Edith gave some coins to the guard of the prison in the abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and saw her former idol in the cell.

Madame Roland was clearly emaciated and haggard, with even her waist-length hair appearing withered and yellowed, but still maintaining a powerless yet dignified posture that made Edith unconsciously hold her breath.

"Manon..."

"Thank you for coming to see me, Edith." Manon Roland stood up from the straw laid out on the ground for resting, her smile not revealing much agony.

Edith had intended to ask about her situation, but the desolate scene before her made her feel that any question was unnecessary.

A hawker selling newspapers and pamphlets passed by the small window of the prison, brazenly shouting about the execution and torture of this female prisoner.

"How ironic!" Madame Roland sneered, "I once personally took to the streets to call for liberty for the people, and now beneath this prison window they are calling for me to be stripped naked and nailed to the pillory!"

Edith agitatedly grabbed the iron bars of the cell, "Why didn't you escape at the time, Manon!"

"I surrendered voluntarily," Madame Roland's tone did not have the grandeur Edith expected, she covered her heart with her hand and murmured, "Only here can my love and my duty as a wife coexist."

Edith fell silent.

She took out the letter from her pocket: "I brought something for you. A boy from Citizen Buzot delivered it to me."

"Ah, please tell me about Buzot!" Upon hearing this name, Madame Roland's eyes flashed with a strange, almost pathological radiance. She leaped forward and shook the bars, as if trying to break them: "His letter! His letter!"

Edith sympathetically handed over the letter: "You can read it yourself."

Manon Roland as hastily unfolded the letter with trembling hands, but after reading only a few lines, tears filled her eyes and she pressed the letter to her chest."So he has already escaped to Calvados!"

Making no secret to Edith, she took out the miniature of her lover that was enclosed in the letter, and kissed it repeatedly in floods of tears.

Edith shook inwardly at the sight. Feeling that it was inappropriate to continue peering, she silently withdrew to the shadow in the corner.

"I am lucky," Madame Roland murmured, stroking the letter as if caressing her lover's body. "Finally, I can kiss you now without fear or shame. Finally, I can give myself completely to my love!"

Once again, she pressed the miniature to her bosom. "Promise me you will live on, my love! For if I were to die, my husband would not survive!"①

"Then, Manon, I should leave now," Edith said in a low voice, reluctant to interrupt the lady's reverie. "You...take care of yourself."

But as she turned to leave, Edith heard Madame Roland sigh behind her.

"Don't blame too much that Quenet of yours! In the face of the revolution's tumultuous waves, each one of us is nothing but a negligible pebble! "

The maiden paused for a moment, before walking slowly out of the dim prison.

-----------------

In these days, the fleeing Girondins were inciting federalist revolts in various places.

Had Madame Roland not spoken those words about gender alliance to Edith, the girl's revolutionary fervour, like that of the newsboy outside the ventlight and of most people of this era, would have already turned her admiration for this former idol into contempt, even hatred.

But now, as a woman, Edith sympathised with her in a complex way. She knew Madame Roland's fate was fraught with only grim possibilities. Regardless of whether Manon was guilty or not, such a punishment would undoubtedly be unjust.

"What a contradictory woman Manon is!" Edith recalled the heart-stopping scene she witnessed in the prison and said to herself, "She has such a keen insight into the essence of things, yet lets herself bound by such harsh moral chains!"

However, the scene of Manon emotively kissing the miniature of Buzot allowed the maiden to taste untimely a sort of romantic and dramatic passion. Due to the destined tragic ending of their love, such a posture of die-for-love took on even more artistic hues in Edith's eyes.

"For a girl like me, love must be perfect and flawless!" She touched her chest with her hand and silently recited in her heart.

She again pondered Madame Roland's final echo before her departure.

"But what was I thinking of just now? The portrait... Yes, portrait!"

----------------　

Andre was sitting at his desk in the Percys' house, writing a document, when Edith burst into the room and strode straight up to him, saying, "I want a miniature of you."

Andre was surprised. "A miniature? Why do you need my portrait? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

She remained expressionless, turning her head away without a word.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his tone still cautious. "Edith?"

"I didn't!" she immediately retorted.

He sighed, set down his pen, and rose to his feet, circling around the desk to stand in the face of her. "You've been avoiding me all these days. It's been weighing heavily on me. Do you ever feel the same way? Even just a little?"

She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his pallid lips, and the debility that still lingered in his movements. Thinking of his long nights at work recovering recently from the serious illness, her heart couldn't resist softening considerably.

As she refused to answer, the light in his eyes dimmed, his gaze shifting downwards with a sense of loss. Edith caught a glimpse of a colourful painting on his desk, hidden beneath some papers.

Before Andre could stop her, she had snatched up the painting. It was the image he had sketched of her years ago, during their first stroll by the Seine in Rouen. After he returned home, he had carefully added colour to it, bringing her childish yet wild laughter to life.

In that moment, Edith felt a rush of cool river water wash over her ankles, and the breeze of high summer once again brushed past her ear.

"You've kept this painting all these years!" she whispered in wonder.

Andre felt a bit embarrassed. "I missed you so much, but I don't have any other portraits of you. So I had to hold onto this painting to console myself."

Edith pressed her palms to his temples and turned his face towards her, kissing him fiercely. "Ay, you fool! You silly fool!"

They kissed and kissed again, as intimate as they were in the beginning.

------------------

On a scorching day in July, Edith volunteered to help Andre revise his speech.

Ever since the pair reconciled, Andre couldn't bear to be apart from his sweetheart even for a second. She was now sitting on his lap, with the red ribbon around her waist played by him with his hand. Every now and then, he would lower his head to kiss her tender earlobes from behind.

"This paragraph is too plain. Look, if you turn it into a rhetorical question, wouldn't it be more motivational?" Edith said as she swiftly sketched on the paper. "No wonder people always criticize you for being too aloof. You should learn from Danton's style."

"Danton has already been dismissed from the Committee of Public Safety by the vote," Andre replied.

"That's a pity! Raphael now admires him more than ever."

"Raphael?"

"He's more and more motivated now," Edith said with some pride, "and has become a brother that Charlene can be proud of."

He buried his head in her hair, his voice sounding muffled, "I don't like it when you call his name like that."

Edith reacted for a while before bursting out laughing, "Are you jealous now? I've known the siblings since childhood, and we've always addressed each other as 'thou'. It's nothing."

"I knew you as a child too."

"That's different. You were already an adult then." Edith teased him intentionally.

Andre turned her body sideways and looked at her eyes with complaint, "Do you have the heart to let me continue to suffer?"

The girl laughed so much that she couldn't close her mouth. She reached out her hands to smooth out his furrowed dashing eyebrows, trying to quell the valentine's jealousy with a kiss, but he dodged it.

"It's so unfair. Saint-Clemont actually knows more about you than I do. Every time I hear you talk about those lightsome childhood memories, I envy him so much."

Edith pouted, "But Andre, you haven't been completely open with me either, have you? Where are you from, how did you grow up, and what are your family like? I find that I know almost nothing about your past."

"My past? I'm not as fortunate as you, Edith." Andre sighed, "My childhood was just a bleak and gray expanse. Before I met you, I could hardly say that I had any happy experiences or anyone particularly cherished in my life. You can imagine, my past was nothing but a pile of miseries that could be brought about by poverty and oppression."

She didn't expect his past to be so heavy. For a moment, she couldn't respond. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him, reaching out to caress his forehead, trying to wipe away the dark clouds climbing onto his brows.

Andre pretended to be relaxed, shaking his head as if he wanted to drive away the unhappy memories, "Saint-Clemont is too good at scheming. Taking advantage of our bicker, he won your heart with tears. Maybe I should suffer another injury, so I can snatch your heart back."

"Andre!" Edith scolded.

"Since you don't agree to this plan, then I'll have to do this!" Andre suddenly grabbed both her armpits and lifted her high up.

"Ah, put me down, Andre Quenet! I'm not a little kid!" Edith kicked her legs wildly in the air, laughing and frolicking.

He succeeded in placing his ear on the position of her heart, "Your heart is beating so fast! It belongs to me once again."

----------------

Andre lay in bed, reading a book by candlelight, when the bedroom door creaked open, and in came Edith, dressed merely in her nightgown, sneaking up on him with a sly grin.

With a skip and a hop, she cheerily jumped onto his bed, straddling him to claim his kisses. The book in his hand thudded to the floor with a muffled sound.

Her kisses were fiery and wild, it took a while for Andre to catch his breath again. Edith playfully caressed his flushed cheeks.

"Your passion is so overwhelming, Edith," he complained, feeling pleased.

Bending down, she traced the contours of his face with her fingers. "You are so handsome!"

"Is your desire for me only physical?" he asked, in a bit annoyed tone.

"How could it be?" she laughed. "I love you exactly like I love our republic."

He pulled her down, and the two young lovers lay together face to face, greedily drinking in each other's fragrance with their lips.

After they parted, they blew out the candle and lay side by side on the bed. The position was pretty suggestive, but there was always a barrier between these two pure souls, preventing them from crossing the line.

Edith was always a daring girl who would venture everywhere in bare feet, so at the moment the more sheepish one was naturally shy Andre instead. She called out his name.

"Andre?"

"Um?"

"Andre!"

"Edith."

They repeated this childish game, savoring the sound of each other's names.

She leaned closer to him and talked about the recent terror policies in the city.

"How wise! We can now strike the enemies of the revolution more fiercely! I think the revolution will truly succeed next year," she rhapsodized. "What are your plans when the revolution triumphs?"

"If the situation of the republic stabilizes, I may not stay in the government," Andre replied. "I must admit that this duty doesn't suit my personality."

"I'd love to live in the countryside," Edith suggested. "I'm a daughter of peasant after all. Paris is beautiful, but I prefer idyllic life."

"Then I'll follow where you go," he said, gazing intently at her eyes in the darkness.

"We should raise some chickens," she continued the fantasy, her doe-like eyes sparkling. "Just like my mother used to!"

As she kept on talking, she gradually fell asleep. The quiet room was filled with only the sound of her gentle breathing.

Andre leaned in and kissed her eyelids. "Goodnight, my dear Edith."

***Author's notes***　　

①Madame Roland's prophecy came true: however, her husband and lover both committed suicide after learning of her death. Four days after Madame Roland's execution, Roland's body was found in the woods with a cane inserted into his chest, indicating he had taken his own life. Six months later, Buzot's body was discovered in the deep mountains of Bordeaux, also having died by suicide. His body had been ravaged by wild dogs, barely recognizable. It is said he always carried a miniature of Madame Roland and a lock of her hair with him.

②But my dear Edith, why doth thou despair?
For thou knowest not of my past so bare
A childhood, bleak and gray, devoid of glee
No cherished memories nor loved ones to see

Imagine, if thou will, a life of poverty and oppression
A soul weighed down by misery's obsession
My past, a pile of sorrowful stones
Heavy burdens borne in solitude, all alone

Thou didst not expect my memories to be so dark
Unable to respond, thou gazest with a gentle heart
Thou reach out to caress my furrowed brow
As if to soothe away the pain that clouds me now

I, pretending ease, shake my head with a sigh
To banish the memories that make me want to cry
But with thy touch, the clouds begin to clear
And in thy presence, I find solace, my dear

Oh, how sweet it is to share with thee
The joys and sorrows of life's journey
To bask in the warmth of thy tender embrace
And find in thee a safe and loving place

So, my dear Edith, do not be distraught
For in thy presence, my heart finds a port
A haven of peace, a shelter from the storm
A love that lifts me up, keeps me warm.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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