“You may have shaved my seven locks and sold me to the Philistines, but I am not yet on my knees!” With that he spun about and slapped Claudine soundly. She fell back, striking her head on the edge of the door. Masson stared at her, at her motionless body. With a satisfied nod, he reached into her satchel, found a bottle of laudanum, and took a swig. Then another.

His stomach cramped violently and he clutched the table, heaving. Through the fog of pain he looked over at his daughter on the floor. A single clear thought stung his brain. Dear Jesus, I’ve killed her!

He crawled over, put his hand on her arm, and sobbed, “Forgive me.” Then a more violent wave caught his stomach, twisted it inside out, and he collapsed.

At last Claudine roused, her head throbbing mightily, her mind unclear. With great effort she opened her eyes and there, lying unconscious on the floor beside her with blood streaming from his mouth and an empty bottle of laudanum in his hand, she saw her father.

She forced herself to her knees and cupped his face in her hands. “Father!” she cried.

He did not answer.

“Father!” she cried again. “Father!”

The door banged behind her. She looked back to find Bontemps standing there.

“Help me!” she pleaded. “He’s dying!”

There was sympathy in Bontemps’ eyes but urgency in his voice. “You must come. The King.”

Claudine looked back at her father, her heart pounding.

“We both know who his doctor is,” said Bontemps.

“But my father will perish!”

“As will your King.”

Claudine folded her hands and held them up before the valet. “Don’t make me choose. He’s all the family I have.”

“Save your father, or save France,” said Bontemps. “The choice is yours.”

The soldier who had spit upon the King awoke to find himself lashed to a table in the shadowy torture room, with Fabien, the King’s chief of police, staring at him with contempt.

“Are you dead?” asked Fabien.

The soldier licked his cracked lips. “By your hand or by my sickness, it doesn’t matter. I will be soon.”

“Your destination is not in doubt. The issue before us is merely the amount of pain you will endure on the journey.”

Laurene entered, her face flushed with excitement. “I was just in the laundry,” she said. “And I found this in one of the pockets.”

Fabien put out his hand. Laurene removed a letter from her skirt, unfolded it, and held it up. It was a cipher. “The same shapes,” she said. “I may not be able to read but I saw they were like those in your book!”

Fabien took the letter and studied it. Then he turned to the soldier. “Don’t go anywhere.” He and Laurene left the torture room for the office, locking the door behind them.