One of the men, the one with the gun surely, asked.

"The tip-off usually comes after the lie. Up until she passed out, I was ready to call her a liar, but I've never met a noblewoman who could—" I felt a hand sharply tapping my cheeks, "faint dead away like this. Usually, there's some tension around the eyes right here," a finger traced along my eyelids, "indicative of a false swoon."

"So you believe her?"

"Maybe."

"Enough to let her go? Wouldn't want to upset Monsieur by harming her."

"Why would he care if we harmed her?"

I didn't like not being able to see their faces and reactions.

"You know…"

"Spit it out, it's not like she's conscious."

"But—she could hear us on some level, right?"

I heard a snort. "Not likely. Are you saying you know of her? That Monsieur knows her?"

"Yes. She's—" I heard some faint whispering and a scoff.

"No! Really? Well, we'd better take her back then." He called out the window to the driver again and we turned around.

My mind whirled. I knew this Monsieur? This man who ordered people to be killed for nothing more than sympathizing with the rebels knew me? Would be troubled if I was harmed? A strong smelling substance was wafted under my nose and I made my eyes flutter open. Smelling salts, made especially for the weak-hearted women of the world.

"We have no purpose with you if you promise not to go to the police." The one with the gun spoke after I had regained my posture.

The short one cleared his throat. "Soft."

"I—I promise!" I gasped. "Please, just return me to the Davants' and I promise won't say a word."

The carriage lurched to a halt.

The driver disembarked and opened the door. "Mademoiselle." He said and held out his hand.

"Remember your promise." The man with the gun warned.

"I will." I said tremulously.

"Besides," the short one began, "no one would believe you, anyway." The door shut on their indecent chuckles and the horses thundered away.

Jacques the butler rushed to meet me when I pushed open the heavy doors. "Mademoiselle, the younger Mssr. Davants has nearly driven himself mad searching for you. Shall I call for him?"

"Do, please," I answered and stepped through the main door. Jacques rushed off to fetch Phillipe.

Soon, I heard his boots beating out a steady rhythm as he ran to the front of the chateau. He took my hand and led me into a parlor. Once the door was shut and we were alone, he lost it.

"Where were you? I had the whole staff searching for you!" He took my one of my clammy hands in his. "You can't do that to me. You can't run off and let me lose my head looking for you. What happened? Why were you outside?"

I cast my eyes downward and sighed.

He stopped me. "No theatrics, Alix."

So I looked him right in the eye. "I can't tell you all of what happened. What I can tell you though, is that the people whose carriage from which I've just alighted would have scared you or anyone more sensible than me silly and that they are very very bad," I stepped back. "I'm sorry, Phillipe, but I regret to inform you that I will not be able to have dinner with your family this fine night. I hope you will forgive my bad manners."

He blinked. I had obviously upset him.

"Jacques?" I called. Jacques' shoes scuffled down the hallway toward us. "Will you have my carriage brought around please?"

"Of course, Mademoiselle." He then retreated back into the shadows of the Davants' massive chateau.

"I will return on the morrow," I paused. "Those are my intentions. You will follow up if I do not show?"

He nodded slightly.

"Thank you, Phillipe, for opening your house to me. Until tomorrow." I turned and strode through the open door to my waiting carriage. I didn't look back.

"Wait. Alexandrine." Okay, so maybe I did.

"Yes, Phillipe?"

He closed the distance between us incredibly fast. "You can't tell me anything? I could help, I could—" I cut him off.

"Let me do what I can to deal with it. If I need help, I promise I'll come for you. Alright?" A smile sprang to my lips when he nodded and I turned and walked away. This time, I didn't look back. Not that I didn't want to.