xxviii.

MONSIEUR ÉDOUARD ARSENAULT WALKED IN THROUGH THE GLASS doors of the building like he owned the place—which he did. He owned every brick and piece of wood employed in the use of its construction, he owned every bit of iron used for the numerous vaults that contained the people's money, he owned every single suited and balding man underneath this roof that sat behind a desk doing a 9 to 5. He owned the ground underneath this building.

The reception workers at the front counter stood up when they spotted him walk in, his manner of dominance immediately familiar, regardless of the mess of his curly hair from the constant rushing in the city since he'd arrived and his tight jaw—half his face—hidden by the upturned collar of his dark coat. They halted their work of signing waiting clients in, their mechanic method of working thrown off balance at the sight of the boss suddenly walking in.

Édouard paid them no heed, his fierce eyes fixed ahead as he steered his way inside the building, turning corners as suited men hastily stepped out of his way and he heard hushed murmurings—his name amongst them—being uttered in his periphery.

Édouard wound his way through the main—at present, until the finished construction of the skyscraper—Parisian building of Arsenault Banks, his feet taking him instantly to his glass encased office, where he pushed through the doors—and an anxious clerk—and barged into his space.

"Monsieur Arsenault," The man seated at Édouard's chair uttered, standing up hastily as the other two men present in the room, paused in the middle of submitting paperwork and files.

"This is a surprise!" The man continued, fixing a button on his suit at his chest as he immediately came out from behind the desk, anxiety marring his movements.

"You should've sent word of your coming, Sir, I would've had preparations made to receive you properly."

"Don't sweat it, Bowler," Édouard snapped, his baritone rough as annoyance prickled through him at the man's English. Hadn't it been more than a year since this man was employed? His lack of French was almost infuriating.

"What the fuck are you doing in my office?"

Bowler—Mr. Sam Bowler, an Englishman, stout and round to boot with a near balding head—dabbed a napkin to his sweating forehead, his hand visibly shaking. Édouard didn't care enough to speak to the man in English, he never had, and he never will. There was a sick pleasure in watching the rotund man sweat and try to decipher his employer's French words, and another sick pleasure in having him dealt with if he misunderstood anything.

"No Sir, I merely—," The man stuttered in English. "I apologize, Sir, I assumed that you wouldn't mind, since I don't have an office to conduct my business—"

"What business?" Édouard's eyes hardened. "The only business you conduct is mine, and you will damn well conduct it from a stinking back alley if I ask you to. Do you get that?"

"Yes Sir," Bowler affirmed, hastily clapping his hands and gesturing the two bank workers hastily out before presenting Édouard to his seat beside the desk.

"Now, Sir," The Englishman uttered, touching the paperwork that had been left at the desk. "I assume you would like an update on the finances and the progress. We've had an 80% increase in the number of vaults purchased since you were last here, and here—this file is the current progress of the Arsenault Bank skyscraper in 56 Boulevard Aristide Briand—"

"Where is Henri?" Édouard uttered, impatient with Bowler's role of assistance when the stout man's job was to stay out of Édouard's sight.

"Boss," A third voice came suddenly at the door of the office, and Édouard saw Henri—his swift physique standing on alert, and a determination reflecting in his blue eyes as he reported to his boss. Henri was four years younger than Édouard himself, and oftentimes the latter treated the younger man as though he was a brother Édouard did not have.

Henri had been present that night when Édouard had had that fateful dinner with Laur, and then Henri had been at the wedding.

"Henri," Édouard spoke, "I had assigned four men to keep watch on Street 74 rue de la Boétie, and two of them to keep watch on Mademoiselle Adelaide Bonfamille."

He paused then, his jaw tightening and hands fisting in frustration.

"Where the fuck are those men? Why was I not informed about the boutique shop being shut down and Mademoiselle Adelaide's departure?"

"Boss," Henri began without batting an eye, his features sharp and his voice firm, his addressing of 'Boss' only ever brought out in office settings, or whenever the boss was angry or frustrated.

"You had been sent word in Montpellier as soon as I was informed of the irregularities. I believe it was a day after your wedding in Marseille. I had the associate in charge address the letter to you at the office in Montpellier."

"Damn it, Henri," Édouard let out, frustration coiling inside him like a python nesting in his chest, at the thought of that crucial letter going lost by some moron's hand and service. "You should have fucking sent a telegraph!"

He grabbed his jaw with his hand, his mind racking itself as his muscles kept tightening and tightening.

"Yes, boss," Henri affirmed mechanically, only a slight wince playing on his blonde brow. "I should have. I apologize. What should be done next? I await your orders."

Édouard plunged himself into his chair behind the desk, his eyes hard. "Send immediate word to our offices in Manchester and London, I need all my men there to scour both cities for my sister-in-law. She is in England, and I'm hoping to God it's either one of these cities."

Édouard knew that if the girl was not in either Manchester or London, he would very well scour the rest of England with his men in search of her if he had to. But London and Manchester were at present the only English cities he had familiarity with—at least in terms of expanding his corporate finance business. He had offices in both cities, which meant more than just a fleeting hold—a control that he did not have in other parts of England.

"Right away, boss."

"The suffragette initiative," The CEO of the Arsenault banking let out then, his eyes flashing something. "I need all the present information on it. Who the ring leaders are, where the headquarters are, I need every detail. My sister-in-law essentially seeks to join the cause."

"Sir," Bowler interfered then, the rotund man's confidence suddenly wavering as both the boss and Henri turned to look at him with their harsh gazes.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I happen to know that London is presently the center for all major activities regarding the suffragettes. In fact, just yesterday the English paper Pall Mall Gazette published a notice of the grand incoming march in London headed by a Mademoiselle Emmeline Pankhurst and a few other ladies–who are all key features in the suffragette initiative. At least, as far as the English papers say. The march is supposed to be a big move on their part, and the notice—definitely penned under one of the ladies—calls for support from like-minded females all over the country and beyond, to join."

Édouard Arsenault turned his gaze to the surface of his desk, his mind raging.

"Boss," Henri was the next to speak. "I know this isn't the time, but speaking of London, John Pierpont Morgan has not stopped threatening the construction of our Arsenault bank building in London. His campaigns against our construction only intensified after you purchased and cleared off land in Montpellier. He has heavy support now for his cause to drive us off, claiming injustice and cruelty in our ways. But, yesterday he–"

"He what?" Édouard's brows furrowed, the vile man and business rival's name alone slashing at his already boiling demeanor. Édouard wanted to shut Henri up and bring the focus back on Adelaide and her whereabouts, but the furious business streak in him wouldn't let him just focus on one thing.

JP Morgan, a Yankee, aged forty-four, American financier and investment banker, dominated corporate finance on Wall Street on the London scene. Except, apparently the man was so insecure in his hold that he wasn't still able to stomach the fact that a Frenchman wanted to expand to Wall Street too, despite the said Frenchman making his intention clear a whole year ago after having purchased the land and beginning the construction right away.

Indeed, Édouard intended to spar with Morgan by building his own dominance on Wall Street too, thereby showing that he could conquer the corporate scene in France as well as in England if he wished to, but did that mean he enjoyed being challenged before he could even come outright and make the claim himself? JP Morgan assumed he owned Wall Street, and England too, and Édouard would show him how desperately wrong he was.

"Yesterday there was an open fire late in the night at the site," Henri swallowed thickly. "The head contractor was killed and so was Monsieur Arthur Hilliger. The construction has been halted, and the London police department have issued orders against further activity on the site till a foreseeable period."

Édouard shut his eyes tightly, a vein jutting out and throbbing viciously in his jaw. Arthur Hilliger had been an employee of Arsenaults'. Édouard's father had employed the man, but unlike his first employer, Hilliger had been hardworking and diligent, and had volunteered to oversee and guard the construction in London. He had been a man of forty-four, JP Morgan's own age. And now he had been gunned down.

"That fucker," Édouard seethed, slamming a hand on his desk. "I'll strangle Morgan with my bare hands."

"I'm trying to locate Morgan, boss," Henri asserted. "He is presently not in London and upon directing police investigation towards his men and business, he has claimed he has an alibi for the night of the attack. But I shall have his location soon enough, meanwhile, I can also think of conjuring an attack of our own. It will be clean and unrelated to us in every way I assure you. I will have the details planned and we can go over them."

Édouard raised his eyes to Henri. They had never resorted to deliberate counter fire against anyone of their own stature before. The battle with JP Morgan had been without bullets so far, and Morgan had sought to change that.

"Do that. But at present, get me a damn ticket to London and send word to the men in both Manchester and London to look for Adelaide amidst all suffragette activities in the city. I want her found; do you understand me? I want her to be found unharmed and alright."

"Yes, boss," Henri let out, as Édouard waved a hand of dismissal and the younger man spun on his heels and exited the office room.

"Bowler," Édouard uttered then, turning his eyes to look at the second man in the room. "I need you to visit the police stations in Paris, I need the whereabouts of a man called Pietro Cecchi. He used to be a former dean of an orphanage in the city and was imprisoned for extortion and blackmail. I'm not sure if he is still serving time or is out, find out all the information. I need his location before I leave Paris for London tonight."

"Yes, sir," Bowler nodded hastily. "Right away, sir."

──── ౨ৎ ────

Laurentine Bonfamille Arsenault smiled, as she lay draped on her and her husband's bed in her silken lounging dress and her golden hair in loose but voluminous curls cascading down her back, an opened letter in her hand as her blue eyes scanned the words.

Léonie Léon had written to her, and the letter was serenely exciting, and exceptionally funny, what with the twenty eight year old courtesan's delicious anecdotes on her life and happenings in Marseille since Laurentine had left.

Laur sighed after a paragraph, taking her time to savor her friend's words and retellings, her eyes drifting away from the letter and settling on the tiny snow globe that she had brought with her to the bed.

The precious thing had been a gift from a darling little girl at the orphanage Laurentine had visited about four days ago after her first meeting with Monsieur Jean-Charles Adolphe in regards to the garden landscaping.

The snow globe was a mini one, fitting snug in her palm with a figurine of a cloaked female carol singer inside—her attire green and dull and her face dirt marked with mud, but her red mouth opened in passion and her eyes shut and hands extended gracefully.

Laur simply adored it, though the little girl had apologized that the snow globe no longer made music, and the girl inside did not spin, for the key had long since broken. None of that mattered to Laur but the reception of the gift and the thought behind it.

She had expressed her gratitude by undoing the small diamond earrings she had been wearing and clasping them into the little girl's pierced ears, much to the little creature's shock and delight. Then, Laur had made sure to inform the orphanage staff that if the little girl was ever deprived of the gift without her permission, than they would have to answer for it immediately.

To balance the notion of any such threat to the gift, Laurentine had made sure to donate generously to the orphanage as a whole, both with the food she had brought and money.

Most of the children knew of her exploits in the opera scene in Paris—including the precious little girl—and Laur had even performed an aria from La Traviata for them, before finishing off her performance with a Happy Birthday song because a rather joyful little boy had jumped up to claim that he had turned eleven that day.

Laurentine had loved meeting those children, and she could not wait to write back to Léonie and tell her all about it. And also, to Adelaide too!

Laur's heart dimmed at the thought of Adelaide. She hadn't heard from her younger sister in a long while. The last letter from the girl had been when Laur was in Marseille and Édouard had freshly left for Montpellier after the wedding. Laurentine had written multiple letters to Adelaide since then but had received no response, and the thought that she was potentially annoying her younger sister—or being too much even at this distance—had kept her from writing any more.

But perhaps Adelaide would appreciate this letter? This little visit to an orphanage? Often did the younger girl accompany her elder sister on such visits in Paris, and when she did not, she surely loved hearing about them.

With a conviction, Laur decided she was going to write to both Léonie and Adelaide today.

"My lady," Manon's soft voice interrupted the silence of the bedroom, and Laurentine looked at the maid as she entered the bedroom.

"My lady, the physician will be here in an hour. I just sent a footman to fetch him."

Laurentine swallowed, her mood dampening as her heart tightening in her chest and her vision displaced as she was taken back to last night. Laur had gone to the bathroom, to have a bath whilst Manon had assisted her, and then upon stepping out of the tub—with Manon's back turned—Laur had fainted and toppled to the ground, hitting the back of her head.

At least, that was what Manon had recounted amidst her incessant cries last night when Gaston and a footman had helped revive Laur with smelling salts and had checked to see if she was bleeding. Besides a colossal headache, there was no injury on Laur, and she had adamantly refused a physician, remembering the last time Édouard had called one for her on their wedding night. She had fainted then too, hadn't she? A spontaneous panic attack, the doctor had said then. But what would another doctor say now? Laur hadn't been going through any immediate panic or anything of that sort that night during her bath. Perhaps it was the lack of proper food that was finally getting to her, though her ribs were not sticking out too too much, were they?

"Manon—"

"My lady, please," Manon asserted, "You promised me you would see the physician only this once."

Laur shut her eyes and exhaled. "Alright, I'm sorry. I did promise."

Then, forcing back her previous contentment and mood prompted by Léonie's joyous letter, Laurentine smiled at Manon.

"Please have Gaston bring me the other calling cards from the parlor," Laur spoke. "I think I would like to see them now."

Initially, she had feared that the calling cards—five, as she had been informed—piling up downstairs since Édouard's departure six days ago now—four of the cards having arrived late last night, would serve only as a daunting reminder that he was gone and had fled her. But then again, why fear a thing for a reminder when her entire days were full of the same one?

"Yes, my lady," Manon uttered, making towards the door and letting Berlioz into the room before stepping out herself and shutting the door.

"Monsieur Berlioz," Laur crooned as the kitten turned cat jumped up on the bed and subjected himself to Laurentine's attention as she stroked his fur.

"Oh, it's my darling's birthday today, is it not?" Laur gushed. "You were given to me a year ago today, my precious darling. You are no longer a kitten! Oh, can you imagine that?"

Berlioz purred as if in proud acknowledgement.

"Did you like your surprise birthday breakfast? I asked Manon to give you extra cream, wasn't it simply delicious?"

Laur placed a kiss on Berlioz's head as he kept still for her.

"Maybe we can bake a celebratory cake today? Would you like that too, my darling?"

The cat seemed to nod eagerly, and Laur laughed, excited at the prospect of a birthday cake.

It was then that a knock sounded at the door and Gaston walked in, holding a silver plate of calling cards, as he shut the door behind him.

"Good morning, Gaston," Laur smiled. "I tried not to waste your and the cook's efforts today and had a little something in bed this morning for breakfast. Aren't you awfully relieved?"

Gaston shook his head once, not smiling at her jest.

"Please, my lady. Nothing we do for you is wasted effort."

Laurentine sighed, maintaining her smile.

"Thank you for putting up with me, Gaston, I shall be lost here without you."

Then she reached forwards for her calling cards as the butler moved the tray towards her and held it, his one arm pinned behind his back as she picked up the first card and read it.

"Oh," Laurentine blinked, curiosity in her voice as her eyes scanned the card. She supported herself to sit up a little.

"It is from Monsieur Ambroise Thomas!" Laur looked at Gaston, surprised and elated, as the latter wore an expression of confused composure.

"I have performed for him often at the Paris Conservatoire—he is the director there you see, and he was always so full of support for us at the Roses Bleus too! How could he have tracked me down here in Bordeaux? I simply assumed he was too much above gossip and word of mouth!"

Laurentine laughed as she read the card again, her cheeks blushing.

"Such a darling, cheeky old man," She waved the card aside on the plate as she looked at Gaston. "He is coming to pay a call at 3pm sharp, with three friends? I wonder if the rest of the cards are from the friends."

"Will you receive the guests then, my lady?" Gaston spoke, unsure, as Laur reached for all of the remaining cards this time.

"Of course!" She glanced at the butler. "Monsieur Thomas is such a breath of fresh air; I assumed he had forgotten about me entirely. I would love to see him again. Besides, he is a sweetheart, you will really like him too. I shall introduce you."

"But my lady, the physician is about to come in an hour. It is already 1pm."

"Well then the physician will just have to hurry," Laurentine shrugged playfully, her eyes sifting through the two cards she had grabbed. "Oh, the friends have sent cards as well. Monsieur Gabriel Fauré and.. Monsieur Jules Massenet and Madeleine Laurent! Oh, darling Madeleine! So, I have her to blame for Monsieur Thomas seeking me out!"

"I have met Monsieur Massenet with Madeleine oftentimes," Laurentine glanced at the butler. "But I'm not sure who Monsieur Fauré is, though I know for a fact Monsieur Ambroise Thomas calls no gentleman a friend if he isn't well versed in compositions and has a musical talent to nurture."

"I shall receive them all at 3pm," Laurentine beamed, excited and elated, as though no bouts of fear and loneliness had touched her at all throughout the past three days.

"Oh, but who is this?" She flicked open the last calling card, and her shoulders slumped slightly as she read it.

"It is from Caroline Allard," Laur looked at Gaston. "She reminds me that we have a dinner engagement with her and her husband tomorrow. Gaston, please send someone with a message to cancel. I can't possibly attend on my own."

"As you say, my lady," The butler bowed.

Laurentine could sense the displeasure in the man's manner. She had already cancelled the dinner party that she and Édouard were supposed to host for the Allards a day ago, and now she was cancelling the dinner party that they were hosting for her and Édouard. Perhaps the butler thought it disdainful that she was so excited to keep up with her own personal connections and friends, but thought nothing of keeping up with Édouard's own social circle.

But what was Laur supposed to do? How could she possibly manage Édouard's social connections without Édouard present?

"Thank you, Gaston," Laurentine sighed, reaching to put the cards on the silver plate that he held. "Please take these away, I need to get dressed for the physician's visit. Also, please have the cook prepare filling refreshments for my guests."

──── ౨ৎ ────

The physician arrived just as Laurentine's hair was being dressed—pinned up to her crown in gorgeous blonde curls—for the reception of her guests. In other words, the physician arrived half an hour later than the 2pm he had been assigned for the appointment. It was already 2:30pm and Laurentine's guests were supposed to be here in only half an hour.

"I do apologize again, Madame Arsenault," The tiny man—with his height seemingly only a mere 4 foot, and his physique lanky and prim with small round spectacles resting on his nose and a powdered physician's wig affixed on his head—repeatedly announced, as his settled his bag onto the loveseat at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom and dug inside noisily.

"You are forgiven monsieur," Laur managed, standing up from the vanity seat and gently shooing Manon away from her hair—which was now dressed to perfection.

Laurentine ran her hands over her beautiful day gown, a deep emerald, green embellished with intricate gold embroidery.

"But I hope you realize that you will have to be quick, for I do have guests coming in at 3."

"Oh for sure, Madame," The man spun away from his bag, having grabbed a monaural stethoscope—a short wooden tube, along with a small notebook and pen.

"Now, if you will please lie down on the bed."

Laur's brows furrowed. "Monsieur, you shall examine me upright. I just had my hair dressed, and as I expressed, I have guests coming."

The physician seemed to think for a moment, before giving in.

"Very well, Madame," He exhaled, "Then please sit on this loveseat, I shall examine you sitting up."

Laur exchanged a glance with Manon, meeting the latter's hopeful eyes while she was certain her own were radiating only annoyance—regardless of how hard she tried to mask it.

Laurentine walked over to the loveseat and sat down on the other end to where the physician had placed his bag. The man took the monaural stethoscope and placed one end of the tube at her heart, while pressing his ear to the other end.

Laur tried to breathe normally, suddenly afraid that she would once again get diagnosed with something absurd that she had never had before. Mon Dieu, would she then have to lie again? To say that whatever the problem was, she had had it before? Just so that nobody suspected that it was her marriage to Édouard bringing these things on? But Manon was in the room! Manon wouldn't believe Laur's lies even if the physician did.

The physician listened for what seemed like a long while, before shifting the monaural stethoscope around slightly and listening again. Then he set the instrument aside and opened up his notebook.

"Please begin to tell me all that you are experiencing, Madame, the temperament of your afflictions and such."

"I've—," Laur glanced at Manon, meeting the girl's pleading eyes.

"I've not had an appetite lately," She began, looking at the physician again. "I can't remember the last time I had a filling meal. I have been living off of one apple and a cup of tea per day as a meal, and that too because of Manon's insistence. I don't suppose I would be eating anything if she wasn't here."

"Hmm," The man hummed, his pen scribbling away in his tiny notebook, his eyes narrowed on the paper and at the words.

"She is getting weaker because of it, Monsieur," Manon blurted out, concern straining her voice. "My lady fainted yesterday after her bath, she almost injured herself because the fall was very bad."

Laur's heart tightened in her chest.

"Darling," She looked at her maid, her chest heavy with the gratitude she felt for her maid's concern.

"I'm alright. Truly. I told you then as I'm telling you now."

Laurentine looked back at the physician.

"Truly, I'm alright. I don't think the fainting spell was anything, I was probably just tired. We've had so much to do around the estate. Gaston encouraged me to undertake the redesigning of the ballroom two days ago. We have been going through dozens of wallpaper samples, and Gaston has called for appointments with two of the best chandelier-makers in Bordeaux tomorrow too. We shall go and pay their shops a visit," Laur touched her fingers to the emerald studded necklace on her collarbone gently. "There is also the estate gardens landscapery being updated. Monsieur Jean-Charles Adolphe is such a talented man."

"I just—," Laurentine exhaled softly, her voice going softer as her demeanor stuttered with doubt. But she put her firm bold smile back on and looked at the physician confidently.

"I want everything to be perfect when my husband returns, you see."

"I see, Madame, of course," The physician nodded, managing a professional smile in return.

"And it will be, my lady," Manon chimed in, "Of course it will be. I'm sure every change you make will enchant Monsieur Arsenault entirely."

"I'm sure too," The physician then uttered, his professional smile melding into something more informal as he busied himself in his bag, putting away the monaural stethoscope.

"If I may, Madame," The man faced Laurentine again. "Can I just say that I am a huge admirer of your work? I was present at the farewell performance of yours at Roses Bleus in Paris with my sister. It was her birthday, and she simply adores you."

Laurentine laughed, delighted. "Truly? Oh, how lovely! Thank you, Monsieur. Please send your dear sister my regards too, she must be a beauty inside out to prefer going out for opera on her birthday. At least, that is my personal take upon these things."

"She would be absolutely delighted with your words," The physician smiled, before clearing his throat and resuming his professional demeanor as he flipped open his notebook again to the page where he had been making notes.

"Now, Madame—,"

"Do we know what's wrong?" Manon intruded with urgency and concern in her voice.

"Well, nothing is wrong, per se," The physician narrowed his eyes on the maid. "And if you don't mind, Miss, I am getting to it."

"Oh, I apologize Monsieur," Manon looked chastened. "Please continue."

"Well, Madame," The man turned to look at Laurentine.

"Your lack of appetite needs to be dealt with strictly. I will need to talk to your cook about the daily dietary requirements you urgently need in your condition."

"What condition, Monsieur?" Laur got up, trying not to feel annoyed at the intrusion of his declaration. "As I have told you, I am perfectly alright."

She walked over to her vanity, looking at herself in the looking glass. She looked beautiful, her striking emerald gown and the emerald jewels at her ears and her neck making her look as though she was bursting with life after the depression she had been suffering since Édouard's departure. Her look reminded her of the time she had been Rosina in the production of Gioachino Rossini's Barber of Seville at the Roses Bleus Opera house in May last year. She had chosen all green and deep emeralds for Rosina's costumes, even though all previous portrayals of Rosina by other opera singers had been red costumes. Madame Camille had once said to her that Gioachino Rossini himself—with whom Madame Camille had studied in the Paris Conservatoire when they were young—had said that he wanted to have a heroine in his opera in all green, for a deep green had been his favorite color.

Laur knew that Madame Camille held affection for the composer, who saw the Madame as nothing more than a good friend. The woman had been distraught at the passing of the composer, and had resolved to never marry for love. So when she had courage to hold a production of one of the composer's operas for the first time at Roses Bleus, Laurentine had decided to add a little surprise of her own by portraying Rosina in all deep greens. Madame Camille had been absolutely delighted.

"..So you see, Madame Arsenault, you need to be adequately nourished."

Laur blinked as the physician's words floated into her ears. She turned away from her reflection to face him.

"I do apologize, my mind was elsewhere, Monsieur. What were you saying?"

The physician took off his spectacles and rubbed his napkin to the glass, before putting them on again.

"I'm telling you that you are expecting a child, Madame," The man spoke calmly, as though he was certain Laur was just pretending that she hadn't heard or understood him previously, as though he was used to women acting the same way often when he gave out news of a similar nature.

Laurentine's lips parted, her blue eyes fixed on the man as her heart pounded hard in her chest. She didn't know what to think, what to hope for. Did she hope that he was lying to her? Was she hoping that he was speaking the truth? Was she fearing that he would take his words back? Was she terrified that he wouldn't ever take the words back?

Laur's eyes found themselves on Manon, and the girl's eyes were wide with surprise, her palms covering her lips in shock.

Laurentine felt herself sway on her feet, and instantly Manon rushed to her side and held her elbow, offering her support.

"No," Laur found her hoarse voice whispering, her mind rushing and her heart galloping.

"No—I—," She started, not knowing how to voice her thoughts.

"My lady," Manon uttered, desperate, "This is happy news, my lady. You adore children so much. I'm so happy for you. This is the most precious news."

"Madame," The physician approached, concern on his face as he stood on standby, ready to offer support were she to fall. Except he was much too short to be of any such manual help.

Laur couldn't hold herself up, she fell to her knees as Manon eased the descent, sitting herself on her knees alongside her mistress, the younger girl's eyes glassing up with distraught tears at her mistress' reaction to the news.

"You don't understand—," Laurentine managed, words feeling like rocks in her throat.

She lifted her eyes to Manon, clutching onto the girl's hands, despair on Laur's face.

"Édouard doesn't—he wouldn't want it—," Laurentine's voice broke as tears rushed to her eyes. "It will scare him—he will never come back if he finds out I'm—"

Terror was engulfing her chest like a disease, and she felt certain it would kill her.

"My lady, no," Manon managed, tears streaming down the girl's eyes as she held Laur to her. "That's not the truth. Monsieur Arsenault loves you, he wouldn't—"

"No," Laur cried out. "You don't know—you don't understand how he is. Please—"

The lady of the house lifted her tear-filled eyes to the physician.

"Please, I don't—I can't have it. You must help me, I cannot—"

Laurentine's voice gave out then, and she found herself resting her head against Manon's shoulder, her chest feeling so heavy she feared she would suffocate.

"My lady," The physician exchanged a glance with Manon. "Are you entirely certain? What you are suggesting is a dangerous process, and with your present state of minimal strength, it is much too risky to even attempt!"

"No, Monsieur!" Manon blurted out, defensive and angry. "Please leave! My lady will do no such thing. She loves children, she adores them—she's just tired, she cannot think at present. Please, you need to leave."

The physician nodded hurriedly then, swallowed thickly as he rushed for his bag and grabbed it off the loveseat, glancing one last time at Laurentine before scurrying out of the room.

Laurentine's heart was tight in her chest as she forced herself to separate from Manon's hold after the physician's leave. She lifted her eyes to look at the maid.

"Go, Manon," Laur managed, her voice blunt with her fear. "Leave me alone."

"But, my lady—"

"How dare you speak for me to the physician?" The mistress of the house cried out, her tone full of the most fury and despair she had ever voiced in her life, her voice shattering in the process.

"My lady, I didn't mean to upset you—I only wanted—"

"Leave! Just, leave!" Laurentine screamed, as her maid instantly scampered to her feet. "Leave me be."