Unable to see anything beyond the wall facing the door, Marguerite kneeled beside the door with her ear pressed against the keyhole trying to hear the conversation between the woman and Beaucarnot. The latter was insistent that the woman and child leave, while the former insisted they stay.

"Bibi!" The squeal of excitement interrupted the argument. Bibi. She�d heard that name before, spoken by the same voice. Her mind traveled back a spell, to a time that seemed forever ago, yet in fact was perhaps a month or a month and a half ago. Despite the mild weather, she was in the Red Drawing room of their home in Richmond with an elven faced child seated on the settle beside her, and the dark scowling Chauvelin hovering nearby.

This was their apartment. That explained the miniature furniture and the child�s presence. Chauvelin was using his home as a prison.

Marguerite could scarcely hear Chauvelin, but for the words she caught from him and others, his daughter and her care-taker were utterly unexpected. Still she listened on.

The moment she heard Chauvelin approach, Marguerite hurried back across the room to the window and perching herself on the sill as though she had been there the entire time. She leaned her head against the frame so that she might see the broken view of the Seine sparkling in the sunlight. She heard the key click in the lock and soft creak of the door swinging open. There was no need to look to know her visitor, addressing him with her eyes still searching the world outside, "Is it a common practice for you to bring prisoners into your house?"

�I see you did not extend the same courtesy to Armand,� Marguerite replied acidly. As she spoke the words, it was not the street beyond the window she saw, but a dark, foul-smelling cell. She could see Armand�s pallid face and limp form - his eyes, hollowed and rimmed with purple, haunted her.

She knew Chauvelin was here to torment her, but her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the folded paper resting on the window sill. �Is this more threats?� Chauvelin�s intensity glare was unsettling. After a moment she picked the paper up and carefully unfolded it, quickly recognizing one of the many English society rags so popular amongst Percy�s contemporaries. Papers of that tip were most filled with fashion and gossip, hardly the sort of thing she�d expect Chauvelin to read. �I can hardly see you taking such an interest in fashion and scandal, citoyen.�

�Look closely.�

Marguerite sighed impatiently, as her eyes scanned over the front page, recognizing names without paying much heed to details. Just as she was growing weary of this little game, her eyes fixed on a name: Sir Percy Blakeney. The article stated that Sir Percy Blakeney was dissolving his brief marriage to the former French actress, Marguerite St. Just. She looked back up at the date on the newspaper � two days. It was only two days after she left that he petitioned for divorce. She�d begged him to do it, but her heart wasn�t prepared for the shock of the reality. She had no one now, no one save Armand who likely had little time left on this earth.

Sir Percy Blakeney dissolves his marriage. She remembered the night she first broached the topic and how Percy begged her not to leave; now he granted her wish and she regretted making the demand. She look up into Chauvelin�s eyes for the first time since he entered, hoping to find answers, what she found there only chilled her.

What was there to tell when she was more shocked than he? Perhaps he had no other choice. If Desgas�s information was accurate, then Percy�s best and only option was to distance himself as far as possible from the spy. She couldn�t complain, she�d told him to do as much. Still the thought turned her stomach, she had no where to turn to and she was wanted dead in two countries.

She could see the thoughts tick by on Chauvelin�s face. He was testing her - seeing if she would crumble from the blow. �Confided in you? I was certain you realized that it was the inevitable conclusion to the plan you laid out,� she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. She turned away to hide the hurt in her eyes, but could still feel Chauvelin�s eyes roving her face. �Besides what difference does it make now? I hardly expect escape retributions for my actions on this side of the channel.�

As much as she wanted to believe Chauvelin, the once thing she knew for certain of him was that he lied. Frequently. He wouldn't tell her anything unless he was getting something in return and Marguerite didn't care to hazard a guess as to what that something was. "It seems strange that you would nurse him back to health when your intent is to murder him. If you truly wish to show kindness you would allow me to be with him."

Marguerite pointedly ignored Chauvelin�s departure, knowing that he would linger if she granted him a degree of attention. Let him bluster and fume, whatever decisions he made about Armand had taken place long ago and her words would do little to change them. It was only when the door slammed shut that she stirred at all, looking down at the crumpled paper in her hands. She smoothed it out in her lap and looked at the article again:

�Sir Percy Blakeney, an intimate of H.R.H. Prince of Whale, has recently dissolved his brief and highly controversial marriage to the former French actress, Marguerite St. Just.�

There were not details on how Percy was fairing or speculation on the whereabouts of the former Lady Blakeney, just one line telling her there was no home to go back to. Had her departure been a relief or had she broken her husband�s dear heart? She wished he might have been there that last night so that she might have explained that what she did was for the best, to make him understand. But then there was the flaw in their relationship � they never really understood each other and never made the effort to try.

That was the tragedy of it. They loved each other, but not enough to open up completely. She was as guilty as he in keeping secrets, but it was to protect him� only in the end it destroyed them both. And he? Was it for her stake that he hid himself or was he trying desperately to protect the heart she had unintentionally broke?

"Hear me say I deserve to be kicked. I will lie down and let you take your mark - I deserve it! Kick me. Brutalize me in any way you wish, but I beg of you don't say you'll leave! �Promise me you won't leave me - promise!"

It was never meant to be. She left him, but then he left her first. Left her long ago and kept moving further and further away. Now all they share was a line in the paper. Dear Percy. Perhaps he would find a pretty little wife to bear his children, where she had not.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a scraping in the corner, just below the miniature desk. She wondered whether a bold rat had infiltrated, when she heard a tiny voice. �� bonjour� bonjour�� Marguerite ducked down beneath the desk and found a hole roughly the size of her hand in the walk. She pressed her cheek to the floor to look in and was startled to see an eye peering back at her. �Bonjour, Madamoiselle Marguerite! Rappelez-vous me?�

�Of course I remember you, petit,� Marguerite whispered back. �Did you just make a hole in your wall?�

�Oh, no! It�s been there for sometime. I just made it bigger so I could talk to you. Bibi said I couldn�t go in a see you, so I can see you from here.�

�You are a very clever girl, cherie,� Marguerite said. �Tell me, cherie, is there�� but Fleurette quickly shushed her.

�Louise is coming.� And quick as a flash the eye disappeared. Marguerite lingered there a moment longer listening to the nanny lecture Fleurette before crawling out from under the desk and dusting off her skirts. Perhaps the child was the answer to some of her prayers, perhaps shed could be Marguerite�s ears.

�... Louise is knitting in the other room, she usually stays up late and wakes earlier,� Fleurrette whispered into the hole, while listening carefully for her nanny�s return. If the woman caught her the hole would be blocked and she wouldn�t be able to speak with her new found friend.

�How many others are there?�

�There is Bibi�s friend and two other men with Louise... and one outside the door, Fleurette ticked them off on her fingers. �... and I think there was another downstairs, but I can�t remember. I was feeling sleepy when they talked about it.�

�It is alright, cherie,� Marguerite replied from the other side of the hole. �You�ve done very well. I am very proud of you.� The child yawned heavily and Marguerite smiled. �Perhaps we should turn in for the night.�

�I am not sleepy,� Fleurette said stubbornly through a yawn. �You haven�t told me why you are here and why you can�t come out and talk with me.�

�I�m not certain I can explain that myself, cherie,� Marguerite told her.

�Is it because of your mean husband?�

�Perhaps,� Marguerite smiled weakly, remembering that Percy have left a none to favorable impression on Chauvelin�s young daughter.

�Perhaps Bibi has brought you here to protect you from him,� Fleurette told her with sleepy enthusiasm. �Bibi wanted to save you.�

�I know, cherie, but it is time we both get some sleep,� Marguerite told her. �If we are found sleeping beside this wall, we may not be able to talk again.� The girl yawned again in replied that got up and patted off to bed. Marguerite followed suit, rising stiffly after having been in such an awkward position for so long. She sat on the edge of the small bed listening for noises in the next room

Fleurette reported faithfully, but only confirmed the helplessness of her situation. Without some miraculous or divine providence intervening she was stuck.

Marguerite stared up at the roof where the reflection of street lamp glowed directly above her. The apartment had been quiet for hours, it was in that quietude that the flood of emotions built up over the past weeks bubbled to the surface, antagonizing her, tormenting her until she felt nothing at all. It had been at least an hour since she had brought herself to think anything at all.

Somewhere in the city streets below, she heard the faint drum of marching feet so soft that she thought it a dream trying to steal over her, but the drumming grew louder and sounded louder still in the silence of the early hours. Wearily, she rose from her stupor, sitting up in her little bed, and then hurrying quietly to the window. On the street below, she saw four men approach, three in uniform and a fourth in black with a tricolour sash at his waist. The latter was too tall to be Chauvelin, but his hat was too low to see his face. They turned at the corner where the apartment entrance was located. They were meant for this place, she was certain.

She remained motionless as she listened. Five minutes passed before the others in the apartment stirred and another three before the front door creaked open and the apartment echoed with boots. Quickly, she hurried to the door and pressed her little ear to the door, listening as an authoritative voice threw about commands. A change of the guard, most likely. Another ten minutes and the voices quieted down enough for Marguerite to hear, with a start, that two were just outside the door.

�... stay the night there. He only just now told me to bring a change of guard,� said one.

�Probably want to avoid a tail,� replied the other. �Nothing more must go wrong.�

There was something said she couldn�t make out, then: �... And the boy?�

�Gone.�

�Gone?� exclaimed Marguerite and the other in unison, she clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, but needn�t have worried so. For at that same moment, something heavy crashed in the other room and both men ran to investigate. There was yelling, but nothing more about Armand. She wondered if... but no she could not bring herself to think that Armand had passed on to the hereafter. But then Chauvelin kept her here, under close guard... was it possible that Armand was rescued? He was in league with that famous rescuer, who had stolen victim out from under the blade itself. Perhaps Armand was rescued and even now flying to safety! If the Pimpernel did rescue Armand, then Chauvelin wouldn�t wish to release her in the hopes Armand would send that glorious agent of good to save his sister. Which on meant she was the bait. She hear the voices outside die down and the footfalls of boots coming down the hall.

She heard the rattle of keys in the door and hurried back to her bed, threw the covers over her head, and feigned sleep. She could hear them enter and draw near. �Has this one been giving you any trouble?�

�None for me, but she certainly drives Chauvelin mad.�

�What doesn�t?� There was a low chuckle, then Marguerite felt the covers pulled away from her face. She forced her eyes to remain closed even as she imagined she could feel warm breath against her cheek and after some time the sheet was dropped back over her face. �I can see why the little hoyden gets him riled up.� More laughter followed as both men left. Marguerite rose again when the lock clicked and rushed back to the keyhole to listen, but Chauvelin�s agents were too far to hear. Perhaps in the morning she could ask Fleurette to listen for news, but for now, at least, there were two things she knew for a certainty: Armand was no longer in Chauvelin�s clutches and, somehow, she had to keep herself from being used as bait.