I am so very sorry that I left this for so long. I got a lot of ideas all at once and I wanted to try writing the first chapter of them. Now I have about 15 stories all requiring a next chapter. Thus, this story will be probably be slow to update. But I'm starting to pay attention to it again.
A few points: I re-read the chapters before these - and I absolutely hate them. They're awfully written. So my style probably changes in this chapter. I do apologise - mainly cause I won't be going back to change them at the moment - I have no time!
Another thing, the accents being written in were annoying me so, in this chapter, I've dropped them. From now on, in any of my stories, they will only have written accents if they are making them more pronounced deliberately for such purposes as hiding their identity. In a weird, roundabout way...
Finally, just to let you know that the start of this chapter has a lot of French conversation. So as to prevent spoilers, the translation will be at the end of this chapter.
Well, enjoy - if you can.
Francis beamed at the woman on his arm. The pretty brunette looked smitten – then again, most women around him tended to look like that. Honestly, he would rather not be with her. But, without Antonio and Gilbert to keep him company, he had gotten lonely over the last month.
Had it really been that long since he had seen the shocked Alice? It had taken so long to get back to France yet he wished he was still in England, watching his love. That was impossible, he knew. The Bonnefoys were being hunted in the British Empire. Luckily, they held no sway over their homeland so they had fled here with much secrecy and last minute change of plans.
Not letting any of this show, Francis helped the young woman around a busy couple and through the door of the only tavern in town. He had met her by the river and they had gotten talking. Glad for conversation which didn't require speaking to his parents, he had asked her for a drink. She had readily agreed. Francis wished for a woman who wasn't quite so quick to follow him.
Inside the small inn, there were several raucous groups of men. They cheered as they spotted the beauty accompanying Francis. The girl pressed against him, trying to procure his protection and affection. Francis tried not to look too annoyed and led her to a quieter table. He surveyed the plain interior, the cheap wooden tables not to Francis' taste.
"Je serai de retour, ma chère," Francis whispered in the woman's ear. She giggled and nodded. Heading to the bar, he noticed two men in cloaks sitting at the bar. One was larger than the other but they seemed to be companions. "Votre meilleur vin, s'il vous plaît," he said to the barman. The burly man nodded and obliged. As Francis waited, he got the feeling he was being watched. Glancing round, he saw that the large man beside him was not moving, concentrating. Was he watching him? Francis felt wary as he took the tray offered to him.
When he returned to the table, he lifted the bottle and glasses from the tray and placed them gently on the table. "Oh!" said the woman, impressed. "Le meilleur vin? Incroyable! Comment êtes-vous riche?"
"Assez riche," replied Francis with a mysterious smile. The woman giggled again as he poured her some wine. As she delicately lifted her glass to her rouge lips, Francis wondered if imagining her as Alice would help him with the rest of the conversation. She seemed like a nice person but, with him pining for Alice, she was fast becoming tedious.
Imagining the woman as Alice did not work. By the time they had finished the bottle of wine, she was drunk and Francis was fed up with the circular conversation. He wanted to go home but he could not leave her in the state she was in. There were far too many predators watching her from the other tables.
"Je vais vous chercher un verre d'eau. Attendez ici." Francis headed to the bar where the two men were still seated. Well, one was still seated. The other seemed to be restless and kept swaying on the stool. As Francis explained his request to the barman, he could feel eyes on him again. Were these men here because of him?
This question was driven from his mind by the door being thrown open. Everyone jolted in their seats and turned to stare. Francis turned as well and watched as a woman in a cloak entered the bar. She kept her hood up and, if it had not been for the dress she was wearing, it would be too dark to work out if the newcomer was male or female. The stranger brushed past all the tables till she sat at the only remaining place, facing the young lady who was accompanying Francis.
The Frenchman frowned. This was rather strange behaviour. She hadn't even approached the bar. Not only that, she was alone. Where was her chaperone? He was sure it would be dangerous for women to be in the tavern alone – most of the men were drunk.
Startled by a sudden movement, he watched as the barman hurried around the bar and set a large flagon of ale onto her table. The woman made no move to lift it. Once the barman had returned, he handed Francis a glass of water which he had boiled and cooled on his instructions. The barkeep glared at him before Francis left and he had the distinct impression that a lot of people in the room hated him.
Back at the table, he handed the glass to the woman who lifted it to her lips. Before she could press her delicate lips against the cool surface of the container, a voice sounded close by. "Je ne voudrais pas boire ce, mademoiselle." Francis looked round to find the cloaked woman beside him. "Il pourrait y avoir quelque chose dedans."
"Pardon?" said Francis' companion. She was frowning in suspicion and confusion. "Vous savez Francis?"
Before Francis could interject, the mystery woman replied. "Oui. Je le connais bien. Et vous ne devez pas vous laisser berner par son charmes."
This time Francis frowned. This woman sounded as though she may be someone he had had relations with at some point. Her tone sounded bitter so perhaps it had not ended well. Thinking hard, Francis tried to work out who it could be. However, the only woman he could think of who he had left in a horrible state was...
A hand darted out and grabbed Francis' hair. It slammed his head into the table and, dazed he tried to look up at the person he feared and hoped it would be. Sure enough, the woman's hood had fallen to reveal beautiful long, blonde hair and fearsome green eyes.
Alice had found him.
Gasping, Francis tried to sit up straight. However, Alice was stronger than she looked and his head banged against the table once more. "Alice!" he croaked. "Alice, you-!"
"Silence!" snarled Alice, her face twisted in fury. "Don't you dare talk to me!"
"Francis?" said the other woman.
"Did you not listen to me, you crass strumpet?" snapped Alice. "Laissez ici maintenant!"
With wide eyes, the lady rose rather unsteadily. She backed away until she was obstructed by a wall of angry Frenchmen. She squealed and struggled against them but the men only ushered her out of the tavern. The drunks seemed to be ready to fight. Alice simply stared back at them. "Obtenez ses!" one shouted and the mass pounced towards her as one.
"Non!" exclaimed Francis, trying to rise to protect Alice. The Englishwoman, however, pushed his head down again, whacking it off the wooden table once again. Otherwise, she didn't move as every patron of the establishment bore down on her. "Alice!" cried Francis once again. Why was she not moving?
As it transpired, she did not need to move. The two men at the bar removed their cloaks and entered the fray. The larger one used his cloak to obstruct the other men by whipping it off and throwing it in their direction in one swift motion. He drew his sword and leapt forward. The entirety of Ludwig's weight bore down on the smaller Frenchmen as he fought. Feliciano, meanwhile, draped his cloak over Francis' head. The Frenchman panicked: now he could not see what was happening.
Only a short while later, the noise of fighting died away and a silence descended on the room. The weight on Francis' head disappeared and he realised that Alice had released her hold on him. As her hand had been under the cloak, it fell and Francis was able to straighten up and gaze in amazement at the room. Half of the patrons were on the floor, clutching their arms or legs. The rest had backed off and were ringed around the room.
Feliciano lifted the cloak from the floor and wrapped it around Francis' shoulders. Again, he was not given the time to speak before he was hauled to his feet by Ludwig. He stood still, not sure what to do or if he should speak. Alice gazed at him, her anger still evident. "You will come with me," she said.
"Al-" A swift movement stopped Francis from talking. Alice had drawn a long dagger from a belt tied round her waist. In one long arc she moved the weapon through the air till its tip was at his throat. Francis made a choking noise and stood absolutely still, not daring to even speak.
"Say another word and I will kill you where you stand," said Alice. Francis felt the tip prick his skin and he gulped down his protests. "Come," Alice ordered her servants. They nodded and Ludwig gripped Francis' arm with a large hand. Feliciano threw the hood up and they began to weave their way out of the building.
Their progress was impeded, however, when Alice reached the door. A man who had regained his confidence, leapt forward, catching Alice from behind. Francis cried out and tried to move forward. Ludwig tightened his grip.
"Pensez-vous que nous laissez vous le prenez? Nous n'abandonnons pas nos compatriotes Français. Nous ne sommes pas comme vous fétide Anglais!" he blustered.
A few seconds of calm passed before Alice moved. She threw her dagger into the air, letting it turn before she caught it. Now, it was pointing downwards and she straightened her elbow, stabbing backwards. It sliced easily into the man's side. He grunted in surprise and pain before letting the dangerous woman go. She spun round, a foot raised. It slammed into the man's other side and he toppled over, out of the way. When she looked up at her companions, Francis could see the murderous look in her eyes. Finally, she turned and stepped outside, her cloak billowing behind her. Ludwig pulled at the Frenchman and he stumbled after them.
He realised that he needed to clean up the misunderstanding with Alice – and quickly, before she really did kill him.
Alice stormed ahead of the group, leading the way through the town. People seemed to sense her anger and moved out of the way. She tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths through her nose. Her rage was starting to get the better of her – when she had pointed the dagger at Francis, she had felt herself shaking.
For a month, Alice and her family had been working to find the Bonnefoys. Several times, they discovered them a little too late. When they reached the inn or tavern they were staying at, the Bonnefoys would be gone. It had increased her rage whenever she learned how close she had been to catching them.
Then they found out that they had crossed the Channel and were safe in France somewhere. Furious, Alice had demanded that her family let her go across on her own to capture them. Knowing she simply wanted revenge, they had travelled with her, something she was glad of. Their combined efforts had finally borne fruit and they had located the Bonnefoy mansion.
Now it was time to carry out her vengeance.
"Alice, s'il vous plait, listen to me!" she heard Francis call to her. Growling, she sped up, trying to ignore him. "Alice, I did not lie to you! I am still in love with you." Alice only clicked her tongue and shook her head. She would not allow herself to be swayed. There was no point in believing him.
"Ve, Alice," Feliciano spoke up. "Maybe you should listen to him..."
Spinning round, Alice fixed him with a glare. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ludwig neither looked worried nor annoyed – that probably meant he thought the same. "I am not deaf. Nor am I dumb. I have heard what he has to say. Whether I believe him or not is my business." She turned again and continued on her way. The silence behind her conveyed the other's worry.
They left the town and began to make their way along a road. A mile away, Alice changed course and began to walk along a track. Behind her, she heard Francis make a noise. Then he dared to speak. "Are my... parents... alive?"
"Yes," replied Alice without turning round. "But not for long," she added. There was a sob but, again, she ignored his attempt at causing her to waver.
The path took them through a forest. After a few metres, the trail became inclined and they began to climb a sloping hill. Halfway up, the trees thinned out and disappeared to reveal their destination. Above them a gigantic house crouched, its back to them. In the daytime it would look beautiful with its towers at every corner. However, in the darkness, the reverse was true.
At least it doesn't have gargoyles, thought Alice.
Finally, they reached the house and Alice let herself in through one of the French windows. The other three followed and they stood in the dark room for a moment while their eyes adjusted. Feliciano pulled the windows closed. When they could eventually see, a light was visible under the crack of the door. Alice headed to it. She reached the door and had to feel around for the handle before she could pull it open. On the other side a candelabra had been left on a table in the hall. Alice picked it up and illuminated the corridor. Cheerful family portraits lined the walls. Francis was in many of them, various women by his side. It disgusted Alice but she made no comment.
She led them to the room she had left everyone in – one of the lounges. Francis whimpered as they reached the door and she rolled her eyes. Opening the door, they entered a brightly lit room. A huge fireplace contained a flickering, cheerful fire. A chandelier sparkled and candles shone in strategic places. The cream walls and the mirrors reflected all the light, making the room seem bigger. It was easily the brightest place in the whole of the manor.
Inside, the Bonnefoys were sitting on a white chaise longue. They cowered against each other, their bright clothes standing out amongst the furniture and assembled people. Clinging to each other, they looked round with miserable eyes at their only son. Above them stood Alice's parents. Each had a sword in their hand; each were pointing them at one of the Bonnefoys. Across the room, on a couch, sat Arthur and Alfred. They were rather close – Alfred seemed to be trying to reassure her brother. Her twin gazed up at her with pleading eyes – his insistence that she stop being hell-bent on revenge had been ignored. By the fireplace stood Gilbert and Antonio. They seemed relieved to see Francis again yet it was tinged with worry. The two servants were the only ones to speak as Francis entered.
"Señor Francis!"
"Herr Francis!"
The two of them started to move forward but Alice nodded at Ludwig and Feliciano. The large German strode across the room and took hold of them. Despite their protestations, he guided them out of the room, Feliciano following them out. Arthur had insisted they come – Alice had told him they would have to leave once they had seen their precious master. Bringing Alfred was a mistake, too, she knew. But he refused to leave and Arthur wouldn't budge on the matter, either.
Once the others had left, she grabbed Francis' hood and pulled it down. He whimpered as she caught some of his hair in her grip but she only looked at him blankly. Francis stared back at her beseechingly. With a snarl at his antics, she grabbed his hair once again and dragged him to a chair. Pushing him into it, she stood over him as she drew her sword.
"Alice..." whispered Francis.
"S'il vous plait!" exclaimed Francis' mother suddenly. Alice looked over her shoulder, keeping her sword pointed at her former master's neck. "He had nothing to do with it!"
"What?" said Alice in a monotone.
"He did not help us to kill the Earl. S'il vous plait, spare his life!"
The young Englishwoman turned slightly to look at the woman across the room. "This is not about the Earl any more – we are not allowed to kill you here because of that. We are here for a different reason."
"Yes," said her father. "This is about our honour which you have smeared with your antics. In particular, you broke my daughter's heart and I-"
"Father!" exclaimed Alice, feeling her cheeks turning red. Calming herself, Alice continued. "This is for the way your son treated me. I will not allow him to inconvenience me only for him to run off with another woman."
"That was not my choice!" Francis burst out. Alice's eyes swivelled to look at him. He looked like he was genuinely upset and she wished she hadn't seen him like that. She could feel her heart clenching. Biting the inside of her lip she lifted the tip of her sword.
"I do not care any more. I cannot have peace of mind if you live," said Alice, her monotone returning.
"You... do not believe me," muttered Francis miserably.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because..."
"Enough of this," said Alice's father. She glanced at him questioningly and he gestured with his hand to hurry up. "If you keep talking with him, he will use his silver tongue to ensnare you in another trap. Once you have killed their son in front of them, we will finish off these two." He gestured at the Bonnefoys with his sword and they backed away.
Realising her father was correct, she turned back to Francis and placed her other hand on the sword hilt. "Any last words?" she sneered.
For a brief moment, Francis stared up in shock. Then his expression softened into a loving smile. It unnerved Alice slightly, confusing her, but she became much more uneasy when he spoke. "Oui. S'il vous plait, find someone to marry. Do not be alone in life. Being alone is not a good thing. But do not marry for money, land or titles. If you find someone to love, then you will be happier than you have been before. Especially if you get to see them one last time." When he finished his speech, Francis beamed at Alice, closing his eyes to brace himself for the death blow.
Alice's hands shook and she could feel her lip tremble. Biting the inside of her lip a little harder, she tightened her grip on the sword. However, she continued to shake and she stared at the tip of her sword wobbling a few centimetres from Francis' throat. She soon found herself lowering it slightly.
"Why...?" she asked, quietly. "Why would you say that?"
Francis opened his eyes and looked up at her in surprise. Then he smiled lovingly. "I thought that would have been obvious, ma chérie. I love you."
"Tsk! You're lying! Just like before!"
"Non. I have never lied."
"You lie to plenty of women! You say 'je t'aime' to any woman within earshot and then say the same to her neighbour. Did you think you could get away with something like that forever?!" Alice's arms shook again and she bent her elbows, drawing her sword away from Francis. The sound of movement caught her attention but, realising it was her parents stepping towards her in surprise, she didn't react.
"Ah, oui," replied Francis. "Mais... I have never said 'I love you' to anyone in their own language before. You are the only one I have said that to."
There was a pause as Alice took this in. Then her eyes widened, her cheeks grew hot and her mouth dropped open. She almost dropped her sword as she stared at him. "You..."
"What are you waiting for?!" exclaimed her father, suddenly. "Kill him!"
Alice ignored him. "But... How can you be in love with someone who... who is trying to kill you?"
"That is a good question," said Francis with a chuckle. "I am afraid that, even though you have a sword pointed at me, I know that you love me, too. That is why you have taken everything to heart and it has felt like it is destroying you. I am correct, oui?" Alice didn't reply but he nodded with a slight grimace. "Desolé. I did a terrible thing to you, fleeing like that. Mais, I assure you, I had nothing to do with the Earl's death. I did not want to marry Katyusha, either. Though, she is a belle. Ah, but she has nothing on you, ma chère."
Her arms dropped as every word Francis said struck Alice's heart. She could feel it clench in her anguish. She could feel it swell with love. She could feel it somersaulting. Shaking her head, Alice took a step back. She realised there was no way she could kill Francis.
Noticing her lowered sword, Francis stood and stepped towards Alice. His hands wrapped around hers as he moved close. "Alice, I love you," he whispered, smiling down at her. He dropped his head, closing the distance between their mouths. Alice found herself simply closing her eyes, her lips slightly parted.
"Tsk! If you will not kill them, then we will!" came her mother's voice. Alice's eyes snapped open and she spun round, Francis letting go of her hands. Both of her parents were pointing their weapons at their targets, their hands steady.
"No! Stop!" cried Alice as their grip tightened. She reached out to them, hoping they would listen yet knowing there was no way she could cross the room and stop them if they chose to go through with it.
Beside her, Francis started forward. However, he froze and gaped in horror as Alice's parents thrust their swords into his parents' chests. The Bonnefoys gasped in pain as their eyes widened. A trickle of blood spread from their wounds, slowly spreading across the blue and purple of their clothing. When the swords were finally pulled out, a small amount of blood spurted out to slowly wind its way down their chests. Spots of blood dripped from the tips of the swords, creating a pool on the thick, cream carpet. The French couple clung to each other as their eyes flickered closed and they fell sideways, dead.
"Mère! Père!" cried Francis, darting forwards. Alice gasped and hurried after him, well aware that her parents weren't finished yet. "Mère! Père!" Francis fell to his knees beside them and threw his arms around them, burying his face in his mother's shoulder.
"Do not worry – you will be joining them soon enough," said Alice's father, raising his sword.
The clang as his blade met another echoed in the room. Alice glared up at the man and used her sword to push his away. Positioning herself over Francis, her back to him, she turned her narrowed eyes at the people who had raised her. "I told you to stop. How could you do this?"
"It is our job, Alice," said her mother, a gentle smile on her face. "Please move so we can complete the deed."
"Your job is in England and the British Empire – it is not applicable in France," Alice retorted. "Besides, you have killed the people responsible for the Earl's death. You must not kill this man. He is innocent."
"He has fooled you with his sweet nothings," her father said with a shake of his head. "You must be reasonable. Move out of the way."
"No."
"You will be hurt if you do not move, darling," said her mother with a smile. Her eyes were hard, however, and Alice gripped her sword tighter, frowning at her.
"I will not."
"I told you to move!" shouted the woman, raising her sword with one hand.
Alarmed, for a moment, Alice didn't move, frozen where she stood. Then she heard Francis cry out her name behind her. Quickly, she raised the weapon, stopping the other's in its tracks. She pushed her mother away before swinging herself, hitting at the thing her mother was inexperienced to using. However, her mother managed to keep hold of it. But she was barely able to push Alice away and Alice swung once again. She caught a glancing blow to her mother's sword, sending it flying.
Satisfied that she had stopped at least one of her parents, she lowered her sword slightly and looked to her father. This was a mistake, however, as her mother roared and launched herself at her daughter. With a cry of surprise, Alice swung her sword up. As she did so, she realised that, if she did not stop, her mother would be injured – perhaps fatally.
Before she could react and stop herself, however, her father jumped into the path of her sword. The tip raked across his chest, a deep cut drawing blood. It sprayed over Alice's dress and the chaise longue behind her. With wide eyes she watched as her father stumbled backwards before collapsing to the floor in front of an oak table. Her mother cried out and dropped to his side.
"I'm sorry... my dear..." panted Lord Kirkland, addressing his wife. "I think... I have made... a terrible mistake..."
"You-!" snarled Lady Kirkland, glaring up at her daughter with tears in her eyes. "What have you done?!"
Alice was still holding her sword aloft, stunned. "F-Father...?"
"Don't speak to him! You have no right!" snapped her mother, springing to her feet. The woman stood there, trembling, her fists clenched as she turned her furious eyes on her daughter. For a few seconds there was silence, neither of them moving. Then Lady Kirkland launched herself once more at Alice, snarling. Instinctively, Alice thrust her blade forward, hoping in the back of her mind that her mother would stop before she was hurt. Unfortunately, this did not happen and Alice felt a brief moment of resistance before the long, sharp metal sliced into her mother's heart.
Both women froze. Then the older woman staggered backwards with a gasp. She continued till her heel caught on her husband's body where she crumpled, collapsing on top of him. Alice's father propped himself up on his elbows and gazed at her still body miserably. He reached out to stroke his wife's hair. "Darling. Oh, darling. How could it... have come to this. What... have I done?" The British gentleman turned his gaze up to Alice's bewildered face. "Do not... look like that... Alice, dear. This is my fault. I taught you... to be like this. You stood up... to... your beliefs. I... am very... proud... of..." He took a shuddering breath before his eyelids flickered. Then they closed and he fell backwards, still.
The silence enveloping the room let Alice think on what had just happened. Her parents were dead. She had killed them. A sudden rustling behind her made her twitch in surprise. Francis' voice floated to her from afar. "Alice..." The gentle tone in his voice made everything worse. For she was the reason that everyone, including his parents, were dead.
Suddenly the room span and she cried out, dropping the vile thing in her hands. Everything seemed blurry and to be moving in slow motion. She could see the ceiling in front of her, the chandelier defying gravity. Then everything darkened. Distantly, she heard her name but she was soon falling through the darkness.
Francis had watched the bloody scene between Alice and her parents in awe from his place on the carpet. Worried that she was going to get herself killed, he had wanted to tell her to move aside and let him face his fate alone. However, her determination to protect him lifted his spirits and filled his heart. He had found himself unable to speak until all the older men and women in the room were dead.
"Alice..." he breathed, reaching out to her. He half-expected her to turn around and tell him how stupid he was, how this was his fault. Instead, she cried out and dropped her sword, the weapon landing with a dull thud. "Al-?" he began but cut himself off as he watched her falling backwards. Realising she was fainting, Francis willed himself to move fast and catch her, crying out her name.
The Frenchman was too slow, however: he had barely moved when something caught his eye. Out of nowhere, Alice's brother had leapt towards her, catching her deftly. Using one arm to prevent her falling further, Arthur scooped up her legs with the other. With Alice in his arms, he turned to Francis as Alfred appeared at his shoulder, his face tear-stained.
"We will take our leave, now," said Arthur, calmly, although he was visibly trembling.
"Quoi?" asked Francis, dumbstruck.
"We should not be here, in this country," explained Arthur. "I tried to divert them from this path of revenge but..." He glanced at his parents before taking a shuddering breath. "If we are found here, your authorities will imprison Alice, place her on trial and execute her. I cannot allow that – and I doubt you would either. To prevent further loss of life, I must take Alice, Alfred and our servants away. That Gilbert and Antonio should probably come with us, as well," he added as an afterthought.
"Mais- S'il vous plait! Do not take Alice away!" Francis stumbled to his feet and advanced on the Kirklands. "She is the only..." he trailed off, gazing at Arthur pleadingly as he reached him. Francis' eyes flickered down to the girl's peaceful face and gently stroked a strand of fly-away hair behind her ear.
Arthur sighed. "I am not saying you can never see her again. However, she will not be able to stay in France or return. That does not mean you cannot go to your home in England."
"Quoi?" repeated Francis, surprised.
Once again, the young Englishman sighed. "Your parents are the people who killed the Earl – they have been neutralised. You will not be hunted by anyone on your return once I have reported to the Queen."
"And your parents?"
"I will tell the Queen that there was a dispute within the family about the ethics of our practice. Their death was an accident that occurred in self-defence and will be reported as such. However... we will not be able to take their bodies back to England with us – the French authorities would stop us and claim that they were murdered. As I have said before, this would be detrimental to Alice."
Francis thought for a moment. "I can have their bodies sent to England. I will not let anyone inspect them – no-one will know what happened here. My parents' faithful servants are still loyal to us and I will ask them to deal with the arrangements."
"Oh..." said Arthur, evidently surprised at this turn of events. "Thank you," he added, nodding at Francis.
"Arthur," muttered Alfred nervously.
"Yes. We must be away now, Bonnefoy. I expect we will be graced with your presence soon?"
"Non. I must mourn for my parents," replied Francis, his relief turning to anguish. He turned his back on the small group. "Ask Alice to wait for me." There was no reply but he heard the rustling of their clothes as they moved followed by the door opening and closing. Then he knelt beside his parents once more and let tears fall.
The following is the pieces of French not already used in order (not sure why the first French phrase is gigantic. =/ ):
"Je serai de retour, ma chère," = "I will be right back, my dear."
"Votre meilleur vin, s'il vous plaît," = "Your best wine, please."
"Le meilleur vin? Incroyable! Comment êtes-vous riche?" = "The best wine? Incredible! How rich are you?"
"Assez riche," = "Rich enough."
"Je vais vous chercher un verre d'eau. Attendez ici." = "I am going to get you a glass of water./I'll get you a glass of water. Wait here."
"Qui êtes-vous?" = "Who are you?"
"Je ne voudrais pas boire ce, mademoiselle." = "I would not drink it, miss."
"Il pourrait y avoir quelque chose dedans." - "There might be something in it."
"Vous savez Francis?" = "You know Francis?"
"Je le connais bien. Et vous ne devez pas vous laisser berner par son charmes." = "I know him well. And you must not let yourself be fooled by his charms."
"Laissez ici maintenant!" = "Leave here now!"
"Obtenez ses!" = "Get her!"
"Pensez-vous que nous laissez vous le prenez? Nous n'abandonnons pas nos compatriotes Français. Nous ne sommes pas comme vous fétide Anglais!" = Do you think we will let you take him? We do not abandon our fellow Frenchmen. We are not like you foul English!"
I feel people might construe Alice as being a little OOC by fainting. However... She hasn't had much sleep, only getting some when she cried herself to sleep during that month. The stress of chasing after the Bonnefoys caused her to eat less. All that fighting takes up a lot of energy. And it all caught up with her when the shock of killing her parents was added on. =/
I... can't actually think of anything else to say. I'm so very, very sure there was something else to make note of. But I don't recall it right now. So if something comes up, just ask me. :)