burned in braziers and looped along the edges of each basket was tricolor bunting, tied at the corners into rosettes. In contrast to the tricolor’s bright hues, the silk of the balloons paled: dull blue, stippled with flecks of gray. Not balloons embroidered with romantic names, but balloons designed for stealth. For disappearing. Lazare had told her and Rosier that for this first balloon trial, there was no room for error—not if the corps were to continue.
“Do you see him?” Camille stood on her toes, searching over the heads of the people waiting, a mix of military men and all sorts of Parisians, including a small group of boys who peered awestruck at the swirl of activity ahead of the launch.
Rosier pointed. “There!”
Lazare was kneeling by the far balloon, testing the knot around the stake. He wore a vivid azure-blue suit she had not seen before. A gentle wind played with the end of his cravat, disheveling his hair. But he did not notice; all his concentration was on the rope.
Could her heart leap such a distance? She willed him to turn and see them.
“Lazare Mellais!” Rosier called out, waving.
Lazare stood, his face lit with a broad smile. He came toward them, almost running. On his coat was pinned a sky-blue badge with a red balloon embroidered on it, golden rays behind it. “Well? What do you think?”
“It’s impressive to see them all like this,” Camille said. “You’re ready?”
“Another minute or so and we’ll let them all go at once.” He saw the question in Camille’s face and said, “You’re right, it’s risky, but Lafayette … he is as fond of the grand gesture as you are, Rosier.”
“I assume the bunting and the fantastic badges are one of your touches, Mellais?” Rosier said innocently.
“Me? I had no control over those things. It was … almost as if someone else had suggested it.”
“A genius hat designer, no doubt,” Rosier replied.
“Bunting or not, the balloons are beautiful, Lazare,” Camille said. “Like rain.”
“Or clouds,” he said. “Best of all they are fully kitted out with barometers and altimeters and every measuring device I could think of. I was allowed to assign two cadets to watch each balloon as it takes off. Not only to assess the aeronauts’ flying skills, but they will record a flight path for each one, for me to read against the five separate sets of measurements I’ll have at the end.” He narrowed his eyes at the row of waiting balloons. “Assuming nothing goes wrong.”
“Not on a day like today!” Rosier exclaimed. “So many people have come to watch! Really, Lazare, we might have had a very small military band to play a jaunty tune.”
“The size of the crowd—should I thank you for that, too?”
“Naturellement.”
“Soon,” he said, “you’ll even take credit for my parents.”
His parents?
“They’re here?” Camille regretted not choosing something more expensive to wear. That they had tried to arrange a marriage for Lazare to a ludicrously wealthy girl still rankled.
Lazare gestured toward the last balloon, where he’d been standing when they arrived. His parents waited at the very front, his father serious, his proud stepmother’s diamonds washed out in the sunlight. They were speaking animatedly with the Marquis de Lafayette, elegant in his blue-and-white uniform. Though handsome, with a long straight nose and bright color in his cheeks, there was also a kind of severity to his face, as if he were assessing something in the distance and finding it lacking.
They were a tightly knit group, and she understood now the pressure Lazare had been under. “I’m sure they’ll be proud to see your project take its first flight into the world.”
Lazare tugged at his perfectly tied cravat. “As long as everything goes well. Lafayette has made it clear that if the balloons can’t do the surveillance he wants, he will put money into something more reliable.”
There was a weighted silence, into which no one said anything until Rosier observed, “Still, it’s good of your parents to come—they haven’t always been enthusiastic about balloons.”
“An understatement if there ever was one, Rosier. But they changed their minds,” Lazare replied carefully, “once Lafayette was involved.”
Rosier’s head snapped up. “Speak of the devil—here comes the man himself.”
As Lafayette approached, everything about Lazare seemed to tighten. He crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them and set his shoulders back. In the line of balloons, the pilots were making final adjustments to their loads. A few cast glances in his direction.