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her. Conditions in the Conciergerie were rumored to be deplorable. But even imprisonment would be better than Madame’s plight as soon as she had stood before the committee. If only the duc could have saved Madame as well. She had no idea why Robespierre had backed down, even offered Françoise an apology, instead of arresting her.
    What hold could the duc have over the chairman of the Committee of Public Safety? Whatever it was kept him out of the clutches of the mob, no matter how blatantly he flaunted his aristocracy. He hadn ’t even been wearing a ribbon with the French colors on it to show his support of the Revolution. She should be grateful for whatever his influence was, or she would be sharing Madame’s lot tonight. Poor Madame.
    Françoise stepped out of the cooling bath and wrapped herself in a towel. Annette was sorting through a heap of clothing on the bed. “This looks like it might fit you, little thing that you are. ” She held up a frothy cerulean-blue confection with actual lace at the neckline.
    Françoise blinked. She had never had such an expensive dress in her life. It was not made in the severe revolutionary style. If it wasn’t au courant, neither was it left over from the prerevolutionary excess. There were no hooped panniers or elbow -length sleeves with ruffles. It had a square décolletage and long, translucent sleeves that ended in narrow cuffs at the wrist. It was an altogether original look, much too beautiful to be worn except if one wanted to be riding in a tumbrel to the Place de Revolution surrounded by a mob shouting for your blood. She had never seen anything like it.
    Yet it was totally familiar. She reached out to touch it.
    “Oh, my.” Stupid. But it was all she could think to say. The fabric was silk.
    What was a dress like this doing in the house of an unattached man?
    She snatched back her hand. There could be but one answer to that. She looked around at the feminine furniture and the cut -
    glass bottles of perfume. How stupid she was.
    “My dress is good enough.” It cost her something to say that.
    Annette’s eyes went wide. “You’re never going to wear that sooty thing to dinner!”
    “I … I don’t care to wear the clothes he keeps for his … his companions.” She sounded stuffy even to herself.
    “Me, I’d give my eyeteeth to wear a dress like this, don’t matter where it comes from.” Annette’s hands were absently stroking the almost transparent sleeves. “And his grace has taste that’s nice to a fault,” she continued briskly, coming to herself. “Won’t do to spoil his dinner looking at that nasty dress.”
    “I … I shall take a tray in my room.” Oh, but the dress was lovely.
    Annette’s eyes opened wide. Then she set her lips. “Yes, mademoiselle.” She was clearly miffed. “I’ll tell his grace that you chose not to take advantage of his kind offer to dine with him—him that Jean says dines alone so often. Still, I expect he’s used to it.”
    The wicked duc, dining alone? Not one night in twenty, she wagered. Still, it was rude to refuse his offer, even if, as he said, he hadn’t made it to be kind. He had saved her from Robespierre and Madame Croûte, after all.
    Could he do the same for Madame LaFleur? The thought popped into her head. Why not? There was no one else who could help her. But would he? She doubted it. He didn’t extend himself for anyone. And yet, he had extended himself for her …
    But she must go carefully. She must find out why he had bothered himself with her plight. If she knew that, maybe she could convince him to do the same for her friend.
    “Annette,” she called as the young woman was pulling open the door. “You’re right. It’s not the first time I’ve had hand-me-down clothes and it won’t be the last.”
    The girl turned, all smiles over teeth that weren’t quite straight. “That’s the way, mademoiselle. And I’m not much of a hand at dressing hair, but I expect I can manage