Tribunal today,” commented Citizen Julien as he began to undo the buttons on his heavy overcoat. “I seem to recall you being sentenced to death.”
“That was different,” Jacqueline returned irritably. “My sentence was a matter of the corruption of the law, predetermined before I even stepped into the courtroom. Surely you can see that is not the same as fighting in the streets.”
“Mademoiselle de Lambert,” began Citizen Julien, using the ancient title that had been banned from usage for over three years, “what I see is a roof over our head and a bed that has relatively clean sheets. On that stand is a pitcher of clean water and a basin to wash in. Since this room is fully paid for, and since we do have a choice about sleeping in the streets or not, I believe I would prefer it if we decided to stay.” Without waiting for her to respond, he began to unbutton his jacket and tugged on the end of his cravat.
“Perhaps you are right,” conceded Jacqueline as she looked longingly at the basin of water. A threadbare towel with a sliver of soap lay on the stand beside it. She suddenly remembered that she was covered with filth from the prison floor, and the idea of removing it was overwhelmingly appealing.
“Of course you must have the bed,” she offered generously as she poured some water into the basin, knowing full well that the old man would never accept.
“If you insist,” replied Citizen Julien as he sat on the mattress and removed his boots. He looked up to see her holding the jug and staring at him in surprise. “Naturally, you are welcome to share it with me,” he amended, gesturing to the side against the wall. “I can assure you that you need have no fear of your honor. Other than ourselves, no one will ever know of our sleeping arrangement.” He dropped his heavy boot to the floor.
“Very well,” replied Jacqueline slowly as she turned away from him. She did not like the idea of sharing a bed, but the bare floor was cold and hard and she did not believe that under these extremely unusual circumstances the rules of propriety could be applied. After all, Citizen Julien was old and arthritic, and she really should not expect him to sleep on the floor. They would both simply keep their clothes on and there would be nothing improper about it. Somewhat assuaged by that thought, Jacqueline removed her woolen cap and jacket, rolled up her shirtsleeves, and set to the task of washing herself.
“I would like to thank you for freeing me from La Conciergerie,” she told him as she closed her eyes and soaped up her face and neck with the harsh-smelling sliver provided. “I never dreamed that anyone would be sent to rescue me.”
“It seemed fortunate I arrived when I did,” commented Citizen Julien.
She knew he was referring to Nicolas attacking her, but she was too embarrassed by the incident to discuss it. She splashed herself with cold water and soaped up her skin again, convinced that one washing would not remove the stench. “Of course I realize, Citizen Julien, that you must have a plan in mind, but if you intend for me to leave Paris, I should tell you there is something I must do before I can go. As you are aware, my brother Antoine was arrested at the same time I was. I will not leave until I find out whether or not he is alive.” She rinsed herself a second time with water and then began to rub her skin vigorously with the coarse towel. “If he is alive, then I intend to rescue him. Naturally I do not expect you to risk your life for my sake yet again. Although you were successful today, I hope you will not be offended if I tell you that perhaps you are too old to be engaging in such dangerous ventures. The need to move quickly is vital, and I am sure you will agree that your advanced age does not allow you to—” She stopped suddenly and stared, confused by the sight that greeted her.
Citizen Julien had removed his snowy-white hair and was raking his hand through a length of
“That was different,” Jacqueline returned irritably. “My sentence was a matter of the corruption of the law, predetermined before I even stepped into the courtroom. Surely you can see that is not the same as fighting in the streets.”
“Mademoiselle de Lambert,” began Citizen Julien, using the ancient title that had been banned from usage for over three years, “what I see is a roof over our head and a bed that has relatively clean sheets. On that stand is a pitcher of clean water and a basin to wash in. Since this room is fully paid for, and since we do have a choice about sleeping in the streets or not, I believe I would prefer it if we decided to stay.” Without waiting for her to respond, he began to unbutton his jacket and tugged on the end of his cravat.
“Perhaps you are right,” conceded Jacqueline as she looked longingly at the basin of water. A threadbare towel with a sliver of soap lay on the stand beside it. She suddenly remembered that she was covered with filth from the prison floor, and the idea of removing it was overwhelmingly appealing.
“Of course you must have the bed,” she offered generously as she poured some water into the basin, knowing full well that the old man would never accept.
“If you insist,” replied Citizen Julien as he sat on the mattress and removed his boots. He looked up to see her holding the jug and staring at him in surprise. “Naturally, you are welcome to share it with me,” he amended, gesturing to the side against the wall. “I can assure you that you need have no fear of your honor. Other than ourselves, no one will ever know of our sleeping arrangement.” He dropped his heavy boot to the floor.
“Very well,” replied Jacqueline slowly as she turned away from him. She did not like the idea of sharing a bed, but the bare floor was cold and hard and she did not believe that under these extremely unusual circumstances the rules of propriety could be applied. After all, Citizen Julien was old and arthritic, and she really should not expect him to sleep on the floor. They would both simply keep their clothes on and there would be nothing improper about it. Somewhat assuaged by that thought, Jacqueline removed her woolen cap and jacket, rolled up her shirtsleeves, and set to the task of washing herself.
“I would like to thank you for freeing me from La Conciergerie,” she told him as she closed her eyes and soaped up her face and neck with the harsh-smelling sliver provided. “I never dreamed that anyone would be sent to rescue me.”
“It seemed fortunate I arrived when I did,” commented Citizen Julien.
She knew he was referring to Nicolas attacking her, but she was too embarrassed by the incident to discuss it. She splashed herself with cold water and soaped up her skin again, convinced that one washing would not remove the stench. “Of course I realize, Citizen Julien, that you must have a plan in mind, but if you intend for me to leave Paris, I should tell you there is something I must do before I can go. As you are aware, my brother Antoine was arrested at the same time I was. I will not leave until I find out whether or not he is alive.” She rinsed herself a second time with water and then began to rub her skin vigorously with the coarse towel. “If he is alive, then I intend to rescue him. Naturally I do not expect you to risk your life for my sake yet again. Although you were successful today, I hope you will not be offended if I tell you that perhaps you are too old to be engaging in such dangerous ventures. The need to move quickly is vital, and I am sure you will agree that your advanced age does not allow you to—” She stopped suddenly and stared, confused by the sight that greeted her.
Citizen Julien had removed his snowy-white hair and was raking his hand through a length of
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