Page 78 of Souvenir Heart

“Expecting an invading troop of guardsmen, were you?” David picked up a fork and began eating.

“I don’t snore,” Andre added.

“Course you do,” Marcus and David replied in unison.

“Seems damnably uncomfortable,” David mused between bites, “though charmingly chivalrous.”

“Looked to be. At least the uncomfortable part. Although,” Andre said thoughtfully as he poured more egg into the spyder, “it appears at some point in the course of the evening, someone provided him with a blanket and a pillow.”

Marcus opened his mouth to point out that it certainly hadn’t been the pillow-and cover-stealing Andre Scott, but stopped himself in time, aware that he’d only be encouraging his companions’ breakfast table entertainment.

Instead, he busied himself with cutting into the cheese-oozing omelet. The pillow had been a surprising, but welcome, kindness. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep by Marguerite’s door or when she’d set it there, but he recognized it as belonging to the bedding in her room.

“Have you made coffee as well?” David surveyed the table hopefully. His eyes lit upon a white porcelain pot decorated with roses. “Is that it?”

“Coffee is an abomination,” Andre replied without looking up. “Despite the lack of a proper pot, I’ve made tea. It’s steeping.”

A wave of relief had swept over Marcus when he’d found Marguerite was still in her room, followed by the pain of seeing her on the floor, silently weeping, blank sketch paper in her lap; he’d wanted to push open the door, catch her up in his arms, and whisper soothing words against her hair. But he’d doubted she’d appreciate the intrusion of a stranger on her private suffering. Resisting that urge had sapped his remaining strength, and he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

“Who knew Tyns had a chivalrous side?” David said, reaching for the tea with a resigned sigh.

“Must be the side that smells like sunshine and leather.” Andre put a pat of butter in the spyder, set the pan back over the coals, then retrieved the earthenware bowl of eggs. He poured a generous measure into the pan. “So many new things we’re learning about our boon companion on this trip.”

“Indeed. It’s a bit like reading a new page in a nearly impossible to open book.”

“Of course, it might not have been chivalry at all. He might have been afraid of losing her again.”

“I did not lose Madame de Rouvroy,” Marcus growled. “She was briefly out of my sight. A misstep, I own, and one I have no intention of repeating.” He took a bite of omelet. It was predictably delicious. “Your cooking, by the way, is the only reason I didn’t clock you harder in that alley.”

“Speaking of which, you might have warned me.”

“I did.”

“Before you hit me, not when you laid out the plan two days earlier.”

“Couldn’t risk you deciding to duck at the last moment…A perfect bruise like that, without breaking your jaw or knocking out a tooth, takes precision.”

“And yet, I confess to feeling less than grateful for your tender care.”

“Speaking of disguises,” Marcus said, “I want to recheck the security at the Pont du Jour and discover whether there’s any sign that the Conciergerie has sounded an alarm or sent out search parties.”

“You mean other than the ones searching for fugitive Girondins and for you—the mysterious man in brown from Rouen?”

“I need to know what the prison’s reaction to the escape is. If they haven’t discovered it yet, they will very soon. And I need to know if the papers we’ve got will be sufficient. If I need to craft new ones. Not to mention the pocket litter,” he added, thinking of the random objects and scraps of paper they carried to support the identity they were assuming.

“Let me know if there’s anything particular you need,” Andre said, waggling his agile fingers for emphasis.

“Will you have sufficient time?” David asked.

“I’m not sure. If I can’t come up with a convincing story to match our papers, I may have to figure out another means of getting us out of the city.”

“Do you want me to go back to the prison? I can say I’m looking to discuss the case with Citizeness Rouvroy,” Andre said.

Marcus shook his head. “Too risky. Might raise unwanted questions. Better if we pop round to the tavern where you met Allard, the one the guards frequent.”

“The Cock’s Roost?”

“We?” David repeated, his tone making it clear he had reservations about this suggestion.