Love at Dawn

24.Can This Be A Sin?

This joy was too unreal, and therefore, hard to last. The raindrops fell unexpectedly, barely giving people time to decide whether to ignore them or not, before quickly turning into a downpour that stung their faces with a painful intensity. The tourists had to hastily pack up their picnic blankets and scurry back inside with discomfiture.

The seven of them retreated to their respective rooms assigned, shedding their drenched garments and then reconvened in the dining hall.

When the storm interrupted, everyone's senses were at their most heightened state, making the disappointment all the more acute. Not a single person could muster the energy to continue the lighthearted banter and games from earlier. They all fell into a silent malaise, each occupying themselves with their own business.

As evening approached, the rain still showed no signs of relenting. The fierce wind howled and raged, the thunderclaps growing louder and closer, booming through their hearts.

Seeing his hopes of playing outdoors dashed, Little Horace began to fuss and cry. His tantrum only served to exacerbate the already-frayed nerves of those inside.

Lucile finally managed to soothe the child to sleep, softly excusing herself before carrying the little one up the stairs.

"When do you think it will end, Camille?" Danton, standing at the window and smoking, suddenly asked.

"The rain? It won't end," Desmoulins answered, his tone tinged with gloom.

"You know I'm not talking about the rain," Danton pondered. "The Terror. Will it ever end?"

"It won't. Whether it's the rain or the Terror," answered Raphael from the corner, his gaze fixed and distant. "Paris or the countryside, no matter where we go, it's all the same."

"You're letting the rain get the best of you, Saint-Clemont," said Camille Desmoulins, struggling to rally his spirits. "I'll continue to persuade Robespierre. I believe reason and clemency will ultimately prevail. The Republic will overcome this darkest hour and usher in true enlightenment."

As if in response to his words, a dazzling flash of cyan lightning suddenly shot out from the dark clouds, striking an old tree outside the window with a deafening crack. The candles on the long table flickered and then died, plunging the hall into darkness.

"I'm a little scared, Georges," Louise's childlike voice trembled.

"Let me light the candles again. It's alright, Citizeness Danton," Charlene soothed in a gentle voice.

"No need," Danton said, snuffing out his cigarette and waving his hand. "Everyone go back to your own rooms."

No one bid each other goodnight. After the rustling of skirts and footsteps faded away, the empty hall fell silent once more.

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Edith leaned against the balcony railing, gazing wistfully at the curtain of rain outside.

The once carefree and joyful heart of the young girl was now shrouded in gloom. Somehow, she felt vaguely and pathetically that the storm which had ended their happy laughter also foretold the unfortunate fate of her friends.

Suddenly, she heard Raphael, slightly tipsily, murmuring behind her, "Will compassion destroy us?"

Edith turned to him in surprise. In the thick darkness, his pale and pinched figure looked mournful and lonely.

"Quenet was right. Neither side can truly accept me. Raphael Saint-Clemont is nothing more than the bat in Aesop's Fables, neither birds nor beasts willing to acknowledge me!"