There’s a commotion at the door, and the soldiers part to allow a dark-haired man through. He scans the room, clearly shocked at the scene. As he sees Ettie and me on the stairs, he blinks.

“Nina!”

“Votre Altesse,” I say to the dauphin, and my slight bow almost topples Ettie.

The prince comes to us and takes in the extent of my injuries.

“You’re hurt! Who did this to you?”

“A dead man,” I answer, trying to shake off the tiredness that threatens to engulf me. This night is not over yet.

I managed to get the soldiers and Inspector Javert here, so it’s time they played their part.

“Altesse, you’ve ridden across the city and slain every revolutionary cell in your path, have you not?”

The prince’s face grows grim, and he gives the slightest of nods.

“There remains only one, and here they are. I believe your mother the queen commanded that any survivors be arrested. Take them. They’re outnumbered and won’t fight you.”

St. Juste’s face is completely and utterly furious. “Nina?”

I ignore him.

The prince’s soldiers surround St. Juste, who’s glaring at me with rage at my betrayal. For a moment I fear that he’s going to fight, so fierce is the look on his face. But he hands over his pistol, and his friends follow suit.

And now, dance to the tune that I will whistle.

I gesture to the women. “These women were stolen from the streets of this city and, against every law of this country, were to be traded into prostitution.” I point to the Fleshers. “These are the men that have done this.”

The prince is horrified, and in a voice of barely contained fury says to his soldiers, “Arrest them all!”

I lean toward him conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t arrest that one, however.” I point into the shadows where Montparnasse is lurking. “Unless you want a lot of dead soldiers on your hands.”

The prince looks around. “Arrest all the others,” he says.

The soldiers move forward, and the Fleshers, seeing themselves grossly outnumbered, drop their weapons. The soldiers round everyone up, making them raise their hands above their heads.

“Anything else?” the prince inquires of me with only the slightest edge of sarcasm.

“There are more women upstairs.” My voice hitches when I want it to be strong. “All of these women have been prisoners of the Tiger for too long. They need medical attention.”

“Take the women to l’Hôpital de la Pitié. Be gentle!” he shouts, his voice like thunder. “They’ve no need of more pain. And cover them. Are they to be walked half naked through the streets?”

The prince snaps an order at his men to get them moving. They drag everyone outside. The students go first; St. Juste goes quietly. He doesn’t even look up at me, doesn’t realize that his arrest has saved his life. The army has intervened in time to stop any bloodshed. The Fleshers have not been able to murder the students, and the presence of the rest of us stopped the army from massacring the students in the streets.