The August sun in Paris felt quite merciful against its southern counter part. Denis fished through his pocket for the key and then opened the chateau gate. She missed this place. The copious living space, the beautiful gardens, Henri's cooking, and the cooler summers were a welcome return.

Two of the guards, Alphonse and Franz, looked over at them as they entered, before getting back to their conversation.

Denis and Élise arriving ahead of the Fédérés (the ones from Marseille, at least), despite that Servan had already ordered they be brought to Paris. A marching army was only as fast as its slowest person, so moving a large number of men was always a glacial thing.

They got the stone front steps and opened its regal doors

Timothee was talking with his wife, and immediately turned to see them. He threw his arms into the air with joy.

"Oh Denis, Élise! It's so good to see both of you! Augh! It feels like an eternity since you've left!"

"The feeling's mutual, Monsieur. I was getting sick of the fish and the heat. It's good to be back in Paris. Especially in your company." That was the warmest thing she had ever heard Denis say, even if his delivery was rather deadpan.

Timothee sat down on the couch which faced the entrance. "So how is your mère, Denis? She - say, where is Monsieur Dorian?"

"Arno? He managed to find a trusted spot in the militia. He's coming back to Paris with them."

The Chobat patriarch suddenly looked a little worried. "Are you sure that was wise, leaving him so far out of your grasp?"

Élise spoke up. "He's proven a loyal servant to our order. He slew two Illuminati traitors, never tried to run off."

"La fille is correct," Denis said. "We even considered leaving him in Marsielle and returning here after we killed Pons, but deemed that too risky." It still felt odd to hear Rodet's real name.

"Ah, well...très bien. Please, sit down!" He gestured to the chairs. Élise got the sense he was not fully comfortable with the decision, but willing to move on.

As Denis sunk into his seat he asked, "So, is there anything that's happened in Paris that you haven't told me about in writing?"

"Much: The Assembly closed Le Sorbonne, said its teaching were 'too conservative.' And they passed decrees sentencing any priest denounced by twenty citizen to deportation. And a threatening letter from the Duke of Brunswick has made its way here. They're calling it 'The Brunswick Manifesto.'"

"The Duke of Brunswick...he's the head of our enemy's army, isn't he?"

"Oui. And Marquis Lafayette...He came back to the Paris to speak in front of the Assembly about the growing influence of radicals in our government. The Illuminati swines spun this as a desertion. I suspect it's only a matter of time before they put out a warrant for his arrest."

"Clever salaudes."

"We have someone in place to succeed him, though," Timothee said, leaning forwards, hands on his thighs. "Antoine Jean Mandat is his name. A bit cozy with the royalty for my tastes, but a good man."

"Huh, another royalist," Denis sneered.

"Denis!" Martin cried, having somehow made it onto the scene. "How was Marseille!?"

"Too bloody hot and too much fish."

Timothee spoke. "Martin's workload has been doubled since you left. It seems the Illuminati has been making many a new friend. Georges Danton, Camille Desmoulins, and a young fire named Antoine Saint-Just; Although I suspect Saint-Just has been working with them for quite a while now!"

Élise finally spoke, "Are they going to be our next targets, or would you rather thin the ranks of the Fédérés?"

"That won't be so easy when they're camped outside the city in the tens of thousands."

Tens of thousands!?

There was a moment of thick silence.

"Tens of thousands...I...Are there really that many?"

"The Legislative Assembly has permitted the encampment of twenty-thousand south of the city. I believe some from Brittany have already arrived."

"That's the size of a small city," Élise said with horror.