"Giovanni and I will come for you an hour after sunset," said René. "We'll come in through the rear door."
Theresa nodded. "You're certain it will work?"
"Yes," said René. "Giovanni will start a fire somewhere else, somewhere far away from here. The guards will have to leave the cathedral in order to contain it."
She did not like the idea of her cousin doing something dangerous and illegal for her sake. What if Giovanni was caught? Surely the penalty for purposely starting a fire was a harsh one; what would happen to him if he was caught? Would he be tortured? Executed? The thoughts were too horrible, and Theresa shook them away. As much as she hated the idea of Giovanni risking so much for her, she knew that he and René had probably gone over every other option.
"It will be fine," said René.
"All right. I trust you."
She found herself remembering the way he'd put his arm around her shoulders the previous night, and now wished that he would hold her again. There had been something pure and comforting about his touch, and Theresa found herself wanting it again. She wondered what his kiss felt like, and she suddenly felt ashamed. René was a soldier, soldiers only wanted one thing from women, especially Gypsy women, but…but René was different. He wasn't like the other soldiers. He was kind to her, and his kindness seemed strange and foreign. Was it even possible for soldiers to be kind? Would he want something in return if he helped her escape? Would he want her body? Surely Giovanni wouldn't let him, surely Giovanni would stop him, and she still had the knife he'd given her.
"I have to go," said René. He touched her shoulder. His touch was hesitant, tentative, as though he was afraid of crushing her. His hand was large and calloused, but warm and gentle at the same time. "You're safe in here," he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
She watched him go, wishing she could call out to him, to beg him to stay with her. She hugged herself, closing her eyes and imagining his embrace.
~xXx~
He was secretly relieved when René told him to go home. Jean-Claude had been up for most of the night, had barely slept, and was now afraid he'd collapse. He highly doubted that today would be the day the Gypsy witch decided to leave the safety of the cathedral. He found himself remembering her, and his memories were highly unpleasant. Her eyes, staring up at him, silently pleading, begging for mercy. He had been so close, so dangerously close to committing a sin in the house of God. Thankfully he'd had enough self-control to break her spell in time.
Cosette was sitting at her dressing table when he arrived. She looked genuinely surprised to see him, but he could see some happiness and relief in her eyes. He sat down on their bed, pulling off his uniform, suddenly unable to stay awake. She came to him silently, crawling into bed beside him and pulling the blankets over them. He slept in her arms, his head resting against her breast. He could hear her heartbeat, loud and steady, and it comforted him. He had lost his son, his heir, but he had not lost her. Perhaps, after the witch was executed, she would conceive again, and this time, the baby would not die.
~xXx~
Giovanni had counted and re-counted his money. He had a fairly decent amount, enough to last his family for a few months if they were careful, but he'd hoped for more. He stared down at the coins in disgust. Had he really sacrificed so much to gain so little? Had he abandoned Katarina and their babies for a pile of coins? Had he put Theresa in danger for money? He couldn't bear to look at the money anymore, and he shoved the coin pouch into his knapsack. He briefly wondered if he should go and see his grandmother, beg her forgiveness, and the thought angered him.
She would only refuse him, would only further insult his family. She would call Theresa a whore and a witch, and would probably say the same things about Katarina. Whether or not she loved him was irrelevant; she hated the fact that he was a Gypsy, that he'd been raised by them and that he loved the people who had taken care of him. His aunt had been more of a mother than his actual birth-mother. When he heard the word 'mother,' it was her face he saw.
He found himself tempted to go and tell his grandmother that he hated her, that she had no right to speak so poorly of his family, but he shoved the temptations aside. He had no time to go and grind the axe. Besides, he doubted that she would listen to him. She would probably have him thrown out, or perhaps even arrested. He could not afford to be tossed into a dungeon, not when he had to help Theresa.
~xXx~
He was relieved that Jean-Claude had agreed to go home. He'd looked gaunt and ragged, as though he hadn't slept in days. René was more afraid he'd wind up hurting himself than Theresa. He watched Jean-Claude leave, feeling relief wash over him, and went over the plans again in his head.
Giovanni would start a fire, and it would spread quickly. Jean-Claude would be forced to release the guards from Notre Dame, Theresa would be able to escape. Hopefully, she and Giovanni would be out of Paris before Jean-Claude realized she'd gone.
René suddenly found himself hating the idea. Jean-Claude was his best friend. He didn't want to betray him like this. Theresa's execution would give Jean-Claude peace of mind, closure; her escape would devastate and emasculate him. As much as René did not want to cause his friend such pain and humiliation, he forced himself to think of Theresa. He couldn't let Jean-Claude execute her. He loved her. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and make her smile, he wanted to see her laugh, he wanted her to live. It suddenly occurred to him that he would never see her again. She and Giovanni would return to Lyon, and he would remain behind in Paris, covering their tracks and leading Jean-Claude away from them.
The thought stung him. Could he really go his whole life without ever seeing her again? Life would be empty and lonely without her. If he left Paris and went to Lyon, what would happen, though? Jean-Claude would suspect him, would hunt him down and kill him. And Theresa, well, she'd made it clear that she didn't love him back. She'd been taught not to trust soldiers, and she couldn't unlearn that lesson. Even though he'd shown her that he was different, that he was kind, that he loved her, she could never love him back. Perhaps it would be better if he never saw her again. Seeing her, knowing she couldn't ever love him, would be agony.
No, it would be best if they went their separate ways. She would return to Lyon, and he would stay in Paris. He would forget her eventually. Perhaps he'd marry, and if he had a daughter, he would call her 'Theresa,' after the pretty Gypsy girl who'd stolen his heart.
~xXx~
"Where are you, little witch?"
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…"
Theresa did not recognize the voices, but she knew that they were soldiers. She swallowed, slipping her hand into her sash and gripping the knife handle. Knowing she had it, knowing that she could protect herself, was comforting. She slowly stepped out of the shadows, turning to the two soldiers.
"There she is."
"I told you she was still in here."
They approached her, and she had to fight the urge to run. Running would only entice them, invite them to chase after her. It would show her fear, and would ultimately amuse them, give them another reason to laugh at her. "What do you want?" she asked.
"We were wondering if you'd like to surrender today."
She shook her head. "I haven't done anything wrong."
They stepped closer to her, and she suddenly wished that René was there with her. He would make them leave her alone. He would protect her. "Well, perhaps you'd like something else…"
The soldier snickered, and his comrade held out an apple. Theresa glared at them. She was not hungry; René had given her some bread and cheese earlier. She knew, though, what these men would demand in exchange for the apple, and she would never give it to them, no matter how hungry she was. She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
"Oh, come on, little witch! You've been in here for nearly four days. Surely even witches need to eat…"
"We don't want much in return."
They both laughed. "Nothing you haven't given away before, anyway."
"No," she said, glaring at them. "Never."
The soldiers' features darkened, and Theresa slowly slipped her hand back into the sash of her skirt, gripping the knife. "No matter," said one of them, biting into the apple. "The little whore can't hide in here forever." They left, and Theresa watched them go. She leaned against the wall, letting the relief wash over her. She eased her grip on the knife's handle, wishing that the sun would hurry up and sink below the horizon. Once the sun had set, the plan would go into motion, and she would be free from this wretched cathedral.