The Incorruptible, Corrupted {l'incorruptible, Corrompu}

~Chapitre Trois~

Finally, Maximilien's pulse and breathing slowed back to normal. Reminiscing had helped. He took a deep breath and carefully leaned his forehead against his knees. He needed to just come to terms with his impending death. It was inevitable. He shuddered again, remembering his horrific dream. Had he really been so cruel as to execute one of his friends? And to justify it by claiming that it was for the good of France? Maybe he deserved to die. He'd failed not only his friends but his mother as well.

"Maxime," his mother had said to him years ago, laying pale and ghostlike in her bed. One of her thin hands was clasped tightly in young Maximilien's. He let go momentarily and unceremoniously crawled into the bed beside her, nestling himself in a fetal position and grabbing her hand again. She stroked his hair slowly, as if the simple act was the most difficult thing in the world. "Do you promise to do everything in your power to protect Charlotte, Henriette, and Augustin? They're all younger than you and will need your support as a brother more than ever." The young boy had nodded as solemnly as a six-year-old could, his wide eyes trained on the sweat soaked form of his mother. Until an hour or so earlier he had believed that he was to gain a new sibling, not lose one and his mother as well.

"Oui Maman," he'd said, tears filling his green eyes. "I promise." She had smiled faintly down at her son, then motioned for him to leave the room.

"I love you, Maximilien," she'd breathed on his way out. "I love you and I always will."

"I love you too Maman."

She died later that day, Maximilien thought sadly. She died, father left us to drink his sorrows away, and together they left us to live with any family member who would take us. And I've done a terrible job honoring my promise. The horrific image of his brother leaping headfirst out of a second-floor window flashed through his mind. Not wanting to dwell on it, he thought back to his childhood and the days he'd spent with Jacques, Gabrielle, and his siblings. His troubles then seemed so trivial now, like the time his sisters accidentally caused the death of one of his pigeons.

"Please Maxime," Charlotte had begged, standing in the doorway, blocking him. "Let me borrow one of your pigeons! I'll be good to it I swear!" Maximilien had frowned, angrily crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again, trying to gently push past his sister.

"Non! Absolutely not! I don't trust you with them! They need extensive care!"

"What does that mean," she'd asked puzzled. Maximilien had sighed exasperatedly and recrossed his arms impatiently. Charlotte often didn't know what 'big' words meant and he'd always have to explain them to her.

"It means they need a lot of care and you won't be getting them. They aren't little dolls to be played with!" Charlotte had nodded earnestly, her shoulder length brown curls bouncing up and down.

"I know that Max! I'll feed it every day! Just like you do. Heniette can remind me." Maximilien seriously doubted that the seven year old girl would be any help. "And I'll only hold it the way that you've shown me. Please, Maxime?"

"Fine," he'd said shortly, glaring at his sister. "Anything to shut you up. Have our aunts not taught you any manners? But if anything happens to it, anything at all, I'll never let you borrow my birds or anything else again. Do you understand?" Charlotte had turned and started down the hall to where Henriette was standing. Maximilien had grabbed her thin wrist and she'd turned back to face him. "Charlotte! Do you understand?" She had nodded once, then took off running down the stairs yelling for her sister.

Days later, when his aunts had brought his sisters to visit again him and their grandparents, the girls were surprisingly quiet. Charlotte and Henriette had shuffled over to where he had been reading, tears in their eyes. Immediately Maximilien was suspicious. They'd done something to the bird.