A sudden clamor of bells pierces the dim morning. And yet it’s not their hour to ring. I recognize the tongues of Notre-Dame singing a lament. Someone important has died. Another set of bells starts from the north side of the city. And then another from the east, singing the mourning song.

Javert merely paused at the sound of the first bell. The buzzing noise of the crowd has drawn to a silence.

A voice booms across the grounds. “We ask for one minute of silence in honor of the passing of General Jean Maximilien Lamarque.”

I remember seeing the general on the Pont Neuf, shouting at his troops not to open fire on the crowd. He was ever a man of the people. The Death Dealers have done their work well. The general’s death is the signal the students—and I—have been waiting for: the start of their new revolution, the start of my hunting.

A long silence is observed. The cold air nips at my cheeks.

“The funeral of General Lamarque will be held this morning.”

The announcement rings in my ears, and I look around wildly for St. Juste. I need to tell him what I learned in the Salon de la Reine. If the funeral is today and I can’t warn them, they’ll go marching into a trap.

At a grubby carriage guarded by two gendarmes, Javert finally addresses me.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She is trying to be businesslike, but I can hear the hope in her voice.

“He has a number tattooed onto his right arm: two-four-six-oh-one,” I say, recalling it from the posters.

She bows her head as if the news is too much for her.

She is desperate to find Valjean—le Maire—who has escaped her custody twice. The obsession burns inside her. Perhaps I can use this to get her to postpone their plans, giving me time to warn St. Juste and the others.

Her eyes snap to mine, and I see cold calculation there.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Just a girl who lost a friend to that criminal Valjean,” I say with a sniff. “I swore I would get her back. I made an oath.”

Javert frowns. “And what is she like, your friend?”

“She is an innocent—naïve, trusting, and more beautiful than the dawn,” I say.

I see it then, a flash of naked pain crossing Javert’s face. And jealousy … She is jealous of Ettie? But Ettie is just a girl.

The inspector quickly adjusts her expression and eyes me head to toe. “And how are you acquainted with the prince?”

I can feel the judgment in her blue eyes as she takes in the color of my skin.

“We visited the palace, Ettie and I, as children,” I say, for the Gentleman taught me that the best lies are the ones nearest the truth.

“I will give you a word of caution, then: no matter what he says, you cannot trust a man like the dauphin. Men easily charm with promises, but when the time comes to choose, they always choose their duty.”