The irony in Thérésia’s smile—he knew it all too well.
And her barbs, as light as they seemed, always struck home.
That nickname, “Blondinet,” she still used it .
A word he had once loved to hear from her, back when they were lovers
But now, from her mouth, it stung like a slap.
He didn’t fully turn to face her.
Just a tilt of the head. Just enough to meet her eyes.
“Thérésia… We are nothing alike.
You chased ambition, glory, power—even corruption, at the expense of the people’s misery. I wanted their happiness. Justice. I fought crime, defended the Republic—
and when it fell, I swore to restore it. You think we have something in common? You're wrong.”
The accusation about the Champ de Mars was one of the blows that hit him hardest.Félix is well aware that Thérésia might know the truth—he had, at times, entrusted her with his doubts and other personal matters during those time.
It wiped the smile from his face—if only for a moment.
But he stood tall again. He had told part of the truth, after all.
Even if he had refused to take part in the massacre of those poor souls,he had regretted all his life being a saber at the service of the constitutional monarchy.
Most of his Jacobin friends knew, and had turned a blind eye to his justifications.
But still—with someone like Thérésia, a liar he could never truly trust,
he felt no guilt for lying. The fact that her ironic smile didn’t fade only hardened his resolve.
“I never took part in that massacre. Not in 12 july 1789. Not in 1791.
I was at Ferdinand’s wedding—twenty witnesses can attest to it.
And I abandoned the monarchist cause the moment I could.
Unless you think yourself more trustworthy than twenty witnesses?”
Felix paused. His gaze held hers.
He knew she didn’t need to raise her voice to strike hard.
And he, he would strike differently.
“You speak of the crimes of the Jacobins? Really, Thérésia?
You, who allied yourself with Barras, Fréron, Tallien?
Men who made pacts with the Jacobins whenever it served them.
Men we tried to remove from power for acts that disgraced the Revolution.And you dare to judge us?”
His voice hardened. The accusation was no longer cold—it was sharp.
“You left Tallien because he had too much blood on his hands,
as you so often claim?And then you fell into the arms of Barras?Who has just as much?Who do you think you’re fooling?”
He stepped closer.His shadow stretched across the room.
And he still stared at her without blinking.
But Felix had felt the silent accusation she had voiced.
And he owed her an answer.
“When I learned of your arrest, I didn’t rejoice.
But I said nothing to save you, either.It wasn’t revenge. It was… conviction. Like Brutus before Caesar, no matter how deep his affection for his adoptive father. Some choices serve the Republic. Not ourselves .”
He straightened, his voice calmer now, almost gentle—but without warmth.
“You weren’t arrested for criticizing Robespierre.
You were arrested for your actions, your alliances, your conspiracies.
You aided those who wanted to bury the Republic once and for all,
while helping that scoundrel Tallien enrich himself illegally.
Another Saint Bartholomew’s Day—this time of patriots—
could have occurred if they’d escaped justice and returned to France.
I let justice do its work. Out of duty.
If I had thought it unjust, I would have spoken out.
As I did for the Babouvists and others, even when it risked my life—under the Bourbons, the Directory, or Bonaparte.
But for you… No.
Because the measures taken against you were just.”
Then he continued, more quietly:
“You don’t know what I felt in that moment when I made that decision.But that’s not what matters.
What matters is that you placed yourself among the enemies of the Republic.”
Her smile was frozen. And he saw it.
“You say we can’t avoid each other because of our shared friendship with Lazare? Fine. I’ll ask the Carnots not to receive me when you’re present.
And Lazare… even he isn’t infallible. He welcomed you, despite everything you represent— which, to me, is a mistake.”
Félix, too, had a silent accusation to make against her.
You who so often welcomed my brother Michel into your salon?
Who showed such interest in the ideas of education he advocated?
You extended your hand to those who applauded his assassination.
He pulled his coat over his shoulders, like one closes a book.
“You know I once considered marrying you.
But now… this is better.
We have become what we chose to be.
We are no longer lovers, nor even adversaries. We are enemies. Nothing more.”
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