“Finish it, liebchen,” Korbinian said.
Babette took Alfonse by the chin and forced his head back. He grabbed at her feebly, but the sudden loss of blood had rendered him impotent.
The door burst open behind her. The cuirassiers rushed into the room, Lescot close behind them.
Babette placed the Liston knife against Alfonse’s throat.
“A life for a life,” she said, and began to cut.
One of the cuirassiers grabbed her from behind, pulling her away from Alfonse before she could make more than a token slash. She kicked the cuirassier in the knee with her heel, making him loosen his hold. She twisted around in his grasp and tore his throat apart with the knife.
The second cuirassier lunged at her as his comrade fell. Babette ducked beneath his arms and stabbed him in the leg. The man dropped to one knee, and Babette struck him hard across the face.
“Run, liebchen! Run!” Korbinian shouted.
Babette ran for the door, the bloody knife still clutched in her hand. Lescot cowered away from her as she ran past, but he was of no interest to her.
She ran through the hospital, past the beleaguered staff and teeming masses of wounded. She hesitated for a moment. There were so many patients. They needed her.
But she heard Korbinian’s voice in her ear:
“Run, liebchen! Run!”
And so she ran, out into the streets, which were choked with soldiers. She forced her way through the living and stumbled over the dying and the dead, who lay unwanted in the gutters of Sedan. The air was filled with cries, an incoherent chorus singing an ode to the doom of France.
The end had come, heralded by the thunder of the Prussian guns that shattered the sky and shook the ground.
It was the end of the battle, the end of France, and the end of the life that Babette had known. Now there was no going back. Only the road forward lay open to her.
Chapter Eighteen
Babette fled west from Sedan. She followed the road but stayed off it to avoid notice. She passed Glaire, about a mile away from Sedan, and continued on to the Meuse. She paused on the shore and took stock of her situation. Across the river and to the south were German soldiers. There would be no escape in either direction.
The north was no better. The river merely looped around and continued back toward Sedan. And besides, that way lay either the French, who would by now be hunting Alfonse’s murderer, or more Germans who had dislodged the French.
Perhaps if she swam downstream, she could bypass the soldiers on both sides and make her escape…
Babette took off her boots, securing them around her neck, plunged into the cold water, and made her way south. She silently thanked God that Grandfather had taught her how to swim as a child. Like him she loved the water, so long as it was not the sea.
Finally, near where the river bent west toward Donchery, she came ashore. She lay on the bank for a few minutes to catch her breath. She was astounded by her good fortune so far, but she would eventually be found by someone. She toyed with the idea of hiding until nightfall, but that would be hours, and the longer she waited the greater the chance of being caught.
She put on her wet boots, stood, and turned south, intending to make a run past the German lines. Instead of open country, she saw a pair of men on horseback watching her from a dozen or so feet away. Babette gasped and dropped to the ground, hoping that they had not seen her.
“This will not help, you know,” Korbinian said from where he lay on the grass beside her. “They must have seen you.”
“Shhh!” Babette hissed.
“They can’t hear me,” Korbinian reminded her. He stood up and waved to the men, neither of whom reacted. Turning back to Babette, he said, “They can’t even see me.”
“I know,” Babette said.
“And they are coming this way. Yes, they have seen you. No point in pretending.”
Korbinian extended his hand and helped Babette to her feet. Babette brushed herself off and waited while the two riders approached.
One was dressed in a leather riding coat that he wore closed over what appeared to be civilian clothes. His hair was dark, he wore a neatly trimmed moustache, and he bore a rifle in a side scabbard by his saddle. The second rider wore black: clothes, gloves, cloak and hat, and a voluminous black veil that covered his face.
The first rider called out to Babette in French. His voice was crisp and strong, though he spoke with a strong accent that Babette could not place.
“You there, approach please. Who are you, and how do you come to be swimming in a river at such a time as this?”
Babette cleared her throat and said:
“I am Hercule Sauvage. Doctor Hercule Sauvage. And you? This is the middle of a war.”
“You did not answer my second question,” the rider said.
His companion held up a hand to silence him and climbed down from his horse. The man crossed to Babette and studied her intently from behind his veil. After a moment he spoke:
“No,” he said, his voice strangely familiar, “you are Babette Varanus. Doctor Babette Varanus, formerly of Zurich, now of Paris.”
“How…?” Babette asked. “Who…?”
The man lifted his veil and swept it back across the top of his hat. Babette gasped aloud. It was Iosef, who was young and beautiful, just as Babette remembered him, uncannily so, in fact. He wore spectacles with tinted lenses to protect his eyes from the sun, and he seemed scarcely older than when Babette had first met him in Vienna.
“Lord Shashavani!” Babette cried.
Iosef smiled for a moment and removed his sunglasses.
“Hello, Doctor,” he said. “How do you come to cross the Meuse in this manner?”
“There were complications in Sedan,” Babette said. “I was forced to leave with all possible haste.”
“So I have heard,” Iosef said. “Still, swimming down a river is quite an extreme solution.”
“There were Germans everywhere else,” Babette said.
“There are Germans here as well,” Iosef replied. “We were watching the artillery fire on Sedan from atop that hill yonder, and there were a number of Germans present. But we grew tired of the display and thought it better to admire the serenity of the Meuse on our way back to Donchery.”
Babette looked at him in surprise and asked, “What were you doing with the Germans?”
“We were in the German states when the war broke out,” Iosef answered. “I received permission from the King of Prussia to accompany their armies as a foreign observer. Luka and I have been with them since the summer.”
“Luka?” Babette asked.
Iosef motioned to the man in the leather coat, who politely bowed his head.
“My manservant, Luka,” he said. “Tell me, Doctor Varanus, how do you come to be here, in the midst of a battle, dressed in the manner of a man? I realize that things are strange in this land, but I was not aware that the French disguised their women as men as a tactic of war.”
“Very droll, my lord,” Babette said.
Iosef’s eyes twinkled but he replied, “That was not a joke.”
“A pity,” Babette said, hiding a smile. “In fact, I am dressed as a man because, as you may have surmised, I have been pretending to be one.”
“Ah,” Iosef said. “The mysterious Doctor Sauvage, am I correct?”
“The very same.”
“I seem to recall reading a number of rather clever articles by Doctor Sauvage over these past few years,” Iosef said. “Indeed, there was even a monograph about…what was it?”
He tapped his fingertips together, deep in thought.
“Blood transfusion, my lord,” Luka said.
“Blood transfusion,” Iosef said, nodding. “That was it.”
“I recall the subject, my lord,” Luka said, removing a long smoking pipe from his pocket and packing it with tobacco, “because you remarked upon its insights to me on no less than three occasions.”
Iosef replaced his sungl
asses and said, “That will be all, Luka.”
“Very good, my lord,” Luka replied, lighting his pipe. Though his voice was devoid of emotion, Babette could not help but think that the two men were sharing in some mutual joke. But why else would they speak to one another in French, if not for her to hear?
“Tell me,” Iosef said to Babette, “why have you invented this Doctor Sauvage?”
Babette laughed and replied:
“Because, alas, it is remarkably difficult for a woman to be allowed any responsibility in medicine not pertaining to children, their production, or the means thereof. Blood transfusion is, evidently, out of the question.”
“It would seem a most uncivilized thing to do, transferring the blood of one creature into another,” Iosef said. “Most uncivilized.”
At this, Luka suddenly coughed and exhaled a great quantity of smoke. He cleared his throat loudly and said something to Iosef in a language that Babette did not understand. Iosef said something in reply, and the two men chuckled.
“Is there a reason why you pretend to be Doctor Sauvage now?” Iosef asked.
“For the same reason that I invented him,” Babette said. “You see, when war was declared, I decided I wished to serve my country as a doctor and to make a study of battlefield injury firsthand. Shockingly, the military was not interested in the assistance of a woman surgeon.”
“Shocking,” Iosef said rather flatly. Evidently he was no more shocked by it than she had been. “Tell me, Doctor, where are you bound?”
“Normandy,” Babette replied.
“But you reside in Paris, do you not?”
“I do,” Babette said. “But the estate of my grandfather is in Normandy, and I wish to return there, especially in light of recent events.”
“Yes, the ancestral home of one’s forefathers,” Iosef said, gazing off across the river. “I know its call. Very well, Luka and I shall escort you.” He looked back at her and added, “With your permission, of course.”
“Escort me?” Babette asked. “Why?”
“The countryside is dangerous for travelers alone,” Iosef said, “whatever the land. And now, in a time of confusion such as this, I would be even more concerned about dangers on the road.”
“You are traveling with the Germans,” Babette said. “Why would you offer such a thing?”
Iosef shrugged and answered, “I find Prussians very tedious.”
“The Württembergers were pleasant, my lord,” Luka said.
“Yes, the Württembergers were pleasant,” Iosef agreed.
“But the Prussians were tedious.”
“Yes, Luka,” Iosef said, “as I have said.”
“Very good, my lord,” Luka said. “Very good.”
A quiet smile passed between them briefly. Another private joke it seemed.
“Very well,” Babette said, “traveling companions would be most welcome. And especially one that I know and feel instinctively that I can trust as a gentleman.”
“The power of correspondence is truly remarkable,” Iosef said. “Like an alchemist’s elixir, it transforms near strangers into fast friends.”
“As if ‘twere lead into gold,” Babette replied.
“Tell me,” Iosef said, “as far as anyone is aware, Babette Varanus is still residing in Paris. Is that correct?”
“Well yes,” Babette said. “I suppose she never left.”
“Then we shall go first to Paris,” Iosef said, “and you shall travel with us as Doctor Sauvage until we reach it. In Paris you will become Doctor Varanus again, quit your lodgings—or at least make it known that you are departing them for a time—and together we shall all go to Normandy. I do expect the hospitality of your family when we arrive, at least until we can arrange transportation back to Georgia.”
“The hospitality of the Varanuses is a thing of legend in these parts,” Babette said. “You will not be disappointed.”
Iosef flashed a smile.
“Good,” he said. “Then I think it would be best if we departed at once.” He turned to his manservant and said, “Luka, take Doctor Varanus to Donchery. Some of your dear friends the Württembergers may be there, along with the Prussians. I will consult von Bismark and von Moltke for leave to depart. I think I have seen all that I need to see. Sedan’s surrender is inevitable.”
“You would not prefer to disappear without warning, my lord?” Luka asked. It was surely in jest, but his tone was as flat as Iosef’s.
“I think not,” Iosef said. “The Prussian Army is not noted for its enjoyment of surprises.”
“What if they refuse to give you leave?” Babette asked.
“I would not worry about such a thing,” Iosef said. “I have been noted as a persuasive man in my time.” He looked to Luka. “You have your papers, Luka?”
“The ones signed by the Prime Minister?” Luka asked.
“No, Luka,” Iosef said, “the ones signed by the Patriarch.”
Luka exhaled a puff of smoke and said, “Oh dear, my lord, I fear I left those at home. I only have the papers we obtained in Berlin.”
“Then you must make due, Luka,” Iosef said, “and pray to God that these Germans know who Otto von Bismark is.”
* * * *
Donchery, France
As fate would have it, they did not depart for Paris until the following morning. Babette went with Luka into Donchery. The Prussian troops let them pass once Luka showed them his papers. In any event, it seemed that most of the troops in town recognized him. He was rather distinctive, and his master doubly so.
Luka obtained some fresh clothing for Babette—men’s clothing of course, as it was necessary to keep up that pretense. When Iosef joined them a short while later, he explained that they would be obliged to wait until the next day before leaving. It was a necessary measure to allay any suspicions on the part of the Prussians.
Not that this seemed much of a worry to Babette, for she immediately noticed that Iosef had a most remarkable rapport with their new hosts. That evening, once Babette had washed and dressed, Iosef introduced her to Prime Minister von Bismark and King Wilhelm of Prussia, along with several other Germans of distinction and an American named Sheridan. It was all rather a blur, but Babette clearly remembered her encounter with Bismark. Iosef had introduced her as an Alsatian by the name of Gustave, a patriot who had been jailed in Sedan for openly advocating the return of her—“his”—homeland to the Germanic bosom. Freed from confinement by the artillery bombardment—“like a hand of God from on high,” Iosef said—“Gustave” had fled toward the Prussians in the hope of sanctuary and subsequently encountered Iosef and his manservant. No longer safe in France, Iosef meant to take “Gustave” with him when he departed, first to England and eventually back to Russia via the Baltic.
Far-fetched as the story was, Iosef delivered it with his usual placidity, as if discussing nothing more important than last year’s vegetable marrows. And though Babette could tell that the Prime Minister was a man of intelligence, he seemed to accept the tale without reservation. He spoke at some length to Iosef in German, discussing the likely reaction of Russia to recent events, but he said little to Babette.
After a modest dinner, Iosef was summoned by King Wilhelm to discuss matters pertaining to their two countries—which in Iosef’s case was understood to mean Russia. Babette was shown to their lodgings by Luka and promptly retired, exhausted by the day’s events.
* * * *
When she awoke the next morning, Babette found that Iosef had already risen, having returned while she slept. Luka had procured a horse and saddle for her. He did not explain where they came from, and Babette did not ask, though she suspected they had once belonged to one of the many dead at Sedan.
They set out early on the road to Paris. Whatever Iosef had said to the Prime Minister and the King during his private meetings with them, it had done the trick: aside from being asked for their papers, they were neither halted nor detained by the troops.
As they left Donch
ery, Babette spotted von Bismark and the Emperor of France sitting together at a rather nondescript cottage. What words passed between them she did not know, nor did she have any interest in knowing, but she suspected it dealt with terms of surrender. The Empire was finished, that much was clear from the haggard expression on the Emperor’s face.
They traveled southwest at a quick pace and reached Paris in less than a week. News of Sedan had already preceded them—indeed, upon arrival they received confirmation of Sedan’s surrender on the same day they had departed. Paris was in an uproar, filled with a patriotic fervor that swept throughout the populace in a manner that Babette had never seen before. The Empire had been overthrown in a bloodless coup, and a republic had been declared. The old France was gone and in its place was something new and fragile, a glimmer of the first republic standing like a sandcastle in the path of the Prussian tidal wave. Word had it that the new government had rejected Prussia’s demands and that the fighting would soon resume. It would not be long, Babette knew, before the Prussians and their allies converged on Paris. When they arrived, the city was the last place Babette wanted to be.
In Paris, Babette threw off the identity of Hercule Sauvage, changed into her old clothes—which she had not worn in months—and was once again Babette Varanus. She emerged from her “seclusion” quite dramatically, going so far as to admonish one of her neighbors for playing his violin too loudly. The softness of her arrival and the drama of her departure, she hoped, would ensure that no connection whatsoever would be drawn between her and Doctor Sauvage.
She emptied the bank account left for her by Grandfather. Most of her funds were held in trust, but she liquidated the monthly allowance that she had access to and immediately paid off her landlady and secured a carriage. While Luka helped her pack her things, Iosef disappeared into the depths of the city. He said nothing about his business, and Babette sensed that there was no point in asking.
Iosef returned in the small hours of the morning, but he seemed not in the least bit fatigued and insisted on their immediate departure. Babette was inclined to agree. They packed the carriage with their assorted belongings and left the city for Normandy.
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