The Frost of Springtime by Rachel L. Demeter Page A

The
resemblance was a difficult thing for Aleksender to stomach. Much like the late comte , Richard was tall with a gentle attraction and
kind eyes. A pale mustache peppered his upper lip, awarding him a distinguished
and noble presence.
    Aleksender came to his feet and outstretched a weathered hand.
    “Really—a handshake, Alek? Such
formality!” Richard reeled Aleksender into an embrace and patted his
shoulder with rough affection. “I see war has stifled you.” He stood away and
nodded, examining Aleksender from head to toe. “Good to have you returned to
us.”
    The two brothers claimed parallel seats. For several minutes, they
engaged themselves in harmless conversation, reminiscing on memories of their
father, observing each other with an unmistakable and nostalgic fondness. Elise
came forth and placed a brunch tray in front of Richard, filling his glass with
red wine. Then she eased back into the shadows, granting Aleksender and Richard
privacy.
    The tender moment passed by too soon. There was no time for sentiment.
Paris had lost that luxury long ago. Richard cleared his throat and gestured to
the collection of newspapers. “Conditions in Paris are unfortunate. Worse now than they’ve ever been.”
    “This commune—”
    “Is expanding as we speak,” Richard finished in a pained tone. “Expanding in both size and power. At present, the group is
rather unorganized—spread throughout the city. But they are steadily gaining
influence. I estimate a matter of weeks before they have all of Paris eating
from their palms.”
    “And their demands?”
    “Ah, mostly fancy ideas and radical reforms. The majority of these
so-called Communards do seem harmless enough … even good-natured. But you
mustn’t be fooled. Many are turning to violence. See, they’re in the process of
trying to pass a law that requires every person between nineteen and
thirty-five years to join the National Guard.” Richard suggestively arched a
brow, signaling himself. “Present company included.”
    “Ridiculous.”
    “I shall try not to take offense to that.” Between a heavy sigh and
exhaled breath, Richard went on to say, “My advice? Remain on exceedingly
pleasant terms with Prime Minister Thiers. The wretch has no conscience and
full control of the military. He’d wipe away the Communards without second
thought. A hundred or so already have been killed.”
    “They are really so troublesome? Troublesome enough for Thiers to risk
further revolt?”
    “Well,” Richard began, chuckling beneath his breath, “the Commune damn
well drove him from Paris.”
    Aleksender’s mind felt ambushed. He gave a sharp nod as he struggled to
absorb the startling information. “I understand the military is stationed in
Versailles now.”
    “Indeed. They’ve been relocated to Chateau de Versailles.” Richard
pressed the glass to his lips and downed a mouthful of wine. Then he dug a hand
into his pocket and withdrew a case of cigars. He absently toyed with the
tortoiseshell casing as he spoke. “The Communards have already taken Baron Rieu
and Marquis de Boury into custody. And just this week they threatened to kidnap
the archbishop … or whomever might be of value. Poor
fellow would be a ‘hostage of the Parisian people.’ Or so they passionately
say. Look here—” Richard fetched one of the newspapers and directed
Aleksender’s attention to a particular passage:
    The government of Versailles tramples the rights of humanity. All
persons accused of complicity with the government shall be decreed accused and
imprisoned. All the accused shall be hostages of the people of Paris. For every
death of a prisoner of war, or a partisan of the Commune, the execution of
three hostages shall follow.
    Aleksender stared forward, mute and motionless. For the life of
him he couldn’t find his voice. Richard lit a cigar and slipped it between the
seam of his lips, inhaling a long and tasty drag. He exhaled the pasty cloud of
smoke and lazily