Surrender to a Stranger by Karyn Monk Page B

with a chamber pot,” he remarked with surprise.
    Jacqueline turned over the body of Georges and searched his pockets for Citizen Julien’s purse. She put it back into Citizen Julien’s coat and quickly did up his buttons. “Let’s get out of here,” she said as she grabbed his arm and offered her support. “They may have friends who come looking for them.”
    They hurried down the dark alley and wove their way up and down several more. No one followed them. They trudged along together in the cold for what seemed like miles. Freezing and exhausted, Jacqueline was about to ask Citizen Julien if perhaps he was lost when he finally stopped in front of a narrow, decrepit building. Its stone front was pocked and crumbling, the shutters over its windows were peeling and hanging at haphazard angles. A sign indicated that it was an inn, although if not for the sign, Jacqueline would never have believed people actually paid to stay here. Citizen Julien banged the knocker against the cracked wood door, and after a few moments a thin, mean-looking little man appeared. He stared at them suspiciously a moment, his eyes shining in the light of his candle like two tiny black beads, and then an expression of recognition crossed his face.
    “So you’re finally back,” he muttered irritably as he held the door open for them.
    “Unfortunately, Citizen Dufresne, the work my grandson found took longer than we expected,” explained Citizen Julien apologetically. They followed the innkeeper to a small desk in the hall, where he opened a drawer and selected a key.
    “Water’s up there, like you ordered, but it’s cold by now.” Dufresne shrugged. His tone indicated he had absolutely no intention of reheating it.
    “That is fine,” replied Citizen Julien with a nod.
    The scrawny innkeeper lifted his candle high as he led them up the stairway. “Did you hear how many heads they cut today?” he asked.
    “No,” replied Citizen Julien.
    “Thirty-two,” Citizen Dufresne told him with satisfaction. “Thirty-two heads in just twenty-five minutes. The people’s ax grows more efficient every day.”
    “So it would seem,” agreed Citizen Julien.
    The innkeeper unlocked a door, stepped into the room, and lit a candle on a small table beside the bed. He turned, holding his candle at his chest. The dim glow it threw onto his sunken face gave him a ghoulish look. “My wife went down to watch. Said it was beautiful. A whole family of aristos brought to justice. Husband, wife, and all their brats. Said the mother insisted the children go first, so they wouldn’t have to watch their parents die. Sanson refused to let the mother accompany them onto the platform, so she stood and sang to them from the steps.” He laughed, a whining, nasal sound that made his bony frame quiver with enjoyment. “Can you imagine that?”
    “No,” whispered Jacqueline in horror.
    Dufresne looked at her with amusement. “You should take the boy down to have a look one day,” he told Citizen Julien as he moved toward the door. “Toughen him up.”
    “I’ll do that,” agreed Citizen Julien. “Good night, Citizen.” He closed the door and locked it.
    “I cannot stay here,” Jacqueline announced the minute they were alone. “I will not sleep under the same roof with that horrible man and his evil wife.”
    Citizen Julien slowly turned from the door, leaning heavily on his cane. “You have no choice,” he stated calmly.
    “I would rather sleep on the street,” she protested.
    “I doubt that,” remarked Citizen Julien as he walked past her. He laid his cane on a wooden chair beside the bed and removed his black felt hat.
    “At least on the street one can fight back,” argued Jacqueline angrily as she paced the floor of the small room. “And as you have seen, I am quite capable of defending myself,” she boasted, thinking back to their skirmish with the two drunks.
    “You did not do such an admirable job of defending yourself before the