“Guards! They mean to kill me! Bring me Jacques!” Then Louis’ eyes rolled back and he fainted. Bontemps leapt forward and caught him in his arms. He dragged the King back toward his apartment as Louis muttered, “My gardener will know what to do.”

A late afternoon wind rattled the broken walls of the Huguenot church and caused its deteriorating shingles to flap upon the roof. At the door, Montcourt glanced about then hastened inside and pulled the door shut. He found Cassel in one of the remaining pews and sat down with him.

“We’re risking our lives being here,” said Montcourt. “I had to conceal my horse half a mile away.”

“You’re the one to talk,” scoffed Cassel. “Why the urgency?”

Montcourt sat back. “Wait, now. You were not the author of this letter?”

The door slammed open. Instantly fearful, both men turned to see others arriving, all cloaked, all looking about furtively.

“It appears we’re not the only ones bound by our intent,” said Montcourt as the new arrivals found pews in which to sit then pushed back their hoods. Nobles, all of them.

“Intent?” asked Cassel. “Which is what, exactly?”

“The intent is revolution,” came a voice. A familiar voice. A female voice. The men turned to stare at the front of the church. Beside the altar stood Madame de Clermont. Beatrice. Dressed in a new gown that had been sent to her anonymously the day before. Her face was stony with purpose.

Cassel shouted, “This is a monumental risk! What if these communications were intercepted? Or worse, deciphered?”

“They have been deciphered,” said Beatrice.

Montcourt gasped. “Then our location is known?”

“Once a codex is broken,” Beatrice answered, “it offers opportunity. I wrote a new message and made sure it was found. It proposes a rendezvous today, on the other side of Paris. We are quite safe where we are.”

Chevalier stood in the back of the church and pounded his fist on the pew.

“Cousin!” he shouted. “What on God’s Earth are you doing here?”