standing in doorsteps calling out to the men stumbling drunkenly along the street. A fleshy woman, fairly bursting out of the wrinkled red satin dress she had somehow squeezed herself into, left her post at the side of the street and approached Citizen Julien.
“A chilly night, isn’t it, Citizen?” she asked as she dropped the thin cloak around her shoulders to reveal a bulging bust. She stank of wine and too much cheap perfume.
“It is indeed,” agreed Citizen Julien, who kept his gnarled hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder and continued walking.
“Perhaps you need someone to warm you up,” the woman said suggestively.
“I am afraid, my dear, that I am too old to accept such a kind offer,” replied Citizen Julien.
Undaunted, the woman pulled up her cloak and began to walk with them. She fixed her gaze on Jacqueline.
“Pretty boy,” she remarked. Jacqueline could see that the woman’s wig was in much need of a dressing, and her heavily painted face made her look old beyond her years.
“You done it yet, lad?” the woman demanded as she grabbed Jacqueline’s grubby hand and pressed it to her ample breast.
With a stifled cry of horror Jacqueline wrenched her hand away. She felt Citizen Julien wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders, and the woman laughed.
“Shy, are we?” she snorted. She turned her attention back to Citizen Julien. “It’s been a slow night. I’ll do the boy for half price.”
“That is very generous of you,” acknowledged Citizen Julien with a nod. “But the lad and I are in a hurry and simply cannot spare the time. Perhaps another evening,” he suggested as he continued to steer Jacqueline down the noisy, crowded street.
“To hell with you then,” snapped the woman, clearly insulted. She turned away in a swish of crushed satin and cheap perfume.
Two men who had been watching the exchange now started to follow them. One of them carried a half-empty liquor bottle, which he lifted high to drink from with every few paces, while the other mimicked the hunched and shuffling gait of Citizen Julien, much to the amusement of the prostitutes who watched from the side of the street. It was obvious to Jacqueline that the men were drunk and looking for a little distraction. Citizen Julien ignored them and continued to guide her down the street. The men and women standing outside the café began to call out to the little procession, laughing heartily at the antics of the two burly men behind them. Fear began to creep up Jacqueline’s spine. She wondered if the men would soon tire of their game and want to do more than simply mock them. If they were attacked, Citizen Julien was far too old and frail to protect either himself or her, and she did not think she could defend herself against two men. If it was discovered that she was an escaped aristocrat, she did not want to consider what this crowd might do to her.
Citizen Julien did not seem to notice the two drunken, heavyset men behind them. He continued to shuffle along in a slow and steady pace, keeping his grip on Jacqueline and leaning heavily on his cane. They came to the end of the street and started down another empty alley. The men followed them, and Jacqueline wondered how Citizen Julien could not be aware of their threatening presence.
“Citizen Julien,” she whispered nervously as she leaned in to him, “I believe we are being followed.”
“What? What’s that? Followed?” he cried out loudly, looking around in obvious confusion. He turned, noticed the men, and smiled. “Oh, good evening, Citizens,” he said pleasantly. “Going our way?”
One of the men stepped forward, took a long draft from his bottle, and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his stained jacket before speaking. “Seems to me you and the boy insulted Lucille,” he drawled out. “What do you think, Georges?”
“Saw it with my own eyes,” agreed the other in slow, slurred words. “She looked mighty upset.”
“Good Citizens, no insult
“A chilly night, isn’t it, Citizen?” she asked as she dropped the thin cloak around her shoulders to reveal a bulging bust. She stank of wine and too much cheap perfume.
“It is indeed,” agreed Citizen Julien, who kept his gnarled hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder and continued walking.
“Perhaps you need someone to warm you up,” the woman said suggestively.
“I am afraid, my dear, that I am too old to accept such a kind offer,” replied Citizen Julien.
Undaunted, the woman pulled up her cloak and began to walk with them. She fixed her gaze on Jacqueline.
“Pretty boy,” she remarked. Jacqueline could see that the woman’s wig was in much need of a dressing, and her heavily painted face made her look old beyond her years.
“You done it yet, lad?” the woman demanded as she grabbed Jacqueline’s grubby hand and pressed it to her ample breast.
With a stifled cry of horror Jacqueline wrenched her hand away. She felt Citizen Julien wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders, and the woman laughed.
“Shy, are we?” she snorted. She turned her attention back to Citizen Julien. “It’s been a slow night. I’ll do the boy for half price.”
“That is very generous of you,” acknowledged Citizen Julien with a nod. “But the lad and I are in a hurry and simply cannot spare the time. Perhaps another evening,” he suggested as he continued to steer Jacqueline down the noisy, crowded street.
“To hell with you then,” snapped the woman, clearly insulted. She turned away in a swish of crushed satin and cheap perfume.
Two men who had been watching the exchange now started to follow them. One of them carried a half-empty liquor bottle, which he lifted high to drink from with every few paces, while the other mimicked the hunched and shuffling gait of Citizen Julien, much to the amusement of the prostitutes who watched from the side of the street. It was obvious to Jacqueline that the men were drunk and looking for a little distraction. Citizen Julien ignored them and continued to guide her down the street. The men and women standing outside the café began to call out to the little procession, laughing heartily at the antics of the two burly men behind them. Fear began to creep up Jacqueline’s spine. She wondered if the men would soon tire of their game and want to do more than simply mock them. If they were attacked, Citizen Julien was far too old and frail to protect either himself or her, and she did not think she could defend herself against two men. If it was discovered that she was an escaped aristocrat, she did not want to consider what this crowd might do to her.
Citizen Julien did not seem to notice the two drunken, heavyset men behind them. He continued to shuffle along in a slow and steady pace, keeping his grip on Jacqueline and leaning heavily on his cane. They came to the end of the street and started down another empty alley. The men followed them, and Jacqueline wondered how Citizen Julien could not be aware of their threatening presence.
“Citizen Julien,” she whispered nervously as she leaned in to him, “I believe we are being followed.”
“What? What’s that? Followed?” he cried out loudly, looking around in obvious confusion. He turned, noticed the men, and smiled. “Oh, good evening, Citizens,” he said pleasantly. “Going our way?”
One of the men stepped forward, took a long draft from his bottle, and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his stained jacket before speaking. “Seems to me you and the boy insulted Lucille,” he drawled out. “What do you think, Georges?”
“Saw it with my own eyes,” agreed the other in slow, slurred words. “She looked mighty upset.”
“Good Citizens, no insult
Similar Books
