Their hands and stride locked together, their chemistry through the night had been sublime. He was confident this woman could be his future wife. She was intelligent and very well-read. She had ventured the tomes of Plutarch, Rosseau, and Voltaire. Between her rich literary life and experiences in the city during this pivotal period, their conversations had been fascinating.
"So you said you live here in the city. Where do you live, exactly?"
She stopped dancing. She stared at Arno, mute. There was silence. He knew he had tripped a wire of some kind, but how-
She released her grip on his hand. Then she turned, lifted her dress slightly, and began dashing away.
Arno looked on with hurt and astonishment.
"Elise, wait, I -"
Arno's heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. Was that an improper question? How?
He jumped as he heard Pierre's voice.
"Pisspot, you learned anything?"
He turned to the bearded man.
"I...no."
Arno had avoided prying too hard to not arouse suspicion, but it had been all for naught. Two failures in a single night.
But Bellec was surprisingly forgiving. "Well, I think what I said before stands. Mirabeau's going to be our main man. That Mason rat has the ear of the king. I think he may even be using the Apple."