at the door, trying to keep people from pushing inside. In a moment, it will be a stampede.
“I am responsible for this model!” Curtius shouts, but no one can hear him. He stands on the desk in
I hold my breath. As its creator what?
“I sentence Lafayette to the guillotine!”
It is madness. Shouting, applauding, whooping madness. The men pick up the figure of Lafayette and follow Curtius to the window, where he drags his wooden replica of the guillotine onto the street. Outside, the crowds start singing
Henri steps from the door of his exhibition and comes to stand at my side. “More publicity?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper, sick with dread. “It was this or they would have killed us.”
He studies my face to see if I am jesting. Then I take his hand and close my eyes.
AUGUST
29, 1792–S
EPTEMBER
2, 1792
—LOUIS ANTOINE DE SAINT-JUST, REVOLUTIONARY AND LAWYER
“MARIE.” SOMEONE IS SHAKING MY SHOULDER. “MARIE, WAKE up. It’s already eight.”
I open my eyes and see Henri’s face in the fresh morning light. His long hair curls around his naked shoulders, and his chest is covered with a blanket.
I rush from the bed, and the two of us find our clothes. I watch in the mirror as Henri pulls on a pair of striped brown trousers. Every showman in Paris is now a
I come here to escape the world, not be reminded about it.
“We had the chance to escape. And now the chance has come again. A chemist has offered Jacques a passage to London on a ship that’s supposedly bound for Rouen. He isn’t going. But I am. I want you to come with me. The mobs have taken your brothers. They have taken Yachin, and they will take your family if we don’t escape.”
For the past two weeks we have slept together as husband and wife. “Stay,” I say desperately. “I will marry you. I
But Henri is firm. “Then marry me in London.”
“And risk crossing the Channel?”
“Wolfgang made it safely. You have heard from him. Marie, the Austrians are coming, and when they’re at the walls, what do you think this city will be like?” He stands from the bed. “Come with me.”
“And do what? Be what when we get there? Beggars?”
“Showmen.”
And start all over? Without a house, without a place to exhibit? “What about your laboratory?” I ask. “What about your planisphere clock?”
“It will be here. Jacques will take care of it. And if it’s all destroyed, then there will be others.”
“My mother and Curtius will never leave.”
“Then they will have each other. As well as Isabel and Paschal. But if they stay, death is the risk they are taking. Is it one you’re willing to take? There are things I still wish to accomplish in this life. I have no intention of meeting my end here. Aren’t there things you still wish to do?” he presses.
I think of Johann and Edmund, who will never have the chance to pursue their dreams. “Of course. But if the ship is leaving tonight,” I tell him, “there is no time to pack. No time for anything—”
“There will never be a perfect time. You can’t plan this out like a tableau. Either you love me enough to leave or you don’t.”
I think of my family, of the Salon. “Henri, I’m sorry …”
There is devastation in his eyes. “Me too.”
ISABEL SITS ON my bed and holds me while I weep, deep, racking, uncontrollable sobs. She pushes the hair away from my face and whispers that my uncle doesn’t know what to do for me and that my mother is beside herself with grief. A small figure stands in the doorway, hesitant to come in, but Isabel beckons him forward. Paschal climbs into my lap. He puts a tiny hand on my cheek. “Be happy,
“You chose this,” Isabel reminds me softly. “You could have gone.”
I look at her through my tears, unsure I’ve heard right. “Would you leave?”
“My place is with your mother. But you have an entire life ahead of you. A man who would be your husband. You chose this,” she repeats.
For the rest of the morning, I stay in my chamber with Henri’s letter. “When you are ready to live in London,” he wrote, “come and find me. However long it takes, I will be waiting.” I read the words over and over again, and when the pages are so stained with tears that the ink begins to run, I let them dry by the window and cry myself to sleep.
I am being crushed by the heat of the afternoon when a voice wakes me. “Marie?” Isabel knocks on the door. When I don’t answer, she turns the knob and lets herself in. She sets a tray on the table beside me. There’s a pot of coffee, and the scent fills the room. “The Prussians have taken Longwy,” she says. “All the Imperial army needs to do now is cross the Marne Valley and the road to Paris is stretched out before them.”
I sit up in my bed and move to stand, but Isabel holds out her hand. “Curtius is already gone. He left this morning while you were sleeping. Eat.”
I look at the dishes she has prepared for me and cannot imagine ever having an appetite again. “Henri left just in time,” I realize. “Another day and it might have been too late.”
“If God wills it, then you will join him in London.”
“But I’ve missed my chance.” I can hear in my own voice that I am growing hysterical. “He is in a different country and may never return!”
Isabel pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me. “Try not to think like that,” she suggests.
I look into her face, so steady and earnest. “Why can’t I be like you?”
“A widow with a son who will never know his father?”
My God, I am selfish. She has lost her husband, the father of her child, and she is waiting on me while I mourn the loss of a man I refused to follow. I put down the coffee and take her hands. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Isabel.”
“Sometimes I can hear his laughter,” she whispers, sitting on the edge of my bed. “In my sleep mostly. But also if Paschal is overjoyed. So that is my duty now. To keep Johann laughing through Paschal.”
I am humbled by her goodness, and I will do my duty as she has done hers. I have stayed in Paris for my family and the Salon. I must honor them both. Although my appetite is gone, I do my best with the salad. “I don’t hear any noise downstairs,” I worry.
“That’s because the Salon is closed. Every man in Paris has gone to the Palais to volunteer. Robespierre came this morning to ask if Curtius would help Danton recruit.”
