‘I am only piecing together what has happened, and perhaps more frightened than I should be.’ The scent of the wine turned her stomach. Jane swallowed against bile and set the glass on the side table.

‘Napoleon landed at the beginning of the month and is marching toward Paris. No shots have been fired, and garrison after garrison has surrendered to him. This sounds astonishing, but remember that King Louis is still in Paris, and has the army to back him. The Belgian army has been called up and we will join forces with the British to help oppose Napoleon.’

‘What if the French army surrenders?’ Mme Chastain touched her husband’s arm. ‘They might already have done so, and we will not know for another week, as slow as the mail service is.’

‘Do not alarm yourself over things that shall not happen. You might as well be alarmed that the sun will land in our courtyard.’ M. Chastain snorted. ‘I, myself, am not surprised to see him returned. He has never kept his bargains.’

A small hand tugged at the corner of Jane’s dress. Miette stood by her chair, prism held tightly in both hands the way another child might clutch a doll for comfort. ‘Did you fetch my ribbon?’

‘No, dear. I am sorry, but I could not.’ Jane recollected the scene in the notions store and wondered how much worse it would be if more was at stake than a bit of frippery. Was Vincent safe? She took Miette by the hand and stood. ‘But you shall have your choice of ribbons from my collection.’

It was not good to keep the little girl here amid so much worry and Jane was glad of an excuse to escape the atmosphere herself. She kept up a constant chatter as they went above stairs, trying to drive out any sense of unease from the both of them. Her mind, though, sought after Vincent at every minute.

In her apartment, she pulled out the bandbox which held her millinery supplies and settled down at the table with Miette. Without self-consciousness, the little girl climbed in her lap to see into the box better.

The weight and warmth of Miette’s small form settled Jane, helping her focus past the concern for her husband. They sorted through the box, putting aside those ribbons too large to fit through the small brass ring at the top of the prism, until they settled on three: one red, one white, and one green. Jane could not help but see the symbols writ on the red and white ribbons, so she steered Miette toward the green one and helped her thread it through the ring. Then they stood at the window in the sun and admired the rainbows that Miette scattered about the room.

When that amusement faded, Miette tilted her head up, curls falling back from her cheeks. ‘Will you make me a glamour?’