Free Time for Eternity by Susan Squires Page B

expression in his eyes was almost a kind of laughter.
    “Mammas keep their daughters from you.” Madame had certainly warned Françoise.
    “A relief.”
    “Even men are, I think, a little afraid of you.” Robespierre seemed to be, after all.
    “Convenient, really.”
    She was getting angry. “So I ask myself, why do people fear you so?” She tapped her empty fork against her lips. “It could be something you have done in the past so horrible that people will not speak of it. ” He watched her, wary now. “Or … it could be because you seem to have secrets. Secrets both attract people and make them afraid.”
    He blinked, twice. She considered that an achievement. Then he took a sip of wine. “I think boring people so want there to be secrets they will make them up if they don’t exist.”
    That wasn’t exactly a denial. “Are you saying you don’t have secrets?”
    “We all have secrets, child.” He examined her from under those lush lashes. “Everyone lies. Everyone tries to get what they want, without revealing how much they want it.”
    Françoise sucked in a breath. Did he know what she wanted of him? Would such a cynic extend himself to help Madame? She must not go too fast. A man like Avignon would resent any attempt to push him. She changed the subject. “I wonder you stay in France. Why not abandon the country to her foolishness? Especially when you are in danger by your very birth? ” He had that in common with Madame. Could she play upon his sympathies for one like himself?
    He set down his glass. “Don’t make me a romantic figure. I am in no danger.”
    He certainly acted as though the committee and the mob posed no threat. “How is that when you make not the slightest accommodation to the rules of the committee?”
    He raised his brows in surprise, whether because she dared to ask the question or because she did not know the answer, she couldn’t tell. “Why should I make accommodation?”
    “How can you not, and stay out of a tumbrel?”
    “Ahhh.” He studied her. “Perhaps that is my secret.”
    “I’ll wager it’s not your only one,” she grumbled, stabbing a piece of lobster.
    “It seems to me you should be grateful that my standing … let us say, ‘encouraged’ Robespierre to lose interest in you today.”
    “Why? Why did he let me go?”
    “Oh, perhaps because he and I are old friends.”
    Not likely. The little lawyer, precise to a fault, had never let anyone close in his life, even Marta Croûte, who was rumored to be his mistress. He lived for the Revolution and guarded its integrity to the point of insanity. He had started sending the earliest proponents of revolution to the guillotine themselves a few months ago, just because they were no longer zealous enough for him.
    Even Danton had lost his head. Françoise didn’t believe Robespierre let her go out of any feeling for Monsieur le Duc. But in some ways it didn’t matter why. He had. That meant the duc could help Madame. She took a breath, about to broach the subject, but thought better of it. Best she approach obliquely.
    “Why did you bother yourself about me, today?” That would tell her much about him.
    “I thought it might be diverting to flaunt you in Robespierre’s teeth when he knows you are not my ward.” He smiled. The effect was not what one would call warm. “I must invite him and that woman who is such a rabble-rouser … What is her name?”
    “Marta Croûte.” He had saved her only to spite Robespierre and Madame Croûte?
    “Yes … I shall invite them to my little soirée on Wednesday, where I shall present you to what is left of society. ” His eyes crinkled in anticipation. He wasn’t looking at her at all. “My acquaintances will be scandalized by them, not unamusing in itself.”
    The man was totally unfeeling. Françoise had never felt so small. She was saved from the guillotine by this dreadful man only for his own amusement. He would never try to help Madame. She felt tears