In the end, Isabelle couldn’t stop Arnaud.

He did everything he could to free himself from her, and the moment he was free, he ran down the same path Lemoiselle had taken. Once he’d decided to run, it was almost impossible to catch him.

It really was a disaster

She’d seen him collapse a dozen times or more – but never with that look on his face.

Without a second thought, Isabelle ran after her husband.

“Madame, what in the world is… Madame!”

Even Murier’s outstretched hand was swept away. None of the servants could possibly catch Isabelle once she was on the move.

But that didn’t mean they gave up. The sound of many footsteps followed her from behind.

“Madame, where are you going?!”

“Find your master – now!”

Instead of trying to shake them off, Isabelle decided to use them. It was the firmest her voice had been since she arrived at Antmaren.

The servants all froze with dazed expressions, but as soon as Isabelle turned back to them, they scattered and began searching for Arnaud.

“Arnaud! Arnaud!”

“Madame, aren’t you going to explain what’s going on?”

“Didn’t I tell you to help find him too?”

As they crossed the corridor and reached the area behind the residence, Murier, panting heavily, grabbed her arm and pulled her back. It was an utterly mannerless gesture – and Isabelle scolded him for it.

“Where were you listening?! I told you to find your master, not waste time asking questions!”

Isabelle unleashed all her urgency on Murier. Even if she was treated worse than a dog, a Jalbert was still a Jalbert – and to contradict royalty was tantamount to insulting the king. So Murier said nothing in response to her outburst, though he did give her a look.

“It is, isn’t it? It is! Why don’t you answer me, huh?”

Then a voice – probably Arnaud’s – rang out.

Isabelle turned quickly to see where it was coming from.

It was a tree, its leaves half covered.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she stomped toward it.

Her guess was right. Under the tree, Arnaud hugged a nun and cried.

“Lemoiselle, it’s you, it is you. Why don’t you say anything? It is, isn’t it? Answer me, come on! I said answer me!”

“Monsieur, I am Catherine.”

“No, you’re not! Why are you lying? How long are you going to keep this up? You’re Lemoiselle! If you don’t answer, I’ll lock you up, I mean it! I said answer me!”

He shouted.

But that would be the conclusion of someone who didn’t really know Arnaud.

In truth, he was overwhelmed with grief.

Like a newborn baby left on the riverbank, crying with all its strength for the fisherman who found it – he was crying in despair.

‘Don’t leave me, too. Please save me. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Tell me it’s you.’

“You are Lemoiselle… You’re my nanny, aren’t you?”

His grief was overwhelming – too much to bear. Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, unable to watch.

“Did… did Monsieur just say ‘nanny’?”

Murier spoke next. As soon as she turned her head, he came closer, his voice filled with disbelief.

She couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“If I don’t ask Madame, who else would I ask?”

His voice rose. One wrong move and he looked ready to explode. It was absurd, but she could guess the reason for his reaction.

Lemoiselle’s entry into the monastery had been no different than an exile. And as someone close to Henri, Murier was surely aware of that.

But it didn’t seem as if he’d known from the beginning – and with that small relief, Isabelle took a deep breath and finally answered.

“If Arnaud recognized her, it must be true. What difference does it make?”

“Of course it makes a difference.”

Even as he answered, Murier moved as if to storm the scene. But Isabelle, bold as ever, grabbed him to hold him back, and the atmosphere instantly became dangerously tense.

At that moment – “Monsieur Arnaud!”

Lemoiselle’s cry rang out.

He was in her arms. Looking closer, it was clear that Arnaud had collapsed, and Lemoiselle had caught him as he fell.

Isabelle rushed to him in a panic.

“Arnaud, wake up! Arnaud!”

He was half unconscious. Isabelle took Arnaud in her arms and laid his head on her lap, frantically patting his pale cheeks.

His eyes were still half open at first, but that didn’t last long. Within moments he was completely unconscious.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!”

“Bring a stretcher, now!”

Only after his eyes had closed did the surroundings erupt into action. Even Murier, who had been eyeing the two with suspicion, began waving his arms to gather the servants.

As the servants scattered in all directions, Isabelle could finally see the Countess hiding behind them.

Her hands were clasped over her mouth, but the sound of her muffled sobs was unmistakable.

An explanation would be necessary.

After checking under his nose to make sure he was still breathing, Isabelle said nothing – she simply brushed back her husband’s hair.

It was almost absurd how not a single tear fell, even as she held him collapsed in her arms.

A few moments later, the servants arrived, apparently without having found a stretcher. One of them crouched down and they carefully lifted Arnaud onto his back before taking off at a run.

Isabelle quickened her pace to follow them, and of course Marie fell in behind her.

“I’ll be fine – take care of Sister Catherine instead.”

“Yes, Madame.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marie gave a quick nod and ran off in the opposite direction.

By the time Isabelle caught up with the others, they had already placed her husband on the bed.

Seeing that Murier, Nicolas and the rest of the servants were all in the room, Isabelle quietly closed the door behind her.

“He seems to have fainted from shock. I’ve heard he’s always been rather delicate, so it’s not surprising.”

Nicolas said, examining Arnaud with practiced ease. Given the long association between the monastic orders and medicine, his calm assessment was not out of place.

Arnaud’s frailty was well known, so Isabelle spoke up without further comment.

“We can’t summon Lord Nouvelle under the present circumstances, so please, Father Nicolas – stay by his side just for today.”

“As you say, madam.”

A moment later, however, a puzzled expression appeared on his face. His next words were exactly what she had expected.

“But… earlier, Monsieur referred to Sister Catherine as his nanny.”

There was no room for excuses now. Isabelle replied with a mixture of truth and falsehood.

“She took care of Arnaud when he was a child. Back in his hometown, my husband once described her appearance to me. I hardly recognized her myself.”

“Is she, by any chance, the wife of the late Count Lemoiselle?”

Isabelle’s prediction was correct. At these words, Murier immediately turned his head and began to question her. She had to choose her answers carefully.

“Yes.”

“May I ask who recommended her?”

This time it was Nicolas. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his habit, let out a thoughtful hmm, then shook his head.

“She was under the jurisdiction of the Monastery of Möbien. Though we commonly refer to it as the Monastery of Möbien, each is run separately, so I wouldn’t know.”

Perhaps realizing he wouldn’t get much more, Murier finally turned away without resistance.

It seemed he hadn’t learned anything disturbing enough to *rouse suspicion. Isabelle, who had silently braced herself the whole time, let out a sigh of relief – a thousand of them in her heart.

She moved closer to the bed.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d collapsed, but Arnaud’s face was already pale and drawn.

Even his thick, delicately fanned eyelashes seemed to lack strength. curls that remained untouched. Isabelle brushed them back once more.

Seeing how worn and fragile he was now, she could only wonder how beautiful Arnaud must have been as a child.

‘Lemoiselle, who knew him before he knew anything at all…’

Though the feeling wasn’t her own, it filled her with quiet devastation.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly rose to her feet. Looking first at Nicolas, then at Murier, she spoke.

“Bring Sister Catherine-no, bring Madame Lemoiselle.”

“Pardon?”

“What are you waiting for? I said bring her.”

“Why are you questioning me? her.”

Murier’s expression twisted – clearly displeased. Not just in appearance; he was displeased.

“On what grounds, Madame? She left the secular world long ago.”

“I’m simply letting a mother see her child. Enough talk – bring her.”

Her firm tone left Murier no choice. He bowed his head in reluctant obedience.

A short time later, one of Murier’s servants returned with Marie and Lemoiselle.

She seemed to have been crying hard – Lemoiselle’s eyes were red. After a moment’s hesitation, she rushed to Arnaud’s side.

“Your Highness… Your Highness…”

“……”

“Monsieur Arnaud, please wake up. Lemoiselle is here. You can’t just collapse without a word of resentment…”

Her plea was desperate, but Arnaud did not open his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight – but it allowed Lemoiselle to touch him as much as she wanted.

Lemoiselle cried as she gently let her tears fall on Monsieur’s face. It was clearly a breach of etiquette, but no one could bring themselves to stop her.

After stroking his hair for a while, she suddenly realized that she and Arnaud were not alone in the room. Startled, she stood up quickly.

“Forgive me. I lost all sense of propriety.”

“It’s all right.”

Standing at a distance from them, Isabelle shook her head in response to the apology she heard.

“Father, I am deeply ashamed. I promise to work diligently on the remaining preparations for Mass…just please don’t send me away.”

Next it was Nicolas’ turn.

When the Countess apologized, the priest opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but in the end he said nothing. No doubt it was because of Murier, who watched him with suspicious eyes.

Swallowing a sigh, Isabelle turned back to Lemoiselle and, clasping her damp hands tightly, said-

“Father Nicolas will be staying here, so madame, please wait in my private chamber.”

“But…”

“I want to hear stories of Arnaud’s childhood.”

She said the last part while deliberately looking at Murier, a silent reassurance that she wouldn’t do anything suspicious.

But sensing that it might not be enough, Isabelle pressed the point.

“You should come and listen too, Murier”

“Pardon?”

“If I send you out, you’ll just eavesdrop from the hallway anyway, won’t you?”

Perhaps because it was too hard to deny, Murier did not protest with words or gestures – he simply put his hand over his mouth. A few awkward coughs echoed through the room.

As the Countess watched the steward and the lady of the house in turn, a shadow quickly fell over her face. She wasn’t an idiot – anyone with any sense could see how Isabelle and her husband were being treated.

Isabelle, pretending not to notice the subtle lowering of the countess’s head, signaled Marie with a glance and was the first to leave the room.