He was here! Her heart soared. “My love, wherever have you been?”
The wolf’s head tipped back, as if surprised.
She laughed and threw her arms around him. “Oh, it doesn’t matter now—I am only so glad you made it in time!” But in her embrace Lazare did not feel like himself. Too narrow, too compact. “Lazare?”
Sophie reached for her. “Camille—”
There was, she saw now, an empty space next to Sophie. Where was the bear from the forest scene? “Someone is missing! Where is the white bear? Was that Chandon’s role? Or is he on the box with Rosier? And—Foudriard? Is he riding postillion?”
He couldn’t be. She would have seen him astride one of the carriage horses when they’d come into the square. Bewildered, Camille stared at Sophie, then at the wolf, trying to grasp what was happening. “Why do you not say anything? You’re frightening me! Tell me what’s happened!”
Wearily, the wolf pulled off his hood. But instead of Lazare’s amber-flecked eyes, it was Chandon’s hazel ones she saw. “We don’t know where they are. We left word as best we could, but we had no sure way to tell them the plan.” He swallowed hard, as if not saying the words could keep them from being true. “We waited all morning. But Lazare didn’t come. Neither did Foudriard.”
No.
“Camille,” he said warningly, “I’ve decided to believe that they are together, and they will catch us on the way. Do not say different, I beg you.”
Camille banged her fist against the ceiling. “Stop!” she shouted. “Stop the coach!”
But the carriage hurtled on. Sophie dragged her down to the bench. “Sit, or you’ll only hurt yourself!”
Camille reached for the door handle, but Chandon held her back. “Let me out!” she cried. “I cannot go without him! Why did you not wait longer?”
Anguish contorted Sophie’s face. “Rosier feared we’d be arrested if we waited. Lazare is wanted by the police! His face is plastered on posters all over the city. And the Comité,” she said helplessly, “made it impossible to linger. It was you or them.”
As Paris rattled by beyond the window—tilting houses and brash new buildings and ancient churches and squares—Camille’s head sank into her hands. As she wept, she felt the dress stir around her, breathing more extravagant white feathers into being. It was beautiful magic, but it was no consolation for the desolation of this. To have finally escaped, and to be leaving him behind.
“Be brave of heart, mon petit oiseau,” Chandon murmured as he wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders. “The game is not yet over.”
55
As the carriage hurried through the city, Camille peered out the circular window in the carriage’s back wall. No red cloaks, no police. Perhaps, Camille considered, they were still searching the crowd at the Place de Grève. Perhaps they had given up.
They had nearly reached the western gate when suddenly the coach slowed. The horses’ hooves thudded on packed earth, their harness jingled as they tossed their heads, pulling against the reins.
“What is it?” Camille wondered. “Shall I’ll open the window and ask Rosier—?”
Chandon held her back. “Careful.”
She lifted only the edge of the tasseled curtain. Outside loomed a stone wall with a closed wooden gate set into it. Beside it milled several policemen who were inspecting the carts and riders ahead of them in line. “They are speaking to everyone who wishes to pass through.”
“They will be checking our passports.” Sophie opened her purse and pulled out the forged document. Her hands shook and she dropped it in her lap. “What if—”
“Our passports are perfect.” Camille trusted Henriette knew her trade. “But we must appear as performers who travel like this often.” She tied the white bird face on so it sat on top of her head, its fall of feathers covering her conspicuous hair. Sophie did the same.
“Not I.” His cheeks flushed, Chandon flung his wolf mask across his knee. “With the windows closed it’s so hot in here that no one in his right mind, player or not, would wear this loathsome hood for any longer than he had to.”
The carriage crept forward and stopped again. “How many more are there ahead of us?” Sophie asked.
“One cart, and a group of riders.” And there, beside a wagon full of wine barrels, two guards in black hats and crimson cloaks. “Dieu,” she said low as fear clawed through her. “They’re here.”
“Stop that!” Sophie yanked the curtain closed. “We are players on a stage, bringing marvels to the people. There’s no reason