"How do I look?" Arno asked with a hint of smugness as he adjusted his collar

"Presentable, Pisspot," said Bellec.

He cleared away from the mirror. Bellec took his place to examine his own reflection.

"Why are we attending a festival in tribute to everything our enemies brought about, anyway?" Paul whined.

"I already explained it two bloody times. We're not going there to celebrate. We're going there to gather intelligence. That festival's bound to be crawling with Templars."

He turned and headed for the door. "C'mon."

Outside was a warm summer day. An orange butterfly fluttered past their path. One year ago, the peasants had stormed the Bastille. Now it was supposedly rubble, and France had changed so much even the king was outwardly celebrating that day of defiance.

"You think it's true what they're saying?" Paul said. "That the monarchs in other countries are going to step in, put a stop to all this?"

"Did you hear about the Constitution civile du clergé?" Joseph said. "It passed two days ago. The Pope must be fuming."

"This festival is a slap in the face to a lot of powerful people," Arno added.

"Just focus on the present, garçons."

The streets were almost empty. A squirrel ran across the road.

Even at this distance from the Champ de Mars, they could already hear the crowd.

"I think the festival started a bit earlier than you said," Arno remarked.

"Maybe so," Bellec said. "No matter, it's got a lot longer to go."

"I heard even Americans are going to be attending," Paul said.

"Any names we know?" Arno asked.

"Some guy named...John Paul Jones, I think. Another named Thomas...Paine?"

"Dammit, look at that crowd," Bellec said. "Seating is going to be a nightmare."

Arno had never seen anything like this. Makeshift stands had been set up for thousands of people. What a tremendous amount of work this must have taken! It was an ironic way to celebrate a revolution instigated by decadence and overspending.

"We might have to split up, might not be able to find four seats together. We'll just have to meet up back at the cottage."

That was fine with Arno. There was not much of a reason to stick together if all they were doing was gathering information. Striking out amidst a crowd like this would be suicide.

Arno knew the Ancien Régime must have been terrified. So many people were out celebrating their losses, and even the king himself was going along with it.

They walked among the benches, looking for empty spots. A small opening became apparent. "Arno, Joseph, you're big boys. I trust you to handle yourselves. I'll take this spot and babysit Paulou."

The two took their place. Joseph and Arno kept walking. The crowd was diverse. Rich old fops sat within arms length of straw-hatted farm-wives. The whole festival certainly packed a symbolic punch.

Arno saw two empty spots ahead. The nearer would be put him next a fat, pimply noble, the more distant would put him next to a beautiful red-haired young woman.

"Take this one, I see another one ahead," Arno said to Joseph. The man was married, he certainly had nothing to lose.

Joseph took his seat and Arno continued forward. He would play it cool, keep most of his focus on the stage, as Bellec would want. But he would make an introduction when the time was right.

He sat.