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was surely their leader walked towards her.
    “Time for la toilette, Countess ,” he said, removing her shackles and replacing them with a thin cord.
    He didn’t tie it very well, and Kanon realized he had given her a few inches of space in-between her hands. He had only uttered a few words, but did she detect a foreign accent? Perhaps Julius had these men brought in from overlying areas. Why else would they act against two women of preeminent social status?
    With a gentle hand, he guided her to the wooden bench the Duchess had vacated. Kanon sat down heavily, hearing the sound of the shears as her hair floated to the ground. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as the guard dutifully snipped her gown down the back.
    What happened next took her by surprise, as he put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them as he drew her up from the bench.
    Turning to face him, Kanon looked into his velvety brown eyes—why had he appealed to her in this way. Could this be a sign?
    “Merci,” s he said, her voice wavering.
    The tall guard made no answer, as he turned and barked out an order. With the Duchess in tow, he walked her through the iron gates of the courtyard, greeted by a gendarmerie —a heavy wooden tumbrel.
    Kanon knew this would transport them to the guillotine, and seemingly so did the Duchess. She began fighting with the guards—making it as difficult as possible to get her inside.
    The large, burly guard swiftly lost patience, moving to strike her.
    Kanon lurched forward to assist, feeling a hand grip her tightly.
    “ Don’t!” her escort whispered under his breath.
    Kanon watched helplessly as the guard struck the Duchess, knocking her down and placing her prostrate form in the cart. Kanon whirled around.
    “Who are you?” she asked accusingly.
    The man met her intense stare, his face devoid of emotion. Had he, in fact, spoken? Or was Kanon’s mind playing tricks on her?
    “All will be revealed Countess,” he finally murmured in response, directing her into the tumbrel.
    Kanon obediently climbed inside, moving to console the Duchess as best she could.
    “Not long now,” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.
    T he cart groaned forward, which seemed to stir the anxieties of the Duchess. She whimpered loudly as they continued across the Quai du Louvre and into the rue St. Honoré. At this juncture, they turned towards the Palace de la Revolution where the guillotine awaited them. Kanon noted a few people milling around, but once they turned towards the square, they were greeted by a veritable mob.
    Kanon heard whistling sounds, realizing they were throwing things at the cart. She bent down as a rock flew past. It was too much for the Duchess, who suddenly shrieked out at them.
    “Whatever they said about me are lies! My only crime is to shed tears!”
    “ Quiet!” Kanon hissed. “Leave the rabble alone.”
    This outbreak proved to be too exciting for the mob, which continued throwing things at the cart as they progressed into the Palace de la Revolution.
    Kanon bent over the Duchess as missiles whizzed past them. Suddenly, the cart halted. Kanon tentatively looked up, the scene before her filling her body with adrenaline.
    T he guillotine loomed before them in hideous, raw simplicity—the blade glittering in the sunlight. The air was thick with excitement, as storm clouds loomed ominously to the north, a sharp breeze hinting at a break in the acrid heat.
    Searching the square for any assistance, Kanon narrowed in on a commotion under one balcony facing the square. Situated upon it was a lone figure, enthusiastically throwing items to the mob. Judging from his height and mop of greying hair, Kanon easily identified him as Julius Arnold.
    She recognized a delicate pillow as it cascaded through the air, realizing he had taken the loot from the Duchesses’ carriage and was throwing it into the crowd. It caused a frenzy, the mob ripped and tore their fine fabrics and cushions to pieces.
    When he