She shook her head. “Non. They gave me this, but everyone’s are different.” Her face paled, and she held her stomach. “Vêtements des morts.” Her barely audible whisper stung him, sending a chill reverberating through his bones.

Clothes of the dead? For a child.

She started backing out of the room, tray in hand. “I need to get back. They whip me if I take too long.”

“Yes, of course. One more thing I must know. Tell me, do any prisoners die in the prison?”

She swallowed twice. “Yes.”

“I am sorry to dwell upon the sadness of death, but what do they do with their bodies?”

She knew, and she told him.

“Thank you. Bless you, my dear friend.” He waited until the door shut behind her before clenching his shirt in his fists. He tried not to think what she left his cell to face. How could they treat her, a young girl, so? Surrounded by the wails of the terrified, wearing the clothes of those recently executed, the child had little good to inspire her; and yet she took great risks inside these walls, undoubtedly saved many and surely brought hope to many more. An angel, not yet departed, but all the more real for it.

Four days passed, and he wondered at his supposed visitor. The notes continued from Simon, and hope lightened Matteo’s time in the prison, which otherwise would have filled his life with darkness. His yearning for sunlight could not be quenched, challenged in strength only by his desperate need for Scarlet.

Simon had been silent in her regard. Matteo’s assumption that she had escaped the prison and was now waiting for him somewhere kept his heart alive and his mind active. A person could quickly lose his lucidity in such a place otherwise, with nothing to incite or activate productive thought. By a strict force of will and the many plans and communications from Simon, he was able to stave off the awful restless insanity that often infected those in dark, solitary confinement.

Abella’s visits were also a balm. He had communicated to her his plan to rescue her from this place.

Her first worry, the first question to come out of her mouth? “But what of the others who come after? Who will help them?”

***

Hours into the third full day locked in her prison cell, Scarlet heard Antoine’s last breath, his head again resting in her lap. Her tears fell onto his face, but they were not full of sadness. A profound peace filled their small patch of ground, and she breathed out in relief that his suffering had ended. Shaking her head in weak frustration that a good man had been allowed to suffer so, she then bowed it in a prayer over his life, his family, and his estate, sending him off in peace and love.