《Love at Dawn》克拉克拉

30、Engagement ring of Andre's 安德烈的订

　　"Hasten, Edith, urge Citizen Saint-Clemont to flee!"Lucile Desmoulins grasped the young girl's hand, her face pale. "Georges' friend came tonight to warn him, they are about to strike against him! And I fear for my Camille too!"

　　"What?" Edith stared at Lucile blankly, completely caught off guard by the swiftness of this day's arrival. "But that's impossible, isn't it? How could they arrest a generally accepted patriot?"

　　"Georges doesn't believe it either, or rather, he refuses to believe. He always believed that they wouldn't dare to do so." Lucile shook her head dolorously."He's too overweening, convinced that even if he stood before the Tribunal, his eloquence and reputation would save him."

　　"Isn't it true, though? If even a valiant hero of the Revolution like Citizen Danton is to be condemned, wouldn't the people lose all trust in the Republic?"Edith asked, her voice tinged with nervousness.

　　"No, it's precisely because the people hold him in such high esteem that the executioners fear him even more. They only desire his life now, heedless of anything else!" Lucile's expression grew more pained, unconsciously squeezing Edith's hands until they hurt.

　　"Then let Citizen Danton and Desmoulins seek refuge in other places, Lucile!" Edith leaned towards her, imploringly.

　　"Georges would never choose to flee. He said, 'Flee! Can one take your homeland you with on the soles of your shoes?' Those were his exact words! Camille stands by his side through thick and thin; they are determined not to desert!"

　　Beautiful Lucile trembled all over as she embraced her young friend's waist. "Everything is unfolding just as I feared! Their lives hang in the balance! The revolution is doomed!"

　　Edith patted Lucile's shoulder, trying her best to console her. "At least Citizen Desmoulins shares a camaraderie with Robespierre in the Committee of Public Safety, doesn't he? Isn't that reassuring, dear Lucile?"

　　"Yes, camaraderie! But in times of such chaos, friendship is unreliable! Maximilien has been blinded by the slanderous words of the rats within the Committees! Yet perhaps he will remember the old ties that bind; there may still be hope for Camille's life!" Lucile became somewhat gibbering. "Ah, why can't I be in the Convention? Why can't we be in the Convention? If it is a right solely assigned to men by nature, why let me see everything so clearly? If we are granted such wisdom, why not grant us the same liberty? Ah, if only I were an illiterate countrywoman! No, why am I saying these things? Now my Camille can only rely on me, can't he?"

　　Suddenly, she released Edith, took a ”deep breath, and calmly and swiftly gave her instructions. "But Citizen Saint-Clemont must leave. His past noble status magnifies his present danger; he hasn't associated with Georges and them for long, he should not be implicated! You must make him go, make him leave quickly, Edith!"

　　"Is it really... to this extent?" Edith murmured to herself.

　　"Do not waste lives! Urge him to flee, hurry, to Caen, to Toulon, wherever!" Lucile firmly looked into the girl's eyes.

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　　Edith walked slowly back to her room, still feeling as if everything around her was unreal. However, what appeared before her eyes was a scene even more like an illusion.

　　Andre had been waiting in her room, and as she entered, he turned around with a smile. He approached her, dropping to one knee before her, and gently opened a tiny, delicate box made of black velvet.

　　Inside lay a ring adorned with an embedded ruby, shimmering brilliantly in the glow of the candlelight.

　　"We once dreamt of bestowing upon each other tranquil happiness in a peaceful republic," he spoke, each word brimming with deep affection. Yet, that affection was not one of joy but carried a hint of sorrow.

　　"But the current state of revolution has left me deeply unsettled. I seek only one promise from you, my beloved Edith! With this promise, I can continue to hold steadfast to all that I believe in. As long as there is still a glimmer of dawn ahead, no danger shall be daunting to me!"

　　It had been several days since she last spoke to him, but in this moment, he seemed to pretend that everything were as it used to be. Seeing her silence, Andre cautiously took out the diamond ring, tenderly pulling her fingers.

　　Edith's hand instinctively recoiled, barely noticeable. "Where did you get such a valuable?" she asked.

　　He hesitated, his gaze falling downward, and whispered, "It's nothing more than a replica."

　　"But it's so fresh red!" she murmured, gazing at the resplendent gem.

　　"I thought you would appreciate this colour. Like a flag, isn't it?" he replied softly.

　　"Like blood," she uttered, her expression void of emotion.

　　Andre didn't respond to her remark.

　　"You haven't given me the answer I beseech yet, Edith," he maintained that sincere smile, raising his gaze to meet her eyes as if nothing was amiss.

　　She saw her own face, devoid of any trace of a smile, reflected in the luminous and translucent ruby, mirrored once again in his crystalline blue eyes.

　　In an instant, the ardent and profound love of the past year surged within her heart. Countless words floated on the edge of her lips, but in the end, she could only muster a tremulous voice and utter a poignant question:

　　"Raphael... He'll be alright, won't he?"

　　The smile faded ever so slightly from Andre's lips, his head gradually lowering, golden locks cascading down.

　　"You don't want to answer?" She paused for a moment before asking again.

　　"Do we have to talk about him now?" he still spoke with a lowered head.

　　Edith pushed the ring back to its original position. "If you can't give me a reassuring answer, Quenet, then I'm afraid I can't give you one either."

　　It was only then that Andre raised his head, gazing at her with a mournful expression.

　　Just as Edith was about to pull away and leave, her skirt was tugged from behind. She turned back and saw Andre, both knees now on the ground, reaching out to hold her hand and offering the black box to her.

　　"At least keep this," his voice trembled, without looking at her, "and when you're ready to give me a promise, I'll personally place it on your finger."

　　-----------------------

　　Andre strode swiftly through the veil of night, his shadow stretching long beneath the streetlights. His dark crimson overcoat billowed behind him, whispering in the wind like a banner dancing in solitude.

　　As he turned a corner into a dimly lit alleyway, Raphael Saint-Clemont stumbled forward, his hands tightly grasping the lapels of Andre's shirt.

　　Raphael's blonde hair were disheveled from the rush, and the lamplight cast a faint yellow halo upon his pale cheeks. The handsome faces of these two young men, pressed close to each other, were so strikingly similar, yet their temperaments were in stark contrast: one exuded an air of haughty coldness, suppressing a burning fury within, while the other wretched and desolate, consumed by despair.

　　"You madman," There was a quaver in Raphael's voice as he confronted Andre, "are you really going to murder Danton with them? How much more blood do you need to satisfy yourself?!"

　　"This is none of your concern," Andre indifferently brushed Raphael's hand away.

　　"None of my concern?! She cares about us!" Raphael roared with gritted teeth.

　　"You hold yourself too highly, Citizen Saint-Clemont," Andre coldly pushed him aside and proceeded on his path.

　　"She will never forgive you! You Robespierre's court executioner! Where are you going? To write accusations against us? Or to issue our arrest warrants? Ah?!" Raphael caught up, forcibly placing a hand against Andre's chest, halting his steps. "The guillotine is also awaiting you, Andre Quenet!"

　　For an instant, a glimpse of almost murderous intent flickered in Andre's eyes. He grabbed Raphael's hand pressed on his clothes.

　　"Cease touching my body with your hand, Saint-Clemont," his voice as cold as a blade, "you'll be sorry for it."

　　He forcefully shook off Raphael's arm and strode into the shadows. The former noble youth, following Andre's movement, swayed in place for a few moments, then leaned against the brick wall, dazed and despondent.

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　　In the parlor, Fiona finally laid eyes upon the Marquis de Sèvremont, the one she had yearned for day and night. Clad in a structured tailored British suit, he stood with legs apart, his figure towering even more magnificently.

　　Through the fence, the Marquis observed the changes in the young girl with great interest, accompanied by a stylish young gentleman, whose hair was cropped quite short.

　　"Are you here to take me home, Monsieur the Marquis?" she gazed at her noble father in awe.

　　The Marquis paused, then burst into hearty laughter. "How could you long for home so soon, dear Fiona? No, you must stay here for another six or seven years, only then can I welcome you home as a proud princess."

　　"Oh," Fiona's disappointment weighed upon her as she lowered her head. She had only spent a little over ten days at this school, yet it felt as though an eternity had passed.

　　"You have indeed an impeccable eye, Mr. Marquis," remarked the young gentleman by Sèvremont's side, his gaze also filled with profound interest as he appraised the young schoolgirl. With a tsk of admiration, he continued, "She is truly a diamond in the rough. What matters most is the genuine noble talent in her. She was born to excel in high society. I dare wager, even many duchesses and princesses do not possess this natural air of hers!"

　　"You'd say it was my stroke of good fortune," the Marquis replied succinctly.

　　"You really stumbled upon this little fairy in the boondocks?" the young gentleman asked curiously, "It's truly unbelievable! Isn't she a young princess in distress from some kingdom?"

　　"Her birth was indeed humble," the Marquis said calmly, "If you had spoken to her, you would understand that she has not received an education befitting a princess."

　　"Who could have imagined that such a belle would bear lowly blood?" the young man lamented, licking his lips, "You've brought back a dangerous siren from France, Mr.Marquis. When the day comes for her to leave this place, any man in Plymouth will go mad for her!"

　　Fiona felt uncomfortable under the man's gaze, so she lowered her head even further. Her long red hair cascaded in front of her, obscuring her pretty but drawn face.

　　"Allow me a moment alone with this child, Viscount Fitzwilliam," the Marquis distanced himself from him, taking a few steps away, "She's shy. I can see that your presence has made her uneasy."

　　Viscount Fitzwilliam shrugged and walked around to the other side of the house.

　　"What troubles you, treasure?" the Marquis gently asked the girl after the friend had left, "You can tell me now. You are unhappy here, aren't you?"

　　Fiona sadly nodded her head, then immediately shook it in fear.

　　The Marquis's face darkened, "Who made you so afraid, Fiona? You can tell me everything. You are my daughter now. No one here has the right to mistreat you."

　　Fiona hesitantly raised her eyes to meet the man's gaze. His shining black eyes gradually calmed her.

　　She licked her dry lips and finally spoke honestly about the punishment she endured in front of Mother Agatha and the subsequent series of events.

　　"So, that woman is called Sister Agatha, right? Agatha," the Marquis mused, savoring the name on his tongue, "Agatha. Very well, I remember it."

　　Fiona couldn't understand the meaning behind his words. She stood up from her seat, walked to the fence, and looked up at the Marquis with a pitiful expression.

　　The students of the convent school were not allowed to have contact with men, not even their closest family members. They were only permitted to glance at them from behind the closed bars of the visiting room, like observing birds in a cage.

　　She was just a step away from him, yet she felt her once-embracing father was now so far away. How she longed for his embrace that carried the faint scent of tobacco and orange blossoms! The accumulated grievances of the past days surged up, causing Fiona's large watery eyes to well up with glistening tears.

　　"Go to play in the yard, Fiona," he reached his hand through the gap in the fence, gently caressing the girl's red hair, "I've told them to grant you a day off."

　　She continued to gaze at him, reluctant to leave.

　　"You won't suffer anymore, my child," the Marquis's expression turned serious, "I won't allow anyone to make you shed tears."