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find that the bucket of water he kept there was empty. The old man’s dreadful hacking continued to echo through the vaulted corridor. Gagnon decided he had better do what he could to keep the poor bugger from croaking, so he grabbed the battered cup from the bucket and went off toward the east wing, hoping the jailer of that ward had some water handy. He was not concerned in the least that Jacqueline would escape. The Conciergerie was crawling with guards who would take great pleasure in stopping a woman prisoner and punishing her for wandering from her cell.
    He returned after a few minutes with the battered cup full of murky water. Citizen Julien’s coughing had subsided considerably, and when Gagnon entered the cell he could see the boy had returned with the medicine. The old man, apparently somewhat recovered from his attack, was wheezing as he bent over Jacqueline, who was now lying huddled on her bed.
    “There, there now, my dear, it is nothing to be concerned about, a little faintness and chills on the eve of one’s execution is perfectly normal,” he soothed in a raspy voice. He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and sighed.
    “What’s the matter with her?” demanded Gagnon. The Republic did not approve of its prisoners dying in prison. To do so was to cheat the guillotine of another victim.
    “Citizeness Doucette is in need of a little rest,” explained the old man. “I fear the excitement of the day has been too much for her.”
    Gagnon snorted loudly. “Tomorrow she’ll be getting all the rest she’ll ever need,” he joked.
    “Quite so,” agreed Citizen Julien. “In the meantime, the lad and I will give her a few moments to collect herself before we resume our business.” He turned his attention back to his papers and began to read one of them by the dim light of the candle. The youth Dénis, who had been standing in the darkness staring at the woman lying on the bed, sank to the floor, bent his head into his chest, and prepared to take a nap.
    “Call me when you want out,” said Gagnon with a shrug. He pulled the door shut and locked it.
    After a time he could hear the sound of Jacqueline’s voice as she dictated a letter to the old man, evidently recovered from her spell. Citizen Julien read the letter back to her, and she pointed out several missing words. Then followed a very loud argument over the price of the old man’s services, which nearly sent him into another fit of coughing. The issue was finally resolved, at which point Gagnon could hear Jacqueline begin to sob. Evidently a compassionate man, Citizen Julien fussed over her again as he told her to lie down. A few minutes later the old man called for Gagnon to let him out.
    “She is resting again, and should not be disturbed by anyone,” said Citizen Julien in a low, grave voice. “Especially that rather volatile young man who was here earlier. Clearly his presence is not welcome,” he stated with a raised white eyebrow.
    Gagnon shrugged. “Citizen Bourdon is an inspector for the Committee of Public Safety and can see whoever he wants. What he does in this cell is none of my business.”
    The old man looked at him in disgust. “Citizeness Doucette is sentenced to die tomorrow. Until then she is under your care, and if I hear of any impropriety when I return tomorrow to cut her hair, you can be sure I will report it to Citizen Fouquier-Tinville. Our public prosecutor is a man of the law, and he does not approve of the mistreatment of prisoners who are in the custody of the new Republic.”
    “You did not cut her hair?” demanded Gagnon with interest. He squinted through the darkness and could see Jacqueline’s hair spilling out from underneath the black shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders.
    “She was too upset,” explained Citizen Julien with a sigh. “I offered to come back and cut it tomorrow so she would not have to suffer the loss of it tonight.”
    “That was kind of you,” murmured Gagnon