Where There’s Smoke, There’s Pyre: A Tale of Love and Revenge in Revolutionary-Era France

Dr. Étienne Marceau made his way to Hôpital Saint-Roch, nestled in the heart of Paris, where the clamor of the city seemed to hush at its solemn gates. Hands stuffed in his pockets, head down, brow furrowed in concentration, he was a study in self-absorption to those he passed…but then again, those he passed were the most wretched of specimens, huddled on rude wooden benches, absorbed by worry in a similar fashion. Flickering oil lamps cast strange, jutting shadows over such patients as a young woman languishing on a chair, (her pretty face marred by the crimson flush of fever), a restless babe swaddled in a mass of blankets, (whose fingers and toes sometimes escaped their fabric confines and tested the open air in wriggling gesticulations), and a gaunt old man in ragged clothes, (with a hacking cough that tugged at the upward angle of his bony chest like a child that begs for attention, and who now and again wiped his mouth meticulously, utilizing a balled handkerchief). As Étienne strode with impatient, purposeful steps, these figures gazed up at him hopefully, but he did not regard them. On another day, at another time, Étienne would have been ready and willing to do so…but today was no ordinary day.

With a brief, sharp rap on a frosted glass window, he announced himself at the office of…