Read Chapter 33: The House of Wounds

The woman was already at the window when they came up the stairs, her face pressed to a crack in the shutter. “They’re gone,” she whispered. “For now.”

Élise helped Henri onto a straw pallet in the corner. The room smelled of cabbage and tallow and old blood. His blood. The bandage on his arm had soaked through again, and his face was the color of chalk.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he didn’t look it.

“You’re not.” Élise pulled the strip of cloth tight. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away.

The woman—her name was Marguerite, they’d learned—turned from the window. Her eyes were flat, worn down by ten weeks of siege and another week of massacre. “You’d better be worth what he promised.” She jerked her chin at Henri. “My sons died on that barricade. I won’t shelter a man who sells lies to both sides.”

“It’s not lies,” Henri said. “I have the positions. The reserve battalions at Montmartre. The artillery placements at the Trocadéro. I drew them myself.”

“Then you’d best draw them again. The patrols are beating every door in the quarter.” Marguerite crossed to a low cabinet and came back with paper and a charcoal stub. She set them on the table without ceremony. “If they find you here and you’re worth nothing, I’m dead either way.”

Henri’s fingers closed around the charcoal. Élise watched him fight to steady his hand, the tremor in his arm from blood loss and fever. He began to sketch, slow and deliberate, lines crawling across the paper.

A shout rose from the street below. Then another.

Élise’s heart stopped.

Marguerite was at the window in three steps. “They’re coming down the Rue de la Roquette,” she breathed. “House to house. They’ll be here in minutes.”

Henri’s charcoal stopped moving. He raised his head, and the look in his eyes made Élise go cold.

“I’ll go down,” he said quietly.

“No.” The word came out as a command, and Élise herself was surprised by it.

“Élise—” Henri began.

“No. I didn’t carry you through the sewers for you to walk out and die.”

Henri set the charcoal down. “If I give myself up, they’ll take me and leave the house. Everyone here lives. That’s the bargain.”

“You don’t know that.” Élise stepped toward him. “You don’t know anything about what they’ll do. Marthe may have already told them about you. A medical officer who knew every field hospital, every stockpile, every commander—” She shook her head. “You’re not a prisoner to them, Henri. You’re a target. They will execute you on the street.”

“Perhaps.” Henri’s voice was steady. “And perhaps I buy these people another sunrise.”

“I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.”

The words hung between them. Élise felt the heat rise into her face, felt the tears pricking at her eyes, and hated herself for how small it made her feel. She had stood on the barricade at Neuilly. She had walked into a convent full of soldiers. She had dragged him through a sewer while his blood ran between her fingers. And now he wanted to undo all of it for a handful of strangers.

“Your father is the chief medical officer,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If he learns you’re in custody, he will come for you. You don’t need to surrender. You need time.”

Henri’s jaw tightened. “And if your father comes for you instead?”

The words hit like a slap. Élise opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

A gunshot cracked outside. Close. The window rattled.

Marguerite spoke without turning from the shutter. “They’ve reached the bakery at the corner. You have two minutes, maybe three.”

Henri pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled, caught himself on the table, and stood. The charcoal sketch lay unfinished beside his hand.

“I’m going down,” he said again. “I’ll tell them I came here alone. That I forced my way in. They’ll have no reason to search the building.”

“They’ll shoot you in the yard,” Élise said.

“Then at least I’ll die in the open.” Henri tried a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Better than drowning in my own fever, in a sewer, with you watching.”

Élise felt something snap inside her. She crossed the room in three strides, reached behind the barrel near the door, and pulled out the revolver Marguerite had hidden there that afternoon. The weight of it was familiar now. She had held a gun before, at the barricade, when the National Guard had pressed one into her hands and she had fired it at men who looked like her students’ fathers.

She didn’t point it at Henri. She pointed it at herself.

“Élise.” Henri’s voice cracked. “What are you doing?”

“If you walk down those stairs,” she said, her voice strange and hollow in her own ears, “I walk down with you. And when they shoot you, I’ll be beside you, on my knees, with this in my hand. Either they kill us together or they take us together. I’ve made my choice.”

Henri stared at her. The fever had darkened his eyes to the color of burnt tea. He was swaying, and it wasn’t from the wound alone. “You’d throw your life away for this? For a man you barely knew three weeks ago?”

“I knew you in a sewer, bleeding and afraid. I knew you in a convent, beaten by your own countrymen. I knew you at the barricade, when you could have walked away and didn’t.” Élise’s hands shook, but her voice didn’t. “I know you better than I’ve known anyone. And I’m not letting you die alone.”

Henri’s face crumpled. For a moment the officer’s mask vanished, and she saw the boy beneath it—exhausted, terrified, and something else. Something that broke her heart.

“Élise.” He took a step toward her. “Put the gun down.”

“Not until you promise me.”

The sound of boots below. Voices shouting orders. The crack of rifle butts against doors.

Marguerite crossed herself.

Henri came toward Élise slowly, his eyes on the revolver in her hand. He stopped an arm’s length away. “I can’t promise you,” he said softly. “Because if I live, I’ll have to save your father’s life. And if I die, I’ll have already done what I could for you. And neither of those is in my hands.” He reached out. “But I can promise you this.”

His fingers closed over her hand, over the revolver. He didn’t pull it away.

“Whatever happens in the next five minutes, I will not leave you behind again.”

Élise lowered the gun. Her tears fell free, hot and silent.

The first blow against the door shook the whole house.

«««STATE»»»

summary: In the tenement, the Versaillese patrol reaches the building and Henri offers to surrender himself to save the household; Élise stops him by threatening to die beside him, forcing him to promise he won't leave her behind as soldiers break down the door.

threads: - Henri's promise to stay with Élise will be tested by the door breaking in and the arrival of soldiers - Marguerite's fate hangs in the balance if the patrol discovers she sheltered them - The unfinished map of troop positions remains in the room—a liability if found by Versaillese - Both Élise and Henri are now cornered with no clear escape - Henri's fever and blood loss will likely worsen under capture or flight - Élise's father's reaction to her capture alongside Henri remains an open threat - The armed pursuer from the sewers remains unidentified and unlocated