“I have to go to Paris,” I said one day, when we met at a coffeehouse to read the latest news. “If ever there was a time, Fuseli, it’s now.”

“You dangerous radical, you.”

“Because I want to turn the world upside down? Shake the rich from their gilded cages, banish despots, and lift the poor?”

“You think the world a much better place than I, Wollstonecraft.” He couldn’t help a crooked smile. “But we shall go to Paris, and see for ourselves.”

Johnson signed on as soon as he heard, and Mrs. Fuseli wanted to come. How could I object? I would be with Sophia gladly to have her husband’s company every day. I was surprised when she arrived for the journey looking less like Marie Antoinette, and more like me.

“I took you as my inspiration,” she said. “As you say, ‘nearer to Nature.’”

“Then I’ll take it as flattery,” I said.

On that hopeful Tuesday in June, we set out in a carriage for Dover. If we stopped only for refreshment and fresh horses, we would be to port in a half day, waiting at most six hours for a fair breeze and a sailing tide to Calais. We could be in Paris in two days, three at the most. But at our last coaching inn, we found a crowd throbbing with news. The Tuileries Palace had been attacked, the royal family thrown into Temple prison, the Assembly dissolved, and Lafayette driven out of the country. Paris was thrown into confusion and chaos.

“It seems our traveling party is finished, then,” said Fuseli.

“All of us are unnerved, but this is our chance,” I said, trying to salvage it. “To see it up close. In all its vibrant colors.”

“I think the principal color is red, and it will spout from the necks of people like us,” he said. “A French revolution will not tolerate oglers, especially the English variety.”

“Paine is there. He’ll protect us.”

“Paine is hailed as a hero for now, but just wait for his fall.”

I looked at Sophia, expecting she would side with her husband. She had dared to come, without her usual dripping jewels and high hair. I found her, in her more natural state, even more beautiful than I remembered, but she looked less guarded without her costume, less sure. She rubbed her gloved hands together, looked between her husband and me. We locked eyes as she drew in a breath.

“If Mary thinks it safe to go—”

“I cannot guarantee our safety, Sophia,” I said. “But I can guarantee a moment that history will never forget. That we will never forget.”

She and I looked to Johnson for support, but he traded a defeated look with Fuseli, and shook his head.

“It’s not worth our lives, Mary. We should turn back.”