St. Juste looks at the inspector.

“She’s lying,” Javert spits, but I see her eyes darting around, measuring the distance to the door, counting the people in the room.

“You don’t have to believe me. Ask Orso. Ask any of my people. They all know who she is.” I grin maliciously at her. “Or you can ask the gentleman I arrived with.”

St. Juste orders them to call my companion in.

There are footsteps and a deep voice. Then le Maire enters, his form filling the doorway. He takes in the scene and stops when he sees Javert.

Her eyes widen. Her face blanches.

“You,” she says.

Le Maire looks at her. His face is a strange war of emotions. “Inspector.”

She lurches at him, but two of the students catch her between them.

Javert lifts her chin defiantly. St. Juste takes his pistol back from Grantaire and trains it on her.

“You stupid children. You will never succeed.” Javert’s face wrinkles in a sneer. “We know your names, your associates, each member of your family. There’s nowhere you can hide from us. We are coming for you.”

St. Juste’s face is a mask of rage. His hand trembles, but he cocks the pistol.

For a moment I think he’ll shoot her. Then he lowers the gun.

“Take her away,” St. Juste says.

An unrepentant Javert is led out, with le Maire following slowly behind.

Grantaire suddenly realizes that I’m still lying on the floor, and he tries to help me up. I push him away.

“You should have shot her,” I say to St. Juste as I sit up.

“She’s a woman,” St. Juste says.

I look at them in despair. Their illogical upper-class breeding so often overrules common sense.

“She was going to lead you to your deaths.”

St. Juste’s brow is furrowed. He’s trying to regroup his thoughts.

“All the information,” he says. “All of our orders have been compromised.” He looks at me like a lost boy. “She and other couriers from the Société have carried messages to our brothers throughout the city. They’ve all gone out to fight.”

“Then they’re all betrayed,” I say quietly.

“We can’t let them stand alone.”

“All probability says they’re dead,” I say, repeating his words back to him. “If you go out there to join them, you’ll die too.”

“What else would you have us do?” he asks. His eyes are haunted. “We cannot leave our brothers to lie broken in the streets while we sit here in safety.”

I sigh. These boys will no more abandon their cause than I will mine, no matter the odds against them.

“Send some of your men to the remaining cells,” I say. “See if you can still sound a warning.”

St. Juste turns to the students. Five of them nod at him, wordlessly taking up their weapons and turning to go.

“Be careful,” he calls as he watches them go, then turns back to me.

“I owe you an apology …,” he says.