Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [62]
The captain ordered his men into formation. They knelt in rows on either side of us and raised their rifles. What chance had we? A few of the horde would fall with the first round, and when the guards reloaded the rest would be upon us.
Louis-Charles was no longer shouting orders. He had dropped his candlestick. I’m frightened, Alex, he whispered in my ear, his arms tight around my neck. I no longer wish to play this game.
So great was my own fear that I could not answer him, nor make my legs move. In my mind’s eye, I saw again that severed head, and the bloodstained hands of those dancing around it. I saw those same hands reaching for Louis-Charles and that unfroze me. Like one possessed, I threw myself at the mirrored door. Silvered glass shattered against my pounding hands.
Open the door! Open it! I have the dauphin! Can you not hear me? Open the bloody door!
I picked up a stool and swung it into the door. How Louis-Charles stayed on my back, I do not know. Again and again I swung. The shouting of the mob grew nearer. They were everywhere. I heard the captain telling his men, Hold! Hold your fire! Not yet … Steady now, hold! The stool splintered. I picked up a leg and battered at the door like a savage, and finally, it opened.
Papa! Louis-Charles cried.
Louis-Charles! the king shouted. Oh, thank God you’re safe!
The king swept his son into his arms. Behind him the queen came running. The guards pushed me into the king’s chambers. They locked the door and moved furniture against it. Had the mob seen us? Had they reached the hall before we got through the door?
I stood perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting for the sound of battering. The king, greatly agitated himself, tried to calm his weeping wife. He had gone to bring her to safety, I learned. That was why he had not heard our pounding. She had nearly been killed. The mob had broken into her chambers and she had only just escaped them, running barefoot through the halls of the palace. She held tightly to both Louis-Charles and Marie-Thérèse and would not let them go.
But Louis-Charles broke free. Mama, Papa, look! he said, pointing at me. Alex is hurt! Her hands are bleeding!
I looked down at my hands. They were covered with blood. I did not know it.
She pounded on the door so you would hear us. And the mirrors broke and cut her, Louis-Charles said.
I had run back into the palace when it would have been better for me to stay out of it. I had risked my own life for Louis-Charles. I had sliced my hands to ribbons and felt nothing. No pain, only fear—for him.
I think it was then that the revolution began.
Not for Paris or for the French.
But for me.
My heart’s pounding as I finish the entry. I was so afraid for them. So afraid they wouldn’t make it. I felt Alex’s fear. For a moment, I was there. I was right there with her, running up the steps to the Hall of Mirrors. I felt her heart pounding. I heard the shouts of the mob as they came closer.
Who was the man in the tricorn? The one who stirred the crowd up outside the palace? What happened to Alex after Versailles fell? Did she stay with Louis-Charles?
I page to the next entry, desperate to find out. I’m maybe two or three paragraphs into it when the PA system suddenly crackles and a voice announces that the library will be closing in fifteen minutes and will everyone please return their materials to the front desk.
What the hell?
I look up. There’s no more line. It’s totally gone. Yves Bonnard is stacking boxes onto a trolley. The people who’ve been researching here all day are zipping up their bags, putting on their coats, carrying their materials up to the counter. I look at the clock on the wall. It’s 4:45. I’ve been reading for the last forty-five minutes. I forgot where I was, and what I was supposed to be doing. I missed my chance to get Malherbeau’s music.
I can’t believe this. Where was I? In a trance?
I get up and walk over to my place at the reading tables. I gather