A/N: I had a horrible month of april at work, which basically had me working roudn the clock and leaving me soo little time for this. But here's the next chapter, and the one after that is only a blink away as it's half written (due to the fact that I exchanged one of the scenes in this chapter to mediate the pacing, so half of chapter 83 is actually already done ;) ).

So ... we haven't seen action in quite a while, haven't we? And our opponents have been awfully quiet, haven't they?

Let's dive in...

Chapter 82: No more games

You said, that the preeminent truth of our age is that you cannot fight the system. But if, as you say, the truth is fluid, that the truth is subjective, then maybe you can fight the system. As long as just one person refuses to be broken, refuses to bow down.

Adelaide and Courfeyrac waited for a few moments after Charles Jeanne had left with two comrades of his who had occupied the neighboring table unconspiciously, before they themselves got up and turned to leave the tavern, decending the narrow, dark staircase down onto the street again. Courfeyrac looked tired, and Adelaide did not feel less so, and so she did not find herself up to banter and decided to simply trail along as they made their way back to the Rue de la Chanvrerie, where he intended to pick up Marius and his lady friend to go home to sleep.

All in all the discussion had gone as well as could be expected, she thought. Knowing Charles, she had anticipated that he would come with a plan A, B and C, having all his ideas to Courfeyrac's reactions all played out true and well. And so, she had expected him to have a road to a situation he would have been willing to accept.

Although the proposal, in itself, had been surprising.

But it was very much like Jeanne to hide a plan in a plan in something that sounded too reasonable to ignore. And although Adelaide knew this of him, she had to admit it was artfully done.

And the idea of having Courfeyrac dabble in politics was, quite frankly, anything between mad and wildly amusing. There was a small, devious part of herself that would love nothing more than be present for that particular set of events.

Not that she would mention it to him, or even show it. But history had clearly indicated that sometimes, Monsieur de Courfeyrac was in dire need of meeting directly with his limitations.

They left the side road and turned a corner to move towards Rue de Charonne, that would lead them back to the elephant, and, from there on, the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

Despite the late hour, the noise from the taverns of the quarter were located, was still considerable. They approached, hearing the multitude of voices, laughs and shouts, but as they came closer, and the general background humming became a more distinguishable cacophony, she realized that the mood had definitely changed.

There were still voices, many of them, and speaking loudly, but there were also other sounds, that had not been present when they had come through here earlier. And something about the cacophony of sounds made her pause.

A movement at her side made her realize Courfeyrac had reacted in just the same way, and they exchanged a quick, worried glance.

Adelaide motioned for Courfeyrac to stay where he was. For a moment, it seemed as he was about to argue, but then he came to the same conclusion she had come to a moment before – that a lone woman wandering the streets of Paris might be a bit less conspicious-looking than the student, and that she had not yet been in the focus of the assassins before - and nodded. He took a few side steps to hide in the entryway to a tenement, and Adelaide continued her path down towards la Charonne.

What had only been a notion as they had turned the corner became clearer wiht every step that she took. The mixture of excited voices carried a more frantic notion to it, less joyful and excited, and wiht more of a hint of anything between anger and panic.

And so, she was not all that surprised when she neared the corner that would lead to the main road, that she saw a small group of National Guards passing in a hurry. They took no notice of her, if they had even realized she was there, but moved on to the square nearby which hosted several taverns of dubious reputation. Adelaide considered turning back but decided to confirm her suspicion and moved all the way up to the crossing, peering around the corner.

She was right.

Down at the square, but also along the street, a mixture of National Guards and policemen were raiding the taverns. She could see young men and even women being dragged off, others fleeing, again others trying to discuss and debate, as if that could hold off a storm.

Adelaide waited for a short moment to take in the scenery, saw two young men passing her in a hurry and unnoticed by the guards – it was quite clear that they would have been unable to identify everyone in those tavern anyways, and they seemed to be content to arrest those that drew their attention and could be held – observed how an attempt at restrained turned into a full-out brawl, with the representatives of the state still retaining the upper hand – before she had seen enough and turned back.

She hoped that Jeanne had gone the other way.

A few steps brought her back to Courfeyrac, and, meeting his questioning gaze, she explained „Raids."

He nodded as if in confirmation and turned around without further hesitation. For a moment he looked as if he would take her arm to guide her along, but to his credit he thought better of it before completing the gesture. It saved him a slap on the fingers, and she knew where she was going anyhow.

„It seems to be centered around Rue de Charonne and Rue de Saint Antoine for all I could see"; she said. „Let's try to circumvent the thick of it to the north."

Courfeyrac nodded again and for a few moments they moved in silence as the noise behind them died down and the darkness of the night swallowed them in the streets of Paris.

„Why now?" she asked when she was sure that they had succeeded in avoiding most of the trouble. Courfeyrac made a noncommittal sound and shrugged.

„Not sure", he said. „But maybe we are getting too close."

And that, Adelaide thought, was as terrifying as it was exciting

„I see."

Cortez took a sip of wine, turning the precious glass in front of himself as if he were inspecting it thoroughly. Interesting, Eponine thought, holding her own glass that she had barely touched, even though she was sure the wine was good.

The noncommittal statement and the gesture told her that Cortez needed a moment to sort his thoughts and hid it aptly behind a gesture and nonchalant behaviour. But she was not fooled.

She had half expected not to be admitted at all, but the doors to the hideout in the sixth floor had opened to her without any significant trouble, and after a few moments of waiting in the antechamber – not without being provided with an apology for the delay – Cortez had indeed been willing to meet her.

She had spent most of her way from the Salpetrie to figure out how exactly she would approach Gomez, and in the end, assuming that he knew at least as much as she did about the assassins and the interworkings in the city, she had tried to keep the story to the bare minimum. There was little wisdom in lecturing a man like Cortez.

Montparnasse.

The fact that he was allied with the assassins.

And that she expected him to make an attempt at ruining her reputation because she was unwilling to side with him.

„Interesting." Another filler, another sip of wine. Eponine felt the tension in her body run deep. She sat in an impossibly comfortable armchair, but she could not even bring herself to lean into the cushions, although the study at nonchalance might have helped her act. But her back was so tense she barely trusted the movement, and all of her instincts were primed to observe and – if necessary – flee.

She was under no illusions as to how dangerous it was for her to be here and attempt what she did. Cortez, so much was certain, ruled this house, this neighborhood like a king. His power here was absolute. And she did not know him well enough to truly gauge his reactions.

Which was why she was soaking up every detail, every twitch of his lips, every turn of his brow.

At this late hour, the hideout was still well populated, and while she had given her short tale, more than one rugged looking street child or man in tattered clothing had entered the room to pass a message or two, but these had been very aptly dealt with by Don Miguel and a woman she did not know, to ensure the privacy of her conversation with Cortez.

„Why are you telling me this?"

Finally Cortez seemed to have decided which road this conversation should go. His question was not confrontative, carried more of a hint of curiousity.

„I thought it obvious", Eponine answered, trying at a light, off-handed tone, knowing that she was at least as much under scrutiny as Cortez was by her. „If you believe his tale then my word is nothing. And on the not-so-odd chance that Enjolras' word is tied to mine, well. That would kind of do a lot of damage."

Cortez chuckled.

„So how do you expect me to react?"

Eponine took only a split second to decide and moved forward boldly.

„I expect you to ignore everything he says. You already said you want to see Enjolras' word happen. If that was true and not just something you said in that moment, then it's kind of obvious. Montparnasse tries to stop us. So you can't be on his side. That would kind of destroy your own purpose."

Unless, of course, Cortez was putting his eggs into different baskets. Which, come to think of it, probably he did. But that was not something she could say, probably not even something that she could think. So she moved on.

„It's quite simple really. He's given me a few favors, yes, and is asking something in return I'm not willing to give. But in that sense, that actually shows you that I'm true to what I said here, no matter what Montparnasse is trying to do. I chose my side and I'm staying there. And I'm willing to do what it takes to stay there. Even if it means risking that I lose my old ties. I'm not afraid of that." That was certainly a gross exxageration of her courage but she hoped that she brought it across convincingly.

„You've taken a leaf out of that golden boy's book, it seems."

Now Cortez sounded seriously amused, and something in that statement struck closer to home than it should. But this was definitely the wrong time, and most definitely the wrong place to try and understand why that statement gave her a strange, unwelcome pang in her stomach.

She took a sip of wine to rally her thoughts. As she had suspected, the wine was excellent, rich and warm and full on her tongue. She was no judge in the matter, but it tasted round and warm and she liked it.

„I'm done with the simple tit-for-tat, no matter what", she answered. „That's yesterday's game."

Cortez leaned back and mustered her quizzically.

„Bold words. But you have to be bold to come here with another demand."

Eponine blinked, her thoughts racing. She felt the tension in every fiber of her body. She could ruin it all here and now. Or buy themselves more time, more days. An ally maybe.

Strangely, she thought, maybe she got a small glimpse of what it meant to be Enjolras.

„Not a demand", she gave back, thankful for the flash of intuition that had given her a way to go on. „It's more... context." She shook her head. „Of course he's gonna tell you the story that makes him look his best. He's good at that. But that's only half the story. He's gonna tell you I betrayed him and refused to pay my debt. Which is true. After a fashion. I guess...", she shrugged, trying not to let her racing heart show, „I guess it just boils down to how serious you were about what you said to us last time you were here. If you were serious, then wha the says can't change your mind. If you werent..." She shrugged, and felt in unneccessary to bring the thought to its end. Cortez could spell it out for himself.

Cortez nodded slowly and took another sip of his wine.

„Indeed", he said, and leaned back, turning to his son sitting at his side, watching the exchange between Eponine and himself.

„Alessandro. What do you think of this tale?"

Don Alessandro, who was quite obviously Cortez' son, showed only a very short and momentary flash of being unsettled before he turned his gaze to Eponine and, after having been relieved of Cortez' scrutiny, she found herself watched by another pair of dark brown, attentive eyes.

„There's logic to her argument", Alessandro began, surprisingly cautious. „And if we lead the logic to its end, then it all boils down to one simple question, and everything else falls into place."

Cortez hesitated for a moment, considering, then nodded.

„And what would that question be?"

Don Alessandro shrugged. Eponine could not shake the feeling that he was practising the unpenetrable stare of his father, the studied act of carelessness, but he was good, yet not quite as good as his father yet. And so she realized, that the situation was clear enough for Cortez to make this a practise case for his son instead of a real negotiation. She was not sure whether to feel relieved, insulted or terrified. Because, of course, there were two kinds of clarity.

Don Alessandro shot an uncertain glance to Eponine, having obviously come to the same conclusion and wondering if he should hold this conversation in front of her instead of in closed quarters, but his father motioned him to go on.

„Whether we want their operation to succeed or not."

Cortez nodded, taking another sip of wine and turning his gaze back to her in a flash.

„Do you agree, Mademoiselle?"

„Certainly", she answered. „But I've made my decision on that score. Otherwise I wouldnt have put the revolutionaries into your tenement. Otherwise, also, I wouldnt be here. I value my life."

Now, Cortez chuckled.

„Could have fooled me, for sure", he prompted, placing the glass back onto the table in front of him. Eponine continued. He was obviously not willing to give her a clear statement, so the next best thing was to try and deduce his thoughts and confront him with them.

„But I think you made your decision as well. What you gave us was a bit more costly than we were able to truly pay. So either you want to turn us in – but you could have done that by any number of means and wouldnt have needed to expose one of your hideouts. Or you don't. But in all honesty, if you want us to fail, there's no real reason for you letting us stay in Rue des Brodeurs."

Cortez looked at her and raised his brows, and Eponine decided to go all the way.

„And if that's the case, truly, then you can go all the way, or at least a step more than that."

Now she had surprised him, and he took a moment to bring back the mask of equinamity onto his features. Eponine continued.

„Let's assume for the sake of argument you hope for a success. I do understand you don't want to get in trouble if we fail, but to increase our chances, I'm sure there's more that you can do than just give us that place. If you are willing to invest in the plan of revolution, then you can increase our chances to succeed. And to, thereby, achieve what you want."

Cortez studied her for a moment, as silence settled. Don Alessandro did the same, but the surprise and emerging unease was clearer on the son's features than they were on his father's. Eponine wondered if she had gone too far, but at the end of the day, Don Alessandro had been right. It all boiled down to one simple question, and that would determine where the pieces would fall. On top of that, boldness could only improve her situation.

„You speak well, Mademoiselle", Cortez said, finally, and for the first time she found the thoughtful tone of his voice less of a study and more of a reflection of something real. „I will give you that."

„You know I'm right."

„That remains to be seen", Cortez answered. But somehow, that small phrase, noncommital as it was, felt like a victory.

The first second was panic. Pure, raw, unmitigated panic. The stress of the last days, the nightly setting, the unexpected attack, were enough to, for the first split second, overpower her senses.

But like every first impulse, this lasted only a moment, and then all her instincts kicked in. And the attacker, who had expected a victim sleeping, was not as prepared as he could have been. She felt she only had one real move before asphyxiation would start affecting her capability to put up resistance, and she intended to make the most of it.

In one rapid motion, she twisted as much as she could and tucked her legs, placing all strength into a single two-foot-kick against where she remembered the attacker to have been. She felt the softness of belly and groin against her bare feet and immediately the pressure against her face was slightly relieved as the assassin tumbled back slightly, uttering a huff of pain.

Helene did not wait for him to recover, but completed her turning motion and thus for a moment felt sweet air rushing between pillow and mattress and sucked it in greedily.

And used what air and strenght she had left for a piercing, blood curdling scream.

That changed the rules of the game. There was no way for him to complete his work now in silence. She had accomplished that much now and that was at least something. She felt him gripping her ankle and again, she reacted on instinct, kicked out with the other leg and used the momentum to slide down the bed and literally drop on top of him.

He was fast and gripped her with surprising strength around the waist. She felt a tearing pain on her arm and her subconscious supplied the thought of a knife, but again, she reacted on instinct and without real participation of active thought, wiggling and turning around with all force of desparation until his grip slipped and she tumbled to her feet. She did not bother with getting up, or finding her bearing – the first steps of her flight were still in a half crouch, but all she could think of was to get away from the man and she picked up speed with every motion.

The sleep room had become pandeamonium. Her fellow inmates were waking up, some quickly, some more slowly, all of them finding their bearings in their own time, and the situation was becoming more chaotic by the second. The first ones got up, trying to find out in the half darkness what was going on, saw Helene running, saw the fake nun running after her, and each and every one of them drew their own conclusions.

Within moments some tried to turn on the apparent nun, trying to use the chaos to repay a favor or another. Others, perceiving a potential prison break, tried to make for one of the exits. Others, less intrepid, tried to make to safety or to find it in the company of others, however fake that illusion of protection may have been.

Helene, still running, took a moment to consider and made her way to the little cabinet that the night sister occupied when she was not prowling the alleys between the sleeping inmates. The screams, shouts and movements faded to a background noise and she reached the door unhindered.

It was unlocked and she rushed through without hesitation, closing the door behind her, hoping it would hide her from immediate view, even though a slit in the wall allowed a good perspective on the sleeping women.

A simple table was placed in the middle of the cabinet, a bible opened on it, the pages sprayed with what looked like to be liters of blood.

Helene swallowed hard as she remembered another horrible night, another attack, the man she loved lying dead in a puddle of blood as well, when she had woken up just in time to narrowly avoid a similar fate. Something within her remembered the panic, the fear, the horror of these seconds, and she felt her body go cold.

But she was Helene de Cambout. She did not back off from danger or opposition. And she would not stumble.

Helene bit the insides of her cheeks, hard, and somehow the pain got through the shock and haze and she could feel her senses returning to her. A deep breath later and the trembling that had threatened to overtake her had subsided and her hands were steady again. There would be a time to ride this out, she promised to herself, later, in safety, in quiet, whenever that would be. When she would cry all the tears she had bottled up for days and ride out all the bouts of panic and shaking and trauma, but not here, not now. Because if she did not survive the now, there was no point, no point in all of it.

And so she approached the nun – realizing with passing sadness it was one of the younger, friendlier ones – and looked into the pockets of her habit. She sent a silent prayer to god or anyone who might be willing to hear that for once since this whole, sordid story started, she would be blessed with a bit of luck.

And said a silent thanks when her fingers met with the cold, rough metal of the set of keys she knew the nun must have carried with her. She wondered why the attacker had not taken them with him, but that was a question for later, not for now. For now, she had a key, and with the chaos behind her certainly becoming known in the prison, there was a small window of opportunity she could use.

Helene had not been idle since she had been here. Her opportunities had been slim, but she had taken every one that had been offered to her to learn more about the place she had landed in, and the people that inhabited it. She had not been sure that there was a door leading out from the sleeping room to the part of the prison that was off-limits to the inmates, but it had been a fairly educated guess from the comings and goings that she had observed.

She briefly considered using the same trick her attacker had applied in throwing over a nun's garment, but decided for speed instead. There might be opportunities later, and in any case this nun's habit was completely soiled with blood which, even if she could avoid being recognized as none of their order, would definitely ruin her attempt at not attracting attention. Instead, she turned towards the door.

One of the keys turned in the lock easily, and, just like that, she was out and locked the door behind her again.

The corridor was not one that she had ever been in before, but she had paid close attention every time they had been led through the prison, from the sleeping room to the work shops, to the yards, to the interrogation and visitation chambers, and she had at least a rough idea of the direction that she needed to go in.

Of course this was also the direction from where she heard shouts and rapid steps, both the lightfooted ones of the nuns and the more heavy boots of the national guards who had been stationed in the prison to support the nuns if there was ever any trouble. And so Helene approached carefully, trying to discern where people were going.

The corridor was bare, but not as bleak as the prison area, no windows, but at least a few candles in niches in the wall, polished floor, and two cupboards on the far side, where the corridor turned to the left, provided some adornment.

It was one of those cupboards – hoisting a few of the simple dresses she had seen handed out to some of the prisoners against coin - that saved her a second time as she heard steps coming dangerously close and she slipped into it at the last minute, right before a number of people ran past, obviously moving towards the conundrum in the sleeping room.

Helene breathed deeply once they had moved on, her heart hammering loud enough she was vaguely surprised that no one had heard it and listened for a moment, but the sounds, screams and shouts seemed far away enough to brave exiting her hiding space again.

The corridor was blissfully empty again and she peeked around the corner. She found another walkway, leading further away from the sleeping room and the prisoners' quarters. She passed three doors to her left, all closed and silent and not prompting her to inquire any further, and moved to the open door at the head of the corridor. It led into another room, empty as well, but showing all signs of recent occupation. A deck of cards lay on the table, a chess set with a match half played in a corner, a pitcher and a few half-emptied glasses completed the idea of a night watch of a few people – all of which had probably now rushed to the sleeping room.

Two doors led further into the building, but Helene did not bother with them and instead turned to the left side, where she found what she had been hoping for – windows. Large, broad windows leading out to a nightly street. The Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, to be precise.

The room was located in the first floor – as she had already known from the location of the sleeping room – but she did not hesitate. She had done it before, albeit, not alone, and onto soft grass, not hard cobblestones, but beggars – literally – could not be chosers.

She opened a window, climbed out,l let herself hang down from the windowsill, and then dropped.

Pain shot up her ankle and winded her for a moment as her bare feet hit the floor hard, and for a moment she was terrified, not so much for herself, but for the little life inside of her, the only real thing of Alexandre left in this world, and yet temporarily forgotten in the last moments of action. But there was nothing to be done right now about that. She had to move, and had to hope that the little one would prove as strong as its father – or as resilient as its mother hoped to be.

She turned left to get away from the prison gates when she saw a group of three men and a woman enter into her street at a rapid pace. Her heart stopped and her head raced, wondering if she could pull off a stance of nonchalance, standing in front of a women's prison right under an open window. Not the most believeable place for a nightly stroll, but there were options. She considered opening her dress a little to show more cleavage – passing off as a prostitute might be better than being recognized, depending on who was coming there – but she was not sure she would be willing to follow the ruse to it's end, and she finished what she started.

So, not an option.

Studied nonchalance would have to do then, and in line with that thought she moved towards them, because it was better than running away, trying for a purposeful walk as much as her throbbing ankle would allow. She hoped to make as much distance between herself and the open window as she could without seeming hasty. Maybe the lack of immediate obvious connection could already help her.

They approached her – quickly – and fighting down her fear she took longer than she usually would have to realize it. She was not sure what gave it away in the end. A way of movement maybe? A flash of moonlight on light brown hair? Or just strange intuition that was hard to be associated with any concrete sign, because it was more inspiration than deduction.

But just a moment later she knew – was sure – that her luck was holding out.

And that she was facing Michel, Olinde, a woman that seemed vaguely familiar but that she could not immediately place, and – dear god in heavens, the relief momentarily almost knocked her off her feet – Jean.

They must have come to a similar conclusion she had, because just as the revelation hit her they began to run, all four of them, but he was fastest, of course he was, and before she knew she found herself enfolded in an embrace without abandon, feeling herself crushed against his chest, and safe, for once, for one moment, safe.

Time stopped.

They had always been careful about not touching, both being so aware of the spidery thing hanging between them like a spell they could never succumb to. And now, she was again reminded why, because the comfort of his presence was almost overwhelming, his smell everywhere, pipe smoke and the clean simple soap he used, and him, just him. They had never even been remotely as close as they were now, and it took her senses away. Belatedly she realized he was whispering to her, small nothings about safety, and reassurance, and a hundred times – as if she would have needed the reminder - „I'm here. I have you."

It almost broke her, and she felt something inside her start to unravel, all the pain and fear and shock tricked out by this moment of infinite comfort. Even knowing what she knew, she was taken by surprise by the amount of trust she felt, how much safety he was able to conjure up in this moment, but of course, it was all an illusion. She did not blame him – in fact she was as grateful as she could be – but that did not change the fact that she could not fall apart. Not here. Not now. She felt a sob run through her, and predictably as dawn his arms tightened around her, but she bit the insides of her cheeks and pressed her nails into her palms and the pain helped put a lid on the boiling chaos inside her. For now.

Carefully, gently, she extracted herself from his arms, and he needed only the smallest of cues to comply and let her go. She dared look into his eyes and found a question there that deserved an answer, mixed and mingled with a hundred words that he had not said, and a hundred emotions of his own.

„I can't", she confessed softly, not trusting her voice yet, not when he was looking at her like this. „If I start, I won't stop."

Honesty was painful, but this was him, and he understood her oh so well. He took a deep breath himself, and she almost could see how he did the same, hiding it all under layers and layers, but he had never been quite as good at that game as she had, and she could still see it , shimmering through like embers in the coal.

And yet he nodded.

„Whatever you need", he said tenderly, no louder than she had been, and she knew he meant it, meant everything, understood it like only he would.

For the night had only begun.

When they arrived at the gates of Saint Lazare, the occurencies inside had already started to make a mark on the appearance of the prison's outside as well. The two sleepy guards who usually stood watch at the entry had been joined by four of their comrades and appeared very much awake and alert. The bell of the prison church was tolling in what was obviously a sign for reinforcements.

Helene de Cambout, who, despite for a moment surprisingly falling into Combeferre's arms, hat shown remarkable composure and presence of mind given circumstances, had left, together with the medical student and Rodrigues, to some hideout that the de Cambout's had derived for times of need. And this had left Elodie to go to meet Helene's father together with Michel Chevalier.

„Seems he did not have the patience to wait", Chevalier commented, gesturing to a sturdy man with thick curly hair, wearing an ensemble that clearly spoke of wealth and status, discussing heatedly with the corporal commanding the guards, who had a slightly uncomfortable air around him. „We need to inform him of the state of affairs."

He left Elodies side and stepped up to who was obviously Aristide Dufranc, member of the assemble nationale and father to Helene de Cambout, placing a hand on his shoulder. Their exchange was short, and Dufranc received the news with a curt nod, and if there was any relief he felt, it certainly did not show on his face, which exhibited an impressive display of cold, calculated rage.

„So", she heard Dufranc continue, speaking more loudly now as he turned back to the corporal. „I understand that the deed I was trying to warn you about has happened already and there has been an attempt on my daughter's life. Again."

„You cannot possibly know that", the corporal retorted.

„Oh, but I do." Dufranc's voice showed all the coldness of a skilled orator who was fully in command of his voice and appearance. „I do because she managed to fend off not only the attack, but to extract herself from your hospitability and..."

„What?" the corporal interrupted him with exasperation. He was a man with blonde hair and pale skin, and bright red spots appeared on his cheeks. „You cannot possibly mean that she..."

„Oh, I definitely mean that", Dufranc answered.

„You will her return to our custody this instant", the corporal snapped, finding his authority again, but Dufranc was seething by now and not the least intimidated. Eloide, watching the exchange, hoped to never find herself in opposition to the man.

„I will do no such thing, Monsieur", Dufranc answered. „I will take her to a place of safety until you have sorted out your...", he contorted his face in a calculated sneer and spoke the word with derision as much as possible „establishment to a state where people not yet convicted are not in danger of their life due to your lack of dilligence."

The corporal snapped for air, but Dufranc was certainly not willing to let him recover his footing. „I am very well aware of her obligations in court tomorrow morning and will make sure that she appears as it is her due. You have my word on that, Monsieur, and I am sure the good monsieur Chevalier beside me will be willing to vouch for my good character in case it is necessary." A provocation, a bait of course. Elodie was sure the corporal knew who he was dealing with, and that in normal circumstances his word would have been worth a good deal more than Chevalier's. The journalist took up the half sung song.

„Of course I will, Monsieur Dufranc, if the need arises."

„This is highly irregular", the corporal flustered.

„There are a lot of things to be called irregular during this night, Monsieur", Dufranc continued. „But you cannot possibly entertain the thought that I will return my daughter to you today given the circumstances. You are of course welcome to file a complaint against me, or her, or us both. And I can promise you – I will make sure that the matters are put into the correct perspective of what has transpired this night. And whose negligence is to blame for which part of this mess. Am I making myself clear?"

The threat was barely veiled, and the corporal, as much as he felt himself within his right and jurisdiction, was wavering. Insisting on his right might lead to very uncomfortable questions indeed.

Well played, Elodie thought.

„See to it she is at the courthouse at eight. Not a second later", the corporal pressed out between clenched teeth, an admittance, a defeat.

Dufranc nodded.

„I will", he said. „And I will be glad to see justice served."

With this, he turned around, not giving the corporal the satisfaction of another response, and turned towards the carriage standing in the back that had obviously brought him here. „Monsieur?" he said towards Chevalier, and then, only with the slightest of hesitation and after a questioning glance to the journalist, he included Elodie in the invitation with a simple „Madame."

Elodie thought it best to leave introductions for later, nodded, and followed.