ANR Ch 6
by mimiBefore the late Madam Simon could rise from the grave in indignation, it was best to leave the scene.
“Let’s go.”
The two made their way back to their lodging, guided by the moonlight.
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The three-story inn was silent. They entered through the back door, which the innkeeper had left open for late-returning guests.
A lone candle flickered atop a sconce on a bare wall, casting restless shadows. Their footsteps creaked against the wooden stairs as they ascended to the second floor, the sound resonating through the building. The rooms, stacked closely together with only thin plaster walls between them, housed fifteen lives, each lost in slumber.
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The sixteenth room was the most luxurious in the building—a guest room with a warm fireplace and a sitting area. As Yves reached for the doorknob, Claude suddenly grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“It’s dangerous. You should stay in my room tonight.”
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When Yves looked at him in confusion, Claude added an explanation.
“If Simon searched your room once, he may return. My room may be modest, but please stay there. I’ll keep watch.”
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“All night?”
“Unlike some, I don’t sleep much, so it’s no trouble.”
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At that, Yves gave an amused smile. Just moments ago, Claude had been ready to sink his teeth into him, and now, with the smallest show of trust, he was as loyal as a hound. Naïve, or just foolish? Time would tell.
“Fine. Now let go.”
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Yves glanced down at his wrist, prompting Claude to release him and take a step back.
Even after being threatened with a drawn sword to keep his hands off, his learning curve seemed disappointingly slow. Or perhaps he was just numb to it. Yves smirked to himself and quietly made his way to the modest room on the third floor.
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Claude followed and shut the door behind them. In the stillness of the sleeping inn, the sound of the lock clicking into place rang out.
Yves unfastened the sword from his waist and set it on the table. Then, as he had done during the day, he lay on the bed at an angle, leaning against the wall.
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Meanwhile, Claude opened the window to check outside. Just as before, not even a stray dog wandered by. After securing the latch, he turned back to see Yves watching him. Yves nudged the lower part of the bed with his foot, signaling for Claude to sit.
“Even if you’re standing guard, you’re not going to stay on your feet all night, are you?”
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This time, he seemed willing to share his space. A strange situation, where the guest dictated where the host should sit or lie down. Yet Claude took the corner of the bed without protest.
The two of them leaned against the wall in companionable silence. Yves loosened the cravat that had been strangling his neck all day and undid a few buttons of his shirt. He tilted his head back, exhaling deeply. It had been a long day. Sleepiness crept into the quiet room.
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“You can sleep comfortably.”
At Claude’s words, Yves opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized they had drifted shut. Sleeping too much was a burden.
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“Then I won’t refuse.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Yves propped his dusty boots onto the bed and stretched out his legs. His foot brushed against Claude’s thigh. There wasn’t much space left to shift, so he’d just have to sleep like this.
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Claude remained upright, his posture rigid. Was he waiting for his superior officer to fall asleep first? He silently watched Yves, whose half-lidded eyes, in turn, drifted over to Claude.
A cut near Claude’s neck, likely from a sabre, had swelled red.
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Would it scar?
For someone so insolent, he had a surprising amount of grit. Yves recalled the steady gaze Claude had maintained, even with a blade to his throat. Hazel eyes, rare in France.
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“When do you think they searched your room?”
Though he had just told Yves to sleep, Claude casually started a conversation. Yves responded with a voice already sinking into drowsiness.
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“Hm… When I went up after dinner with my lieutenant, some things seemed slightly out of place. Must have been then.”
“I see. Why didn’t you mention it?”
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“In a cheap inn like this, it’s not unusual. I figured it was the innkeeper or a housekeeper looking for valuables.”
“Oh, do you have anything valuable in your room? I can go retrieve it.”
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The way the conversation stretched on, Yves found himself fully awake again.
“Hmm… Now that you mention it, I do feel like smoking.”
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Before Yves had even finished speaking, Claude stood. The mattress sagged slightly as he moved.
“I’ll fetch it. Please wait here.”
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He left immediately.
Yves, accustomed to giving orders, found it oddly satisfying. What pleased him more, however, was that Claude seemed to act of his own will rather than out of forced duty. It would be convenient if he remained a useful subordinate. Dealing with unnecessary complications was exhausting.
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Lying back on the bed, Yves gazed out the window.
According to his father, the king likely wouldn’t last the year. If the coup was to proceed smoothly before the funeral, any unforeseen variables needed to be eliminated. Yet two had already appeared.
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Joseph’s untimely death.
And someone taking an interest in his true identity.
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The former was inevitable, but the latter was his own doing. He had to manage it, but it was proving more difficult than expected. The fact that he was sitting in this tiny room waiting for a man like Claude was proof of that.
Even earlier—under normal circumstances, he would have dismissed talk of “nighttime dangers” as mere pretense. He was used to people scheming to get close to him. But Claude Veil was no libertine. If anything, Yves simply found amusement in his sincerity.
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Playing the righteous fool, as if he were some noble hero.
That was why he hadn’t refused to come up to his room.
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Lost in thought, Yves suddenly realized Claude had been gone for longer than expected. The cigarettes were on the bedside table—he would have only needed to light a candle to find them. Something was off.
Then came the sound of shattering glass.
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It came from downstairs.
Yves instinctively grabbed his sword and rushed to the second floor. As expected, the noise had come from his room. The startled innkeeper had also come up, and together, they entered the room.
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The window was shattered. Luggage scattered. Someone had broken in and escaped through the window.
“Claude!”
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Yves leaned out the broken window and spotted Claude pursuing a dark figure. Without a second thought, he leapt down after them.
Startled chickens flapped and scattered. Yves vaulted over the fence, chasing after them.
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The fleeing man was heading for the woods, with Claude close behind. He was fast.
Yves immediately sensed this could be a trap. As they passed the dense undergrowth, the terrain became unfamiliar—no longer a well-trodden path. They had left the common routes behind. Realizing this, Claude suddenly halted.
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“What happened?”
Yves caught up, both men breathing heavily.
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“It was him. The red-haired man. I saw him lurking in your room and tried to catch him, but he got away.”
“Was he armed?”
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“He had a musket.”
“Damn it!”
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Yves quickly scanned the surroundings. There was a sawmill nearby, leaving several tree stumps scattered about. If their pursuer was within fifty meters, they would be easy targets the moment they were spotted.
“This was obviously a trap! Why chase him?”
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“Sometimes you have to push forward despite knowing that,” Claude replied. “Besides, why did you follow me?”
Yves fell silent. Both of them had acted recklessly.
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A gunshot rang out from the left.
A bullet thudded into a nearby tree. The shooter had missed—perhaps due to the darkness.
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Reloading a musket took at least twenty seconds.
The two instinctively pressed their backs together.
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Almost simultaneously, they drew their swords.
“I can’t see the enemy, so the situation is unfavorable. I will lure them out.”
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“Wait. You won’t be able to hit them anyway without clear visibility.”
“Still, we can’t rely on luck. If I move, take the opportunity immediately.”
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“I told you not to act recklessly. Just wait.”
At that moment, the second shot rang out.
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“It’s from that direction.”
“Don’t do anything reckless. Claude! Wait!”
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But before Yves could finish his sentence, Claude had already dashed toward the source of the gunfire. In the dark forest, a few shadows moved.
Yves instinctively counted the enemies. Three. One of them, a short man, was opening the musket’s firing mechanism and blowing on the gunpowder to reload. The others wielded a sword and an axe, respectively. The one holding the sword had red hair.
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“Drop your weapons.”
Claude pointed his sword at the short man who had just finished reloading. Startled, the man dropped his musket and raised both hands. At that moment, Yves’ sword intercepted the red-haired man, who had been preparing to attack Claude from behind. Simultaneously, the axe-wielding man lunged at Yves, only for Claude to intervene once again.
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The opponents were naturally paired off, and the clash of metal echoed through the forest. They were decent fighters, but they were no match for two trained soldiers.
The man with the axe let out a scream as Claude slashed his right arm, then turned and fled alone. At the same time, Yves disarmed the red-haired swordsman, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. Realizing the situation had turned against him, the red-haired man snapped irritably.
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“Gérard! What the hell are you doing?! Shoot them, you idiot!”
At his words, the short man—Gérard—hurriedly tried to aim his musket. But before he could pull the trigger, a cold blade pressed against his throat.
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“Step back. Or I will drive this through your neck.”
Yves held him at bay with his sabre. Normally, he would have struck without hesitation. But there were things to ask, so he only issued a threat. At that moment, an opening appeared.
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The red-haired man seized the chance, picked up the fallen axe, and swung it at Yves.
“Captain!”
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Claude moved in an instant.
He blocked the man’s arm, stopping the attack aimed at Yves. But he had no time to defend himself. The axe blade tore cruelly into Claude’s side before dropping to the ground.
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Terrified, Gérard fled, and Claude collapsed, clutching his wound.
The red-haired man grimaced. He had targeted the relatively smaller blond man but failed. A one-on-one fight wouldn’t be in his favor. He needed to escape. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the direction where his companions had vanished.
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Behind him, he heard the sound of a musket being picked up and aimed. It didn’t matter. It was too dark for proper aim.
He cursed himself and his comrades for their foolishness in leading the fight into the woods. They had even spent over ten francs just to borrow a gun. What a waste.
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Then—BANG!
His thoughts stopped. His heart, still beating wildly, was torn apart by a bullet fired from fifty meters away.
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He didn’t even have time to realize he was dying. His body crumpled into the undergrowth.
Yves lowered the musket and turned to Claude, who lay wounded. The bullet had missed any vital organs, but he was bleeding profusely. Sweat poured from his face as he struggled to endure the pain.
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Anger flared inside Yves.
Why did he do something so reckless?!
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His face twisted in frustration as he tapped Claude’s cheek.
“Claude! Can you hear me?”
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Claude groaned as Yves pressed down on the wound to stop the bleeding.
“Stay with me! Claude!”
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Thankfully, he responded with difficulty.
“Hah… You said you’d only call my name when others were around. But… ugh… you call it quite often when we’re alone too.”
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“You still have the energy to joke. That means you’ll be fine.”
“Did you… ugh… get him?”
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Even in pain, Claude had noticed the sound of Yves’ gunshot.
“It seems so.”
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“You should have captured him… ugh…”
Claude gasped as he checked his wound. His palm filled with thick blood.
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“Well, he might already be dead. I told you, it’s too dark to aim properly. But I wanted to kill him anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Can you walk?”
“Yes… if you help me… ugh…”
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Before he could finish speaking, Yves had already lifted Claude’s arm over his shoulder. As they stood, Claude let out a pained groan.
It was a long way to go, but there was no other choice. Yves could only trust Claude’s willpower.
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“It doesn’t seem like your bones are broken. As long as we treat you quickly, you’ll be fine.”
“Feels like hell… ugh…”
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His voice was hoarse from the pain. Yves knew the feeling well—he had been injured in battle before. The sensation of torn flesh, the twisting agony in the organs. If it was Claude’s first time experiencing this, it must have felt unbearable.
By the time they reached the inn, the innkeeper gasped in shock at the sight of them. He muttered something about the commotion from earlier and panicked.
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“What are you standing around for?! Get a doctor, now!”
Yves’ commanding tone jolted the innkeeper into action. He threw on a coat and rushed outside. Curious guests peeked from their rooms, drawn by the early morning disturbance.
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Yves took Claude to his room and laid him on the bed. Without hesitation, he removed the bloody shirt and used a clean cloth to apply pressure to the wound.
He had seen far worse injuries in battle—limbs severed, guts spilling out. Fortunately, he was well-versed in emergency treatment.
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Standing by the door, the innkeeper’s wife watched anxiously. Yves requested clean water and a bottle of pure brandy.
Claude gulped down the strong liquor and exhaled deeply.
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“Hah… It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry.”
“Do I look worried?”
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“Well… if not… ugh… that’s a relief.”
Claude shifted slightly, wincing. Yves didn’t reply.
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Of course, he was worried. Claude had gotten hurt in his place.
His mind replayed the moment in the forest. He should have blown the red-haired man’s head off instead of his chest.
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Fortunately, the doctor arrived quickly. Without waiting for an explanation, Yves shoved a handful of gold coins into his hands.
“Save him. No matter what.”
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The doctor, overwhelmed by the unexpected wealth, took on the air of Asclepius’ disciple. He examined Claude’s wound with grave seriousness.
“The room is dark. More candles would help.”
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The innkeeper lit five candles, illuminating the space.
Claude’s body, sculpted with defined muscles, was soaked in blood and sweat. Drops of sweat trailed down his temples. The doctor knelt beside the bed, casting a large shadow against the wall. The flickering candlelight made the shadows dance, adding to the tension.
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Claude opened his eyes. Yves stood with his arms crossed, scowling. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the doctor’s hands for a second. He looked… angry.
With every painful breath Claude took, Yves’ blue eyes seemed to ripple.
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The pain grew sharper. The doctor cleaned the wound, sending waves of fire through Claude’s body.
It was strange. He had been cut with a blade, yet every time he noticed Yves watching, it felt like he was being burned instead.
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“I will stitch the wound now. It will be painful.”
The doctor warned in a low voice.
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“It doesn’t matter. Just do it.”
Claude emptied the last of the brandy. He set the glass down, took a deep breath, and fixed his gaze on the superior officer watching him so intently.
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The doctor immediately began stitching the wound. Claude’s fingers tightened around the glass he was holding, the veins on the back of his hand bulging as if he might shatter the glass with his bare hand. A groan pressed against his throat but never escaped. The pain of having his flesh stitched together wasn’t something that could be drowned out by just a few drinks.
Fortunately, Claude managed to endure it well enough. His pounding heart pumped blood faster than usual, accelerating his body’s recovery process. By the time the doctor finished sewing the wound, his body was already prepared to begin healing.
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“All done. You must not move for at least two days.”
“That’s quite an inconvenient request.”
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Claude grimaced, touching the bandages wrapped around his waist. At the same time, he glanced toward his superior, who stood beside him like a guardian.
“He’s right. We should postpone our return to Paris for a few days.”
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At Yves’ words, the doctor, who had been cleaning up the bloodied cloths and tools, lightly patted Claude on the shoulder—a silent indication that he should listen to his companions.
The doctor was quite pleased with his work today. He felt that his skills had improved significantly. Usually, when stitching up a fresh wound, the patient would thrash in pain or even try to flee, but today, the procedure had gone smoothly. That was a sign of successful treatment. As he finished tidying up and left the room, a sense of pride lingered on his face, as if he had just earned his gold coin.
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With the commotion settled, silence once again returned to the inn in Bruneux. The innkeeper entered the room, placed logs into the desolate, extinguished fireplace, and lit the kindling. As the air inside the room warmed, Yves drew the curtains and covered the broken window.
When the innkeeper’s wife knocked and brought in a kettle, Yves took it as if he were a servant attending to Claude. He placed it on the table along with a glass of water so it would be ready to drink at any time. Then, he pulled up a chair and sat beside Claude’s bed, a cigarette in hand.
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“You look like a mess.”
Claude let out a bitter smile, his face still contorted with pain. Even though he had been injured while protecting Yves, he hadn’t received a single word of thanks.
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“You should consider yourself lucky it was me. Otherwise, your spine would have been broken.”
“Do I seem that weak in your eyes, Lieutenant?”
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“Well, you do have the kind of appearance that makes it easy to underestimate you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
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Yves crossed his legs and lit his pipe, taking a slow drag.
“By the way, they’ll probably find the body in the forest soon. The police will be here by tomorrow. That’ll be a hassle, won’t it?”
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“I’ll just say he was a petty thief who broke into my room. Since you got injured like this, I’d have had plenty of justification to kill him.”
As the dry tobacco leaves burned, a hazy scent filled the air. Yves exhaled the smoke, his voice calm.
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“Still, you must be frustrated, Lieutenant. The real culprit you were after is dead. After all the trouble you went through to get here, you’re back to square one.”
“Not exactly. I heard the name of an accomplice from Madame Simon.”
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“An accomplice?”
“Yes. You mentioned seeing two men that night. It seems the one who directly carried out the act for the Viscount was a man named Coupot. I don’t know what their relationship was, but if we investigate around the deceased Simon couple, we might find some clues.”
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Claude’s face twisted slightly as he finished speaking. A wave of pain seemed to rise from his wound, making him clench his teeth. Yves, seeing that continuing the conversation would only strain him further, set down his pipe and stood up.
“If we were in Paris, I’d get you some opium. But we’re stuck in the countryside, so you’d better try to sleep.”
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“You should rest too, Captain.”
“I don’t know who’s worrying about whom here.”
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Yves moved toward a worn-out sofa a short distance from the bed. Ignoring Claude’s gaze following him, he stretched out his long legs and reclined. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but after a long night of tension and fatigue, his body finally started to relax.
“Are you serious?”
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Claude’s voice broke the silence. Yves, eyes closed, responded lazily.
“You really need to stop asking me that every time. It’s getting exhausting.”
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“It’s a habit.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just go to sleep already.”
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Yves turned away, signaling that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. With that, the room fell into quiet once more. Claude, who had been silently watching Yves’ back, soon closed his eyes as well. The candle had already burned out, leaving only the flickering glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. The hushed sound of their breathing occasionally blended with the crackling of burning wood.
✧ ✧ ✧
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The next morning, the last person to wake up at the inn was Yves. He was roused by the sound of a door opening and closing in the next room. The sunlight filtering through the curtains was bright and strong—it seemed the morning had long passed.
As he sat up and looked around, he saw Claude sitting on the bed, struggling to change his bandages. It was a task too difficult to manage alone, yet he hadn’t asked for help. Yves walked over to him.
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“You could just ask. It’d be easier than struggling alone.”
Yves moved Claude’s hands aside and took hold of the bandages wrapped around his waist.
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“I thought you hated being woken up.”
Claude naturally raised his arms, making space for Yves to work.
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“There’s an exception for patients. Do I really seem like such an inconsiderate villain?”
“It’s reassuring to know you do make exceptions.”
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“You seem to enjoy messing with me. Hold this.”
Yves handed him the end of the bandage and reached behind him to carefully undo the wrapping. As he worked, his breath momentarily brushed against Claude’s temple. Once, then again, and one final time. The golden strands of Yves’ hair tickled Claude’s jaw as the bandage unraveled.
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“Hm, the bleeding has stopped. Now it just needs to heal properly.”
Yves observed the wound carefully.
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“That’s a relief. Then we shouldn’t have much trouble leaving for Paris soon.”
“In this condition?”
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Yves looked up at Claude, and their eyes met at a dangerously close distance. So close, he could hear the steady rhythm of Claude’s pulse.
Had he ever been this physically close to someone before? Even in bed, such intimate proximity felt foreign. Yves found himself suppressing a chuckle at his own ridiculous thoughts. Meanwhile, Claude’s expression remained perfectly composed. Feeling a sudden urge to tease him, Yves smirked.
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“Raise your arms higher.”
Claude complied, lifting them as if surrendering. Yves placed a clean cloth over the wound and began rewrapping the bandage. Once, twice. When he reached the final loop around Claude’s waist, he found himself tying the knot in a position that made it seem as if they were embracing.
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Claude remained uncharacteristically silent. Just last night, Yves had scolded him for talking too much despite his injuries, but now, the man was wordlessly watching him.
“All done.”
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“Thank you.”
Claude pulled his shirt over the bandages, his face slightly flushed—perhaps from the pressure on his wound.
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“Are you going to eat lunch?”
“No.”
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“Why not? You need to eat to heal quickly.”
“I just don’t have an appetite. You should go ahead.”
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Yves frowned at the response.
“You’re stubborn. Fine, we’ll eat in here. I’ll ask them to bring up two portions, like last time. Anything in particular you’d like? Maybe a whole chicken?”
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Surprisingly, Claude didn’t object to Yves’ insistence. Just as they settled the matter, there was a knock at the door.
Yves stood up and opened it, finding the innkeeper standing outside with a man in a police uniform. It seemed Simon’s body had been discovered. Yves immediately grasped the situation but feigned ignorance as he addressed them.
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“What’s the matter?”
“Ah, yes. Well… Didn’t that suspicious person break the window and run away yesterday? It seems a body was found in the forest, and I was wondering if you might…”
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The innkeeper trailed off, craning his neck to peek into the room over Yves’ shoulder. At that moment, a police officer stepped forward and addressed him.
“The innkeeper here mentioned that someone returned injured last night. We’re investigating whether they might be connected to the deceased.”
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“That’s right. I shot him. As you can see, my party was ambushed, and I didn’t have the chance to check, but it seems he didn’t make it.”
Yves turned to let them see inside the room. Bloodstained clothes lay scattered about, and Claude, wrapped in bandages, sat on the bed like evidence of the incident.
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“Was there a fight?”
At the officer’s question, Yves pointed to the broken window and replied,
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“A burglar broke into my room last night. My companions and I pursued him, but when he threatened our lives, I shot him in self-defense.”
The officer scrutinized Yves with a suspicious look, as if trying to deduce his identity.
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“What’s your name?”
“Albert de Lavant. And that man over there is Jacques Civil, who was traveling with me.”
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Hearing the fabricated names, the officer turned his gaze to Claude. Claude glanced at Yves briefly before picking up the story seamlessly.
“Sir Lavant and I were traveling from Paris to Lyon. While we were briefly away, we discovered a thief had broken into his room. When we tried to capture him, he shattered the window and escaped. We chased after him, only to be ambushed by another group, and one of them attacked me with a weapon.”
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“We did find a bloodstained axe near the body,” the officer added, giving more credibility to Claude’s statement.
“Breaking and entering alone warrants a ten-year sentence. On top of that, the man had a Charleville musket—surely you know that’s French military property. Both the thief and whoever bought the stolen weapon would be guilty of a serious crime. That’s another ten years at least. He would’ve rotted away in prison for twenty years.”
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Yves casually slipped in additional information. The officer nodded in agreement.
“That sounds about right. He had a reputation for being a troublemaker.”
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“Do you know his identity?”
“Yes, his name was Edmond Coupot. There are plenty of people in Bruneuil who will be pleased to hear he’s dead.”
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Hearing the unexpected name, Yves felt a moment of shock. So it wasn’t Simon—it was Coupot. He glanced at Claude, and after a brief exchange of thoughts, they reached the same conclusion.
The red-haired man they had seen in front of the lumber mill yesterday must have been Coupot. Because he had been with a woman, they had assumed he was her husband, Simon. It was an understandable mistake, as Yves hadn’t been certain which of the two men he had seen at Viscount Perrin’s residence was Simon.
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“There was actually another death last night. A woman’s body was found beside a tavern on Bove Street. There were no witnesses, which makes things difficult.”
“Quite the night for crime,” Yves remarked, subtly suggesting Coupot as the culprit.
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“Well, we’ll have to investigate that as well.”
“I thought this was a quiet countryside town, but it’s surprisingly eventful. Must be tough for a single inspector to handle it all.”
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“Haha, well…”
The officer gave a sheepish laugh, seemingly pleased by Yves’ flattery. Yves seized the opportunity to steer the conversation.
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“If there’s nothing more to investigate, let’s wrap it up for today. As you can see, we have an injured man to tend to. We’ll be staying here for a few more days, so if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Understood. Ah, by the way, are you missing any belongings?”
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“Not that I’ve noticed.”
The officer nodded and glanced around the room once more. His eyes landed on the bandages around Claude’s waist, and his brows furrowed slightly—perhaps feeling some sympathy after hearing about the axe wound.
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“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”
He gave a short farewell and exited the room. As the innkeeper followed him out, Yves called him back and ordered lunch, suggesting they prepare chicken meat, which was good for recovery, and handing him a gold coin. The innkeeper eagerly agreed and rushed outside to slaughter a chicken.
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Once they were alone again, Claude spoke carefully.
“So the dead man wasn’t Simon, but Coupot.”
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“Yes, that’s a relief. The lieutenant won’t have to go around questioning people again. And since Simon’s wife was murdered, he’s bound to show himself sooner or later.”
Yves crossed his arms and moved closer. Claude shifted toward the wall, making room for him—an invitation to sit on the bed comfortably.
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Yves didn’t hesitate and settled on the opposite side of the bed. Just like the night before, they faced each other, continuing their conversation.
“But who killed Simon’s wife? If she left me a warning with that handkerchief, then it must have been the same person who broke into my room last night.”
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“Then it would have to be Coupot, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe he figured out that she was trying to betray him and took care of her first. But then why did they leave the lumber mill together? Were they having an affair?”
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“Judging by the way she spoke, I don’t think so. She seemed to despise him.”
“Either way, we need to find Simon quickly to confirm the truth.”
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Claude nodded in agreement. However, given his injuries, making any moves too soon would be difficult. It would take at least three to four weeks for him to recover. And there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be attacked again.
This time, Simon might come with reinforcements instead of Coupot. Claude was concerned about Yves’ safety, especially since he was now unable to fight properly. But before they could formulate a plan, the case took an unexpected turn.
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On the fourth morning of their stay in Bruneuil, the innkeeper brought them news. It had been confirmed that Coupot had also murdered the woman found dead on Bove Street. Her husband had turned himself in and confessed, and the story had made it into a special edition newspaper that morning.
The short article read as follows:
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[…Appearing in a haggard state at the police station, Jean Simon testified that his wife had been murdered by Edmond Coupot a few days prior. Shockingly, he also claimed that Coupot was the culprit behind the recent murder of Viscount Perrin in Paris. He insisted that he was not an accomplice and had merely helped transport the body. Meanwhile, the police…]
“He’ll be sent to Paris for trial soon.”
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Yves set the newspaper down and looked at Claude.
“Do you think so?”
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“If not, we’ll make sure of it. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Claude glanced down at his wound before nodding.
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“No problem.”
The two immediately decided to return to Paris. It just so happened to be Easter Sunday.
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As their carriage approached the gates of Paris, it slowed down. Two soldiers came forward for inspection, opening the door without hesitation. Their familiar uniforms of the Guards were recognizable, but Yves and Claude remained silent about their identities.
“Where are you coming from?”
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“Bruneuil. We were attending a relative’s funeral.”
Claude subtly placed a hand over his waist as he spoke. The soldiers thoroughly inspected the carriage and demanded that one of the luggage bags be opened. Yves’ face twisted slightly, but Claude calmly intervened.
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“We’re all tired, so why don’t we make this quick?”
He discreetly slipped them a few coins. The soldiers, satisfied, nodded and signaled for them to pass.
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The carriage, its wheels caked in mud from the long journey, slowly rolled into the city.
“…I think I just witnessed my lieutenant bribing a soldier.”
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Yves’ smooth eyes, with his chin resting on his hand and head tilted, met Claude’s.
“It was less than ten sous. The shift change was approaching, so he probably wanted to have a glass of wine on his way home. If we stopped them from even that, no one would want to take on checkpoint duties.”
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“Do soldiers tend to avoid working the outskirts?”
“Especially after evening shift changes. It’s not just farmers carrying wheat who pass through. Sometimes, when trouble arises with shady smugglers, accidents happen.”
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The carriage, which had been tilted to one side, returned to a horizontal position. It seemed they had entered a well-paved part of the city. The rattling motion gradually subsided.
“When you say smugglers, are you talking about opium?”
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“No, something more valuable than that. Soap.”
“Ah… Well, the soap tax has gone up a lot.”
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Yves nodded in agreement and turned his head toward the window. The city walls surrounding them were gradually fading into the distance.
“Why do you think Simon turned himself in?”
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Claude swept away the idle chatter with a meaningful question. Yves’ voice, in response, sank into calm composure.
“He either took money from someone or was threatened—one of the two.”
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“If he was paid, then it must have been the royalists. If he was threatened, then it would be the Carbonari.”
Yves silently affirmed, then suddenly turned the question on Claude.
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“If you were in his position, what would you do? If you were caught working as a double agent, which side would be more beneficial to align with?”
Though asked lightly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, a faint intent was hidden behind the word “if.”
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“Well, I’m not interested in political games. But if I had to choose, I’d need a standard to go by.”
“A standard?”
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“Yes, though it’s nothing significant… Captain, are you a royalist?”
At the question that dodged the main issue, Yves lifted his gaze to Claude.
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“If you find it difficult to answer, I won’t ask further.”
Anyone who knew his background wouldn’t even need to ask. The fact that Claude still bothered to raise the question made his intent obvious. Wasn’t he the one who had asked Yves to tell only the truth in front of him? If he was trying to probe, there was no reason not to entertain him.
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“And if I say I am? If, as you say, I’m part of the ultra-royalists, what then?”
“Then I’d take the money and stand with the king.”
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Yves, hearing the answer flow out as if Claude had been waiting for it, turned the question back on him.
“And if it were the opposite?”
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“Then you wouldn’t even need to threaten me. I’d support your ideology and let myself be honorably arrested. In reality, regardless of which side I choose, the trial’s outcome will be the same. No one would care to listen to the defense of a penniless commoner. I’d either get life imprisonment or be guillotined. So I might as well make it easy for myself and set a simple criterion.”
Yves didn’t understand. Why choose him as the deciding factor? When he asked, Claude’s answer was concise.
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“Because I want to know which side you’re truly on.”
The carriage lurched up and down. Their gazes wavered together.
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Claude knew full well the rudeness behind the word “spy.” But there was no way to take it back. His curiosity had grown too large to be concealed.
“That’s enough of your insolence.”
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Yves turned his gaze away, looking outside the window in clear displeasure.
In truth, Claude had spoken those words because he had a vague expectation—an unfounded hope that Yves was on the side of the revolutionaries. He had claimed to be uninterested in politics, yet he couldn’t help but lean toward whatever best suited his own status.
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And how laughable it was. He himself was biased in one direction, yet he expected Yves to betray his noble origins and side with the people. At some point, an unsubstantiated contradiction had taken hold of Claude’s mind: the belief that Yves would ultimately stand with justice, that even if he feigned indifference, he would, in the end, side with the oppressed.
Perhaps that was the reason for his blind loyalty—the conviction that Yves was on the right side. The certainty that, though he pretended otherwise, he would eventually stand with the weak. It must have been that belief that allowed him to throw himself into harm’s way for Yves in the Bois de Vincennes.
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And so, Claude never realized that, from time to time, he had gazed at his superior with eyes burning with something deeper.
By the time the carriage arrived at Rue Blanche, where Claude lived, the coachman unloaded the baggage and opened the door. Yves did not step down but saw him off from inside.
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“There’s still some time before Simon’s trial, so focus on your recovery until then.”
“I’ll be fine in about a week. Once I can ride again, I’ll come to fetch you.”
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“Stop thinking about unnecessary things and stay home. I’ll send a doctor; I’ll hear about your condition from him. Now go.”
Before Claude could even feel any regret in parting, Yves urged the coachman on. As the door closed coldly, Claude took a step back. At once, the coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage disappeared before his eyes.
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Was it because of what he had said about spies?
Yves’ final words had been cold and devoid of warmth. Though he had offered to send a doctor, his tone made it sound like an obligation rather than kindness—like he was trying to hide any hint of concern.
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Claude stood for a long time, gripping his bandaged waist, watching the carriage vanish. Only when a passerby glanced at him did he finally turn his gaze away and climb the stairs to his home. Just as he entered, his sister emerged from the kitchen, startled by his arrival.
“You’re so late! Cough, cough. You were two days overdue—I was worried! Oh my, you’re hurt?”
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Catching on to his suspicious movements, Catherine flitted around him in heightened alarm.
“It’s nothing, so don’t make a fuss.”
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In a calm voice, he reassured her and entered his room. The floorboards gleamed as if recently cleaned, and the rug’s fibers stood fresh. A pile of dried narcissus flowers lay on the table. Seeing them brought back thoughts of someone who had been with him all along.
“The Morels will be up for dinner soon—cough, cough. We planned to spend Easter together, remember?”
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“Oh… Right.”
Claude, standing dazed for a moment, sank onto the bed. He was exhausted, and his wounds ached. The pain he had suppressed as if he were made of iron surged up the moment he stepped into his home.
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Catherine insisted on treating his injuries, but he fended her off by mentioning that a doctor was coming. After sending her away to change clothes, he removed his bloodstained shirt, revealing a body marked by suffering.
Running his fingers over the bandages wrapped around his broad chest, he recalled the sensation of someone’s arms encircling his waist.
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The golden hair brushing against his nose, the gaze looking up at him, the subtle expressions.
Imagining someone who was no longer there, warmth spread through his body.
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He hadn’t shown it, but when Yves had silently inhaled the scent of his sweat, Claude, too, had felt as if his wounds had been scorched by fire. The awkwardness had made him hold his tongue, which, in hindsight, was ridiculous.
All of this—it must simply be because of Yves’ peculiar inclinations. That was why he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had tried to suppress it, but curiosity had crept into even that realm of thought.
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And, after all, wasn’t Yves strikingly handsome? His sleeping form was as serene as the Bois de Vincennes, his manner of eating as elegant as a painting by Bizet. His stride was light despite its short steps, and his voice held the dignity of a Bach melody.
More than anything, the golden hair that occasionally tickled his nose gave him an urge to reach out and touch it.
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“…This is madness.”
Claude’s muttered words cut off the endless thoughts. A few days spent together must have scrambled his mind. He pressed a cloth to his burning wound and stood.
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Meanwhile, Catherine and Madame Morel bustled about, preparing dinner…
And as the Easter evening feast began, the bells of Notre-Dame rang over Paris.
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