“Keep moving!” The guards had almost cleared the room, and more joined them as their large group moved down the hallway.

Éléonore rubbed her hands together in greed. “Send for Citizen Robespierre. He wished to see us before we departed. Indeed, he may even join us.”

One of the guards saluted and took off at a run down the adjoining hallway while their group continued to the courtyard from yesterday. This time it was not empty. This time it held a line of cages on wheels.

Once they witnessed their conveyance to death, everyone in the group grew quiet.

Robespierre’s voice carried down the hallway. “I wish to see him myself.”

The head of the committee, the man who held on with such a tight fist to power in Matteo’s beloved France, stepped forward.

Eerily powerful and yet unremarkable, his voice was soft, his words measured. “Who is the one who claims to be the Pimpernel?”

Matteo cleared his throat and stepped forward. “It is I.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“How could it be you? One of our own? You, so understanding of our beginnings.”

“The Revolution in the beginning promised peace and hope and freedom.”

“You would desert your homeland? Turn traitor to your own people?”

“As soon as it became more about you and your committee than about actually freeing France, I realized you’d gone too far. I abhor your methods. Violence to stop the violence? Even a simpleton can see that you are merely grasping to cling to your tenuous hold on power. You have turned my glorious nation into a cesspool of cruelty and killing. You breed more murderers with each moment that passes.”

Robespierre used a finger to loosen the cravat at his neck. “I can see you are unenlightened, but that is no matter. You will soon be dead and a frustrating bane to us no longer.”

“There will be those who rise to help. The Pimpernel is but a title, a symbol for anyone who rescues those who cannot save themselves. My death will not end your bane. Where terror exists, heroes will always rise.”

One of the boys from the back yelled, “Oui!”

With scowling eyes searching the group of prisoners, Robespierre responded, his voice low and measured, “And we will stamp them out as they come, one by one, until no one else dares. Fear, Matteo. Fear is a hefty deterrent.” He stepped to the nearest guard. “I have asked for reinforcements, in the event we see anyone rising to the rescue. I want all of France to know whose head is about to fall, even should it stir up a minor insurrection. We will stamp out any who dare to interfere.”