Edith pushed open the office door, just enough to catch a glimpse of her beloved's silhouette.

Andre sat sideways in front of his desk, quietly reading an official document in his hand. His body slightly leaned towards the window, where warm light illuminated his forehead. Waves of his shallow golden hair curled into a graceful arc, covering half of his cheek, accentuating his prominent nose.

She then pushed the door open halfway, yet he seemed to be still unaware of her presence, fully absorbed in reviewing the document, his face displaying the same serious expression he had in the National Convention and the Jacobin Club.

Seeing him so concentrated, a mischievous idea came to Edith's mind. She tiptoed to creep around behind him, intending to startle this stoic little leader.

"Why take the long way, Edith?" Just as she was about to give Andre's shoulders a good slap, he suddenly asked with a straight face.

The girl immediately lost her nerve and complained, "Looks like you're not as focused when working as I thought!"

Andre had already seen through her little trick and couldn't help but laugh. "You know, I have to be on alert."

"How did you come here?" He put down the document in his hand and turned to look at her.

"Margot made some sweets and asked me to bring some to you." Edith raised the basket in her hand.

"Isn't it because you miss me?" Andre said, slightly smug as he folded his arms.

"What's so strange about missing you?" Edith pouted, feeling wronged. "You're always working! Since we returned from Vendée, except for the two days I was ill, we've hardly had any time to be alone."

"I'm sorry, Edith." He felt extremely guilty and held her on his lap, lovingly kissing her hair.

With a sidelong glance, she saw the ill look upon his face, a result of days of intense labour. Andre was still able to effortlessly switch between his harshness of chilly autumn winds and the mildness of fresh spring water, but she sensed that this change was different from before.

Once, his enigmatic duality had enchanted her. His tender, lamb-like side was only revealed to her, making it all the more precious and endearing in her eyes.

But now, as he shed his stern facade in her embrace, he looked so weary, like a person drained of all strength collapsing all at once, causing her heart to ache for him.

"Try it, Sister's baking skills are amazing. You'll rave about it after you taste it." Edith pointed to the sweets on the desk.

He reached into the basket and took out a piece of sweet, holding it in his mouth without chewing. Instead, he suddenly leaned towards her lips.

Edith wasn't used to his sudden initiative today and blushed all at once. She gently bit the sweet and was about to bring it over from his mouth.

But Andre went straight ahead and snatched it away with his teeth, sucking in her lips along with the sweet. The rich sugar syrup melted in their mouths, spreading between their lips and tongues.

Doing such an intimate act in the office of a revolutionary made Edith's heart race.

Overcoming her shyness, she used her mouth to hold another piece of sweet and sat astride Andre's laps, feeding it to him. She bit the sweet, then bit his hot tongue, continuing this particularly treacly and ardent kiss.

Time seemed to stand still until the lovers finally parted, gasping for air, tenderly tracing each other's faces with their fingertips.

"Come to my bedroom tonight, dear Andre!" whispered Edith, with an unprecedented boldness shining in her amber eyes.

"If your aunt finds out, she'll kill me," Andre sighed and shook his head wryly. "My presence alone is stinging Citizeness Percy. You know, as a sensible person, I should have moved out long ago, if it weren't for my reluctance to part with you. "

Edith felt a bit disappointed but also calmed down. She turned around and caught a glimpse of a long namelist lying on the desk.

The thought of the names written by Andre's own hand, each representing a vibrant life that might end on the guillotine tomorrow, made her cower for a moment. The embrace she was in no longer felt as hot as before.

She was not unaware of the terrifying work he was involved in. However, just a few days ago, it was still just a few numbers to her, some abstract images. And when the cruel verdict of the grim reaper was truly placed before her eyes, it seemed so unreal: Edith stared at the list in a trance, as if she still couldn't believe its existence.

"Citizeness, I accuse you of conspiring against the Republic," Andre's icy voice suddenly came from behind.

"Me?" she nervously asked back.

"You agitate the emotions of a Commissioner like this, preventing me from wholeheartedly serving the Republic," he replied primly.

Edith chuckled and hit him on the chest. She intentionally diverted her gaze from the list, as if it would no longer exist that way.

However, her heart was no longer holding that lightsome smile as before. These days, she found it harder and harder to read Andre. She vaguely felt that he had lost his usual composure and calmness, seemingly eager to achieve some goal. The constant obstacles on this path made him restless, almost resentful, to the point where he wanted to destroy something quickly and recklessly. This made her gradually unable to distinguish between the real him and his fanatical, cold and inhuman disguise.

"But when can we be together aboveboard?" She rested her head on his chest, her voice filled with regret. "Every time I visit the Desmoulins, and see the peaceful and happy family life they enjoy, how I envy them! "

"Do I not also long to be forever wedded to you? But I'm not Camille Desmoulins. To enter into marriage during such a revolutionary time, is imprudent after all," he sighed as he rolled her braid with his fingers.

"I often imagine myself like Lucile, openly kissing you goodbye in front of our doorstep every morning before you leave for work! "

"That day will come," Andre pressed his lips against her smooth forehead, though his tone lacked conviction.

"But what I want is not just that," Edith nuzzled her cheek against his heart, her gaze gradually unfocused, her voice becoming fainter and fainter, almost a whisper. "When will this phase truly pass? I always believed I was more patient and steadfast than anyone else, but Andre, when will the republic we pictured together, the new happiness founded on virtue, finally arrive?"

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

On this bright spring morning, Edith's long-awaited countryside excursion finally set off.

The carriage, specially arranged by Georges Danton, was spacious and luxurious, fitted with exquisite springs and painted in a rainbow of colours, making every traveler's heart light and joyful. The interior also concealed various elegantly designed comfort devices.

The ladies today were all dressed in their finest attire: Lucile Desmoulins gathered up her beautiful blonde hair with a tulip wreath, while her pristine white dress made her look like a sacred bride once again; Charlene and Edith sat opposite each other, their lotus pink and apple green dresses dancing in the wind, creating a charming contrast.

Especially captivating was Danton's lovely newlywed wife, little Louise, who had a dollface that was extremely pleasing to the eye, wearing a fashionable sky blue dress with a low neckline. When her husband leaned over to ask for her kiss in front of everyone, she blushed and gave him a pettish scold.②

As they boarded the carriage and saw Lucile holding her barely two-year-old son, Edith was somewhat surprised.

"I was supposed to have my mother look after him for two days, but this kid can't bear to be away from me even for a moment," Lucile apologised with a smile to everyone.

Little Horace stood on the seat, his two tiny, ball-like hands gripping the window frame of the carriage, curiously peering outside.

The young Madame Danton took Lucile's hand and engaged with her in chitchats. These revolutionaries, by some unspoken agreement, had all stopped discussing politics today and instead focused on fashion and lighthearted gossip. Danton, with slightly vulgar language, regaled the ladies with a love affair about a member of the National Convention, causing them to cover their mouths and giggle.

Only Raphael sat slightly apart from the others, leaning against the window and rarely joining in the conversation. His mind seemed to be elsewhere as he gazed out at the scenery receding behind them.

As the carriage passed through the Place of the Revolution, the eyes of those inside were drawn to a young boy being held tightly by two soldiers of the National Guard on the execution platform.

The doomed boy was barely more than a child, his frail body trembling with fear, tears streaking his face as he shrank back desperately, trying to pull away from his captors. Great big drops of tears continued to fall from his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

"No, I don't want to die! I don't! I don't! I've done nothing!" He screamed and struggled violently as the executioner pushed the board he was bound to toward the platform, crying as though his heart would break.

Most of the Parisians who queued daily for the guillotine had already either faced death with heroism or resigned themselves to their fate with sorrow. Such a genuine expression of intense, raw terror towards death, was thus all the more rare and heartrending, almost too painful to witness.

As the chopper fell mercilessly, the boy cried out with a thunderous final scream, "Mama!"

The onlookers below, some leisurely sewing, others snacking on fruits and nuts, had long been desensitized to the execution scene, yet were now eerily silent.

A soldier skillfully poured the head from the basket into the waiting cart below, while another expressionlessly tossed the body into another.

As the cart drove away, the executioner walked to the edge of the platform and reached out to welcome the next "lucky guy," while the cleaner indifferently swept away the accumulating blood from the guillotine onto the ground below.

The droplets of blood splashed onto the ground, pooling into a gradually deepening lake, slowly flowing towards the lower ground, bringing to mind that long-forgotten nightmare for Edith.

"Mama, don't look! Horace don't look!" The little boy of the Desmoulins cried, ran over to bury his head in his mother's skirt.

Lucile comforted her son with a sad expression, and exchanged a glance with her husband.

The cart had also experienced a long and tense silence, until Danton sneered and slapped his thigh, saying coldly, "Hmph, this is the masterpiece of Robespierre and his pack of hounds! Great, truly great!"

　
***Author's Notes***

①Warning: Andre works year-round for the Committee of General Security, either putting in 16 to 18 hours a day or out on a mission. His income is so low that he can only afford to live in a renovated public housing unit, and he and his partner have to share even a piece of sweet. It is strongly advised not to date such a man in reality.

②Louise Sébastienne Danton (1776～1856): Danton's second wife, who worked as a commis for the Ministry of the Marine during the Revolution. Later, some have blamed her for causing her husband Georges Danton to become detached from politics and instead obsessed with family and rural life, indirectly leading to his downfall. This is obviously an unfair accusation.

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