It was not quite lunchtime, and Matthieu had woken up less than an hour ago.
It had been another late night at the National Assembly, the deputies
arguing and working long past midnight as was their wont, and Matthieu had
stayed for most of it. He enjoyed watching and listening, even after he had
finished the illustrations he'd gone there to complete.
Now the sun was shining down on the Parisian streets, drying the mud created
in yesterday's rains. And the streets were busy, as always, cluttered with
the life that made the city so exciting. Matthieu slipped through the crowds
with practiced ease while munching on the roll he'd managed to procure for
breakfast. By the time he got to his destination he was finished, and he
brushed away the few crumbs that clung to his white shirt with a delicate,
long-fingered hand.
Entering, he looked around for the person he had come in search of --
Citizen Chauvelin.
Chauvelin, quite unaware of anyone but the undersecretary he was speaking
at, had been without breakfast or a suitable amount of sleep. While the sun
entered the building's windows at a gentle angle and glossed his already
sweat-soaked hair, he hardly noticed its warmth on his face. In truth, it
might have been storming and he would have thought it more suiting.
After angrily depositing a stack of botched warrants on some unfortunate
man's desk, he stormed towards the exit. Perhaps when he returned there
would be some semblance of competence in this room. Upon nearing the door,
he rammed straight into a somewhat taller man, and nearly shoved past him...
"Citizen Chauvelin, you'll do the Republic little good if you collapse of
exhaustion and hunger," he said, his tone light but not quite joking.
Chauvelin quickly gritted his teeth, and clenched one fist around the sash
tied hastily about his waste. As soon as his fingernails had made
irreparable marks in the fabric, he released it with a flourish, and smiled
tightly. "Good morning, Citizen," he practically choked. "If I could
*possibly* help you while on the way to my next appointment, I'd be happy to
fit you in." Indeed his next appointment was with a long, fast-paced, and
preferably mindless walk, but business could never be ignored. As he stepped
closer to the door, waiting for the new arrival to follow him, he attempted
to put the ten pounds of useless paper -- once ten pounds of arrest warrants
-- out of his mind, breathing slowly ...
Matthieu nodded. "Thank you, Citizen." He could not help but admire someone
who voluntarily performed duties that obviously caused him so much stress.
So he followed willingly, his long stride easily matching the shorter man's
quick pace. It mattered not to him if they talked in an office or in the
tumultuous streets of Paris.
Judging that Chauvelin wasn't one for pointless words, Matthieu decided to
go straight to the heart of the matter.
"I've been trying to discover the fate of the ci-devant Marquise and
Marquess de Belcour," he said. The very mention of those names made some of
his good humor evaporate, and a shadow passed across his bright blue eyes.
"I've been unable to find anything. They are no longer residing in their
house here, and no one knows if they've left Paris, or been arrested. I'd
hoped you might know something of it."
The issue at hand snapped Chauvelin from his temporary self-pitying rampage.
Without answering the man's question, he began to steer their stroll in the
direction of a more sparsely populated area of the nearby park. Once the
passers by had decreased rather severely in amount, he slowed his pace to
one of apparent leisure.
"If I knew, citizen," he replied, hands folded quietly behind his back, "I
certainly would not divulge their 'fate' to every man who asked." He knew
that to anyone half-way serious about such a request, his hinting would have
been sufficient -- there were public registrars listing arrests as well as
executions. Most inquiries directed to the Committee he merely re-routed
toward those lists ... unless he knew that no matching name would be found.
All that he could have confirmed was that his border patrols had not yet
seen anyone of their description leaving France ... perhaps this one man
could indeed be of some help.
Disappointment shot through him. He had spent days going through the records
of accusations, trials, and executions, and the result had been nothing
except an utter waste of his time. He'd hoped, perhaps, to find at least a
hint of the fate of the Belcours.
He was silent for a moment, not certain how to respond to what Chauvelin had
said. He could always mention that he had a few powerful friends who'd like
him to get the answers he wanted, but he hated relying on their influence.
Politics were exciting, but Matthieu also knew how dangerous they could be.
It wasn't a danger he courted.
"I understand. It's... personal. I should not have turned my back on them."
He sighed softly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Thank you for your
time, Citizen. I know you're quite busy."
And he was grateful, Chauvelin could likely tell that. The disappointment in
his voice and posture was also quite evident.
"You're quite welcome," Chauvelin began, and then hesitated. If he could
not trust this man, then chances were, this man would not trust *him*. And
so the one bit of information that he did have at his disposal could
complicate the game; if he was serious, and truly *was* looking for the
traitors as he claimed, he could prove the key to their downfall. If not
... if not, then he would have very little use for what Chauvelin could tell
him.
"Citizen ..." Chauvelin held out a hand to stop him from leaving. "If your
affair with the Belcours is indeed personal, then perhaps you could be of
some help to me. You lead me to believe that you know them, and so let me
ask you this: if they had not left France, as I can very nearly assure you
that they have not, then where might they go?"
He paused and looked back, a little bit of hope coming back to those
startlingly blue eyes when Chauvelin mentioned that the Belcours had not
likely left France.
"I know them... but not well." He clenched his hands into fists as a twinge
of pain -- purely a product of his mind, he knew -- sparked in them.
Gritting his teeth, he ignored it.
"They had land outside of Paris... to the South, where Republican sentiment
is not so popular. They might find shelter with former servants who possess
some misguided sense of loyalty. If they are sill in Paris... I know they
had contacts with some legislators before the 92 election. I don't know
which ones, but if they are still in power they might be keeping them safe
in return for some of the Belcour fortune."
All of Paris knew that some members of the National Assembly were not fully
dedicated to the ideals of the Revolution even now.
He looked down for a moment, then met Chauvelin's gaze once more. "I wish I
could tell you more. If there is anything I can do to bring them to justice,
I will gladly do it."
Chauvelin leaned his back against the nearest tree, drawing a hand over his
eyes in thought. "I myself have plans to travel in that direction very
soon," he admitted reluctantly, having planned to separate his travels
completely from his work. "I have things to which I must see, though
perhaps I could fit in a visit to their property that you describe, out of
town." He certainly had not intended to tell anyone at all of his upcoming
trip, never mind associate it in any way with the Revolution -- but this
seemed a good a chance as any.
"Meet me in three days, if you would accompany me ... and we'll see what we
can do." Chauvelin smiled very slightly. "Maybe your friends the Belcours
will receive some unexpected visitors, though I can't guarantee anything."
Dismissing the man with a brief farewell, Chauvelin stepped away from their
meeting place, only to lean more heavily on the other side of the giant
trunk. He knew he would regret bringing politics along with him on what had
been his only intended vacation in a year -- and a short one -- but he
supposed nothing, really, had changed. He would still go secretly, and if
he came back with two extra heads ... well, he was almost certain no one
would mind.
He paused, blinked, then smiled. "Thank you, Citizen. I'll take you up on
that. Three days."
He gave him a respectful nod, a somewhat excited smile playing across his
lips, then turned to leave. It took only a few steps before he remembered
that he'd never mentioned his name. He turned, but Chauvelin had seemingly
disappeared.
Hesitating, he looked around for the black-clad man, then shrugged. It
didn't really matter. So he turned and walked back in the direction of his
apartment, more spring in his step than had been there in the last few days.
And to think, he'd never even been outside of Paris before.…