‘Ha! France is not my nation, you haughty bourgeois!’ Red and blue jerked on the white ribbon.

Behind the counter, the gaunt shopkeeper tried to call for order, but was roundly ignored.

An older gentleman holding a white ribbon approached Jane with apparent trepidation. ‘Madame, you are British? You should return home.’

‘What has happened?’

‘Napoleon has returned to France.’

Jane’s knees threatened to give way under her. Though she had understood the man perfectly, she felt the urge to ask him to repeat himself, as if that would make his words mean something different. Napoleon out of exile! How was that possible?

The import of the brigands who had accosted them on the road returned to her. She had thought that they had little to fear if Napoleon’s only supporters were such ragged men as those. Around her, she saw the evidence that the Ogre had far more support than she had guessed possible.

On the outskirts of the crowd, a woman holding red and blue ribbons sneered at her. ‘She is British!’ Her words brought silence to the room, and Jane felt the full weight of both groups’ attention fall upon her. ‘What is she doing here?’

‘She is here to buy ribbon. Are you not, madame?’ The shopkeeper took advantage of the lull in fighting and drew himself erect. ‘In my shop, one only purchases ribbon or lace. Do I make myself understood, mesdames and messieurs?’ When no one responded, he pointed to the ribbon held between the two women. ‘That piece of ribbon is spoiled, and I will not sell it to either of you. But I will gladly sell you both lace, which is also white. Will that suit?’

The women looked down at the white ribbon, stretched and spoiled by their struggles. As one, they let it drop to the floor.

Not willing to lose control, the shopkeeper rapped the counter. ‘Who is next, please?’

As the crowd began to sort out who had precedence, the gentleman with the white ribbon who had spoken to Jane first, gestured toward the door. She needed no further hint.

On her way out, one of the women with red, blue, and white ribbons shifted abruptly, driving her elbow into Jane’s middle. ‘Go home, British.’

The breath left Jane’s body in a rush, and she struggled to draw in the next. Pain, sharp and quick, drew a line from her toes to the base of her skull. Folded over, she wrapped her arms around herself and became more conscious of the child she carried than she had ever been previously. Heretofore, the inconvenience had taken precedence, but all she could think of now was that the child – her child – might be harmed.