The door closed.
Outside the wagon, Baptiste stood, his back bent in a graceful bow.
"It was a grand pleasure to host you in our humble establishment."
Marianne stared at him from inside the car, unflinching as ever. A hint of suspicion floated about in her head. But she did not voice it.
"I hope you enjoyed your time, dearest patrons of mine. Please, visit again—" He retracted his lowered head, a mischievous grin on his face. "—our Château du péril."
His gaze was directed at Charles. Slyness slithered within.
"I will await your patronage."
With that, the wagon departed.
Throughout the journey, neither Marianne nor Charles spoke.
The former had her eyes closed, while the latter's gaze was stuck to the lights passing by.
Charles could not think or care about what his fiancée's head was occupied with. On his mind, on the other hand, was only The Lady.
No matter how courageously he tried, he could not decouple his thoughts from the memory of her.
