Neither of them covered their mouths or fell backward. At that moment, doing nothing was the most appropriate response to their feelings. The overwhelming misfortune that had befallen them was too great to allow for any relief at the news of Thérèse’s survival.

“My… my sister was certainly in Oretique. We even had the funeral mass…”

Arnaud was the first to break the silence. Thérèse’s presumed death had been the reason for his release from Calvador, so he had every right to ask first.

But Lemoiselle’s answer never came. Whether her silence was too long or the wound too deep, it couldn’t be determined. Even if the truth had come out, it wouldn’t matter now that she had taken her last breath.

Thus ended the life of Countess Lemoiselle. Her unseeing eyes remained remarkably alive.

“Nanny…”

Arnaud patted her wrinkled cheeks desperately, panic controlling his every move. He must have known the moment his fingers touched her cold skin – that she had stopped breathing – but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let himself believe it.

“No, no, no. She didn’t die like this. She just fainted, that’s all. Lost consciousness for a moment. Lemoiselle, right? That’s all, isn’t it?”

“Arnaud, if you go on like this…”

“She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. Not like this. Not now. Not by Henri’s hand. Tell me she’s not dead, Isabelle. Tell me she’s going to live, that she’s going to be okay!”

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood that stained his hands and clothes. His blue eyes overflowed with grief that washed over him in waves that threatened to swallow everything around him.

Even in that heartbreaking moment, he was beautiful-and his raw, unfiltered grief slowly seeped into Isabelle, settling deep inside her.

“I can’t let her go like this. Not because of me-absolutely not!”

“His Majesty will be leaving soon. Please hand over the body.”

“Get out. Just get out…!”

Shortly thereafter, light flooded the room, but neither Arnaud nor Isabelle saw it as a sign of salvation. They had known since childhood that misfortune often wore the mask of deliverance.

Moments later, the guards came in. Arnaud fought with everything he had, but he wasn’t strong enough to protect the countess. The guards were tall, their presence overwhelming, like statues carved for war.

This, too, must have been one of Henri’s designs. And Arnaud, barely holding on to his sanity, was no match for them.

This, too, was undoubtedly one of Henri’s plans. Arnaud, barely in his right mind, collapsed to the floor. By the time three guards had pinned him down completely, Isabelle, who had hidden the ring, was looking only at Arnaud as she pushed herself up from the floor.

“It’s okay to cry all night.”

As soon as she hugged him, Arnaud clung to her. A sound, indistinguishable between a sob and a groan, echoed in her ears.

All Isabelle could do for him was to shield his head from seeing Lemoiselle being carried out like a mere piece of luggage.

In the corner of her vision, guards could be seen leaving, not even bothering to close the door behind them. Despite carrying a corpse as if it were a mere bundle of cloth, their steps were not heavy.

“Lady Isabelle!”

“Madame, after all…”

It was Laurent who quelled her indignation, appearing as he pushed the guards aside. Though curses echoed behind him, he paid no attention to them. He must have been sprinting, for his brown hair was disheveled.

He was followed by Marie, whose condition was no better.

“Your arm, your sleeve is stained with blood… Are you hurt?”

“Laurent, I…”

“Put your arms around my neck, quickly! We have to call a doctor immediately, but where do we go…?”

If there was a difference between the two, it was that while Marie alternated her concern between Arnaud and Isabelle, Laurent was only concerned about Isabelle.

His pale, ashen face was unfamiliar to her, and Isabelle had no choice but to follow his lead.

Marie also approached her when she noticed the blood-soaked hem of her skirt.

“Madame, why are you bleeding so much?”

“It’s not my blood, so please take care of Arnaud. If you want to call for help, choose those who only do menial tasks…”

“Yes, Madame. I won’t call for Monsieur Murier.”

Once again, Marie acted as if she knew more than she let on. Isabelle had countless questions she wanted to ask, but neither the time nor the inclination, so she simply nodded.

As Laurent carried her, he deliberately avoided the corridor. Watching his lips, pressed together as if they were about to burst, Isabelle found herself lost in thought.

‘How did Marie know? What does it mean that Thérèse is alive?’

It was definitely Mobien – that was what the Countess was trying to convey. There was an overwhelming amount to piece together.

Arnaud would undoubtedly not be able to calm down for a long time. Just as Isabelle was shaking off the vagueness of her thoughts, the two reached the private chamber.

“Madame, the blood – your mourning clothes!”

“Are you hurt? And why is the gardener…!”

Since it was midday cleaning time, a considerable number of servants had gathered around Isabelle.

“Shh.”

Laurent raised a finger to his lips to silence the commotion, and the servants immediately fell silent.

Since he was carrying the lady of the house in his arms, and she did not seem inclined to intervene, they quickly understood the gravity of the situation.

“Ah…”

More precisely, Isabelle lacked the strength to intervene. Judging by the collective sighs of the assembled servants, they also seemed to understand their mistress’ condition.

So Isabelle entered the private chamber, carried in another man’s arms. By now she had gotten used to the fact that the person beside her was no longer Arnaud.

***

A comb glided through her almost dry ash-gray hair, which still waved in spite of repeated splitting and bonding. Sitting in front of the mirror, Isabelle gently ran her fingers through her hair.

“Shall I put some oil on it, Madame?”

“There mustn’t be any left. It’s fine.”

The careful combing today didn’t seem to be a matter of her mood. Marie asked in the same composed tone, but Isabelle, still unaccustomed to such consideration, didn’t nod.

“Have today’s dress washed first.”

“I’m not sure if it will be all right.” “Isn’t this the only mourning dress left? There’s no money to buy more, Marie.”

At those words, Marie’s hands stopped for a moment. When Isabelle turned to look at her, worry was written all over Marie’s face.

Had there been no expression on her face, Isabelle might not have minded, but the pure pity in Marie’s gaze left her unable to say anything in return.

Isabelle turned her head again, and the comb returned almost immediately.

“Every time you see it, you’ll think of today.”

“You’ve decided to be honest, it seems.”

earlier, the word “honest” immediately silenced Marie. It wasn’t until much later that Marie realized that such an attitude was in itself a sign of trust for Isabelle.

“There’s no point in remaining silent like this. You already feel sorry for me, don’t you?”

“How could I?”

“You already do, Marie.”

Marie dropped her head without a word. Isabelle had long since understood that pressing her wouldn’t make her talk, so she decided not to ask any more questions.

“Everyone has their own circumstances. I, too, have deceived many people, so I’m hardly in a position to blame you.”

“Thank you for your consideration.

“But if I were to become even more unhappy than I am now, that day would surely come…”

The comb stopped again, in the middle of her hair. Noticing Marie’s uneasiness, Isabelle swallowed loudly on purpose before speaking.

“Don’t hesitate, just be honest with me, Marie.”

As expected, Marie didn’t immediately nod. Even accepting a proposal that didn’t cost a single franc (about 10,000 won) felt like a considerable gamble – at least for Marie Idor.

But she would respond. Isabelle had so much faith in her now.

“Yes, Madame.”

The pitying look that had defined Marie before was now gone, replaced by something that set her apart from her past self.

What Isabelle trusted was the Marie Idor of the present, and this more daring Marie finally nodded her head.

A sigh, disguised as relief, almost escaped her, but Isabelle was careful not to change her expression. She said nothing in response.

‘This is better than saying thank you, Marie,’ she thought.

Whether that was the right thought or not, the combing remained the same as before – still cautious, as always.

As Marie continued to run the comb through Isabelle’s hair, her lips opened and closed repeatedly, as if the silence had become uncomfortable. It was a behavior that was unlike her.

Noticing this, Isabelle filled the silence herself, out of respect for her maid.

“I haven’t seen Saint-Mang. Is she still in seclusion?”

“Madame Saint-Mang is on her way back now, and Lord Murrier has also had matters to attend to in the main building, so neither of them has come to your quarters. Only Lord Murrier knows at the moment, but Madam Saint-Mang will probably find out soon.”

Isabelle turned at this. She had been so busy that she had forgotten Camille’s whereabouts. Camille wasn’t the type to disappear just because she was excluded from Mass.

“Where did she go? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She went to the residence of Baron Saint-Mang.”

“His mistress visits her husband’s estate?”

“That’s what I was told to say.”

Marie was not one to be easily disappointed. Isabelle lifted her chin slightly and looked at her maid. One thing was certain: Camille hadn’t gone to see her husband, at least not officially.

Isabelle tilted her chin slightly upward as she looked at her maid. One thing was certain: Camille had not gone to see her husband, at least not officially.

“You’re not going to tell me the reason, are you?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“From now on, you must clean my bedside table yourself. Don’t let anyone else do it.”

Marie met Isabelle’s eyes and nodded – a signal, in her own way, that she understood.

Glancing at the door as she rummaged through the inside of her caraco, Marie soon produced a small cloth bag.

“It’s thick enough not to be noticed. Since it’s cloth, there’s no risk of it getting stuck behind a drawer. Use it when you need to hide letters.”

It seemed to be a sign of consideration. Isabelle studied Marie closely, her gaze lingering on her maid’s actions.

There didn’t seem to be a plan behind it, but Isabelle found it hard to trust her completely, considering what Marie had done to her in the past.

Isabelle crossed her arms under her chest and spoke.

“What if one day I search this place and the bag isn’t there?”

Even when Isabelle took a few steps closer, Marie didn’t avert her eyes. Her gaze was dark yet transparent, the kind that captured light effortlessly and seemed to shimmer.

“That won’t happen, Madame.”

“So sure, are you?”

“I swear on my former employer.”

The abrupt mention of her former master made Isabelle instinctively furrow her brow.

Marie seemed to be someone who lacked any lingering attachment to her positions. That she would now mention her old employer was enough to pique Isabelle’s curiosity.

But she couldn’t just let her emotions show.

Keeping her expression firm, Isabelle replied.

“There is no place for Louise to interfere.”

“I didn’t just serve Her Majesty the Queen. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t even Her Majesty’s person – I was someone from Moerne.”

“Even if it wasn’t the Queen, I don’t want to hear your story.”

“Even if the former master has passed away, madam?”