She had seen Marat's ugly face four times: once at the Women's March talking to Robespierre, once in La Marias shortly before Mirabeau's death, once at the Café Porcope, and once at the king's execution, when she had nearly become an Illuminati casualty herself.

He was hardly handsome the first time she had seen him, a short and strange looking man, but he had been healthy. Since that first encounter his face had deteriorated, marked ever more with mysterious blemishes. His soul seemed to head in the same direction. Normally she felt immense pity for the disfigured, but his heart was as diseased as his skin. He was an engine of hate. And for almost a year he had had one of the most illustrious roles in government.

Now she would look upon his ugly face one last time. Then he would be nothing but a figure in history.

She had just crossed the river. He lived in a flat in Le Quartier Latin, near the La Bièvre. He lived closed to the paupers he so often made his mascot. There was something respectable about that, but not enough to save him.

Élise had come minimally armed, no pistols or sword. So as to be even less suspicious, she had come in more more typically feminine attire. The mere description of a 'girl with pants' from Marat's wife might set off his suspicions, so she was wearing a full length skirt of special design, tied on with a ribbon, which could be detached quickly once it was time to flee.

She believed she had arrived. She double checked the address. Yes. She glanced around. There was nothing to wait for. This was her big moment.

She knocked.

She wondered what his wife would look like. She would think Élise just an innocent little girl with information, an innocent little girl named Charlotte.

Her nerves tingled as the door opened.

Simone Marat an average looking dark-haired woman of perhaps thirty years. Élise began her act.

"Mme Marat. My name is Charlotte Corday. I have information on Girondins who escaped to La Caen, information I would like to share with your husband."

"I...I'm sorry. My husband doesn't normally..."

She heard a yell from upstairs:

"Ma chère, who's come to visit?"

Simone turned back to yell, "A...a woman! A young woman! Her name is..."

Simone turned back.

"Charlotte Corday," Élise reminded her.

"Charlotte Corday! She says she has information on some of the escaped Girondin traitors!"

"Magnifique! Send her up at once!"

Simone looked back at 'Charlotte.' Élise could see the worry in her eyes. Smart woman. But she submitted to her husband's command.

"Charlotte, head right in. He's bathing on the third floor, but he has a desktop set up to write down anything you need tell him. Take a left through our bedroom and you'll find the second flight of stairs. Another left and you'll find him."

Poor Simone would regret this day until her last breath.

"Thank you, madame," Élise said with clasped hands a small nod.

She entered the flat and began up the steps. The walls and ceiling looked rustic and weathered, not exactly what she as expecting. A large window was at the top. It was opened. Making it to the top she saw that outside was a courtyard with a stone wall to jump to. She made mental note, it was an ideal escape route.

Élise turned left as instructed.

She walked through their bedroom. Though full of books, it was otherwise similarly humble. She actually found that someone commendable, for a man who spoke with such vitriol against the rich. He may have been an agent of hate, but his character was not all bad.

She turned left and headed up the second set of stairs. Her heart pounded as she was about to say her greatest mark yet: Robespierre's second-in-command. Jean-Paul Marat, a name they had so often found on their tongues.

Then she made it to the top. There was a large fire place, with a ship's steering wheel mounted over it. What could the story with that be? As she came into the room fully she saw clothes hung on a line above. And then, facing away from her, was Jean-Paul Marat. He was in his tub, a slab of wood over his lap. Many little pictures hung above him.

She dropped her skirt, revealing her usual pants, then stepping out the cloth mess.

She approached, every step electric and explosive. He would die today. Marat craned his head to look at his new guest. This was his last moment.

Just as she could see his blighted face, and him hers, she unleashed her hidden blade and struck a fatal blow into his clavicle.

"Aidez-moi, ma chère amie!" he cried.

She removed the now crimson blade.

"I'm afraid its too late for saving now, Marat. How long did you think you could continue to hunt others without yourself becoming prey? You've completely subverted democracy, made a king and church of yourself and your ilk. You lack even a religious fantasy to justify such despotism over your fellow man."

He laughed bitterly, holding his bleeding wound. "Subverted democracy? I've fought for liberty, progress, equality. Never democracy. Only fools think...think that word belongs with the rest. A government for the people is not one by the people. Not with the current, sorry state of man. The French people are...are imbeciles. They've been conditioned for millennia to bow to the church and aristocracy, trained like dogs to obey a cruel master, trained to fear an invisible phantom in the sky and those baselessly claim His favor!"

"You think very little of those you claim to fight for."

"My publication was called 'Friend of the People', not 'Slave of the People.' A friend corrects a friend in error! He shouts him down from acting wrongly! And by God how many errors the people make...They constantly disappoint. Their...their old thinking dies too hard. By purging the Gindorins from parliament..." He winced. "By purging the Girondins from parliament, we did them a kindness they do not yet realize."

"Telling the people you know what's best for them makes you no better than the royalty you dethroned."

"We all believe we know better than someone else. It's why you...you stand over me, as I lay here dying. Our convictions were... incompatible."

With that word, he let out his final breath.

The bathwater was red. She respectfully shut his eyes. She knew she had to get out of there, fast. She stood from the scene and raced back down the steps, then back through the bedroom, to the window she had marked in her mind as her escape route.

She leapt through the window, her feet landing on the stone wall. She turned to her left, and saw an archway through which to exit the courtyard. She hopped down and ran for it. She looked at the facade of the buildings ahead. Her mind was already rushing with the various handholds and footholds that might -

Two soldiers pointing muskets emerged on the left flank of her exit. Another two on the right.

Four barrels pointed her way, Élise slowed to a stop. She instinctually surrendered.