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growth that was obviously his own, hair that held not the slightest tinge of gray. It was fair in color, not quite blond, and not quite brown, but rather an even mixture of the two, with threads of copper liberally mixed in. He stood with his back to her, and Jacqueline noticed that his stooped, fragile body was now perfectly erect and bore no resemblance to the hunched frame he had affected just moments before. Citizen Julien was actually very tall, with enormously broad shoulders. He had removed his jacket and waistcoat and stood only in his shirt and trousers, revealing a firm, narrow waist and long, powerful legs. Unaware of her watching him, he wearily rubbed the back of his neck and slowly lowered his head from side to side, grunting with satisfaction at the loud cracking sounds that rewarded his efforts. Then he undid the buttons on his shirt and began to shrug out of it, revealing a muscular, bronzed back and arms that contrasted sharply with the pale, spotted skin on his hands. He turned suddenly, perhaps finally having noticed that the room had gone very quiet, and found her staring at him, her eyes wide with shock.
    “I am, perhaps, not quite as old as you seem to think,” he suggested. His eyes held just the barest hint of amusement as he met her gaze before continuing with the removal of his shirt.
    “Who are you?” stammered Jacqueline, her mind racing with confusion. His face was still wrinkled and white like his hands, but it was no longer a face to match the body that carried it. His expression had changed, softened somehow. His eyes seemed larger and the deep grooves around them and in his forehead were now but hints of wrinkles that were yet to come.
    He ignored her question and walked past her to the washstand. He took the bowl to the window and heaved its contents onto the ground before filling it from the jug and bending over to wash his own face, neck, and hands. He took his time, making sure to use the soap right up into his hairline and down his neck to his collarbone. When he had finally finished and stood there toweling himself off, Jacqueline could only stare, amazed by the transformation that had occurred.
    Gone was the frail old man with the pale, wizened skin, white, scraggly hair, bent, arthritic frame, and slow, shuffling gait. In his place stood a handsome man of strength and vitality, who towered above her and seemed to fill the tiny room with an intense, restrained power. His eyes were an indescribable color, perhaps blue, but then again perhaps more green. His face was ruggedly cut, with definition to his cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and a strong, square jawline. Fine lines were etched in his forehead and around his eyes, lines that had appeared far deeper and more numerous with the skillful application of cosmetics. They might have been lines of laughter, but something in the intensity of his gaze told Jacqueline they were more likely to be caused by anger, or perhaps pain. His massive chest and narrow waist were well defined by thick layers of muscle; his heavy arms looked like they could easily crush a person in their embrace. He ignored Jacqueline as she continued to stare, walked over to the bed, and drew down its covers.
    “Who are you?” she repeated, having gotten control of some of her surprise.
    He shrugged his enormous shoulders. “Tonight I am Citizen Julien. For now, that is all you need to know.” He lay down on the bed, pulled the covers up, and closed his eyes, obviously deciding the conversation was over.
    “Why did you save me?” demanded Jacqueline.
    “Because you needed saving,” he replied indifferently as he rolled over and faced the wall.
    Jacqueline stood and stared in confusion at him. How could she not have seen that he was not what he appeared to be? Of course the cell and the streets had been very dark, and his voice and mannerisms were most convincing. But once they were well on their way, how could she not have noticed that despite his