Before André could make sense of what was happening, another man appeared beside him, prompting his spine to stiffen involuntarily. He looked into expressionless gray eyes, a mustached face. “Good evening, General Murat.”
“Nicolai, good to see you,” Kellermann said. “Doesn’t our young captain look dashing, all cleaned up?” He shifted his broad shoulders to make room for his friend in the small cluster of conversation.
“Cleaned up, and hopefully a bit less nervous,” Murat said, his thin lips spreading under his mustache into a poorly concealed sneer.
André slowly raised his chin, a small gesture of defiance, and said: “A ball makes some more nervous than a battle. Women can be more dangerous than an army of thousands.”
Kellermann laughed, offering his companions an affable grin. “Well said. And speaking of the fairer gender, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce my wife, Christianne Kellermann.”
The lady whom André now knew to be Kellermann’s wife extended a gloved hand, which he took and kissed. A countess, earlier in her life and her marriage. But now André said: “Citizeness Kellermann, it is an honor to meet you.”
“I have heard wonderful things about you, Captain.” Christianne Kellermann wore a kind expression and spoke in a soft voice, her manners controlled, almost timid. Quite the opposite of her gregarious husband. “My husband holds a high opinion of you.”
“An admiration which is surely exaggerated,” André answered, “when your husband has been deemed ‘Savior of the Revolution.’ You must be proud, Madame Kellermann.”
“I believe you mean to say Citizeness Kellermann?” Murat’s voice had an edge to it, a perturbation that his tense facial features reinforced. André looked to him and stammered, caught off guard by both his hard tone and appearance.
Kellermann interjected, “Any man who stood with us at Valmy is a friend for the rest of my days.” Kellermann now looped his arm around his wife’s waist in a gesture of comfortable familiarity. “Valière held his line steady while many of the others were breaking. Our center was unshakable that day. Isn’t that right, Nicolai?”
Murat answered after a long pause, as if reluctant to agree on the point. “Indeed.”
Just then, André noticed a pretty young woman enter. She walked in on the arm of a man who appeared twice her age, her unlined face framed by blond curls pulled back and resting in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Her cream-colored shoulders were visible above a gown of light blue silk, accented with a modest string of pearls at her throat.
Unlike the other women in the crowd, this lady did not look around at the hall, nor did she speak to her companion as he led her across the floor. Her lips remained pursed, free of either greetings or smiles, tilting downward in the slightest hint of a frown. And yet her sober, impassive face had an almost magnetic quality, drawing the gaze of more than one gentleman as she passed by; her elaborate dress and fine, delicate features caused her to stand out in this room as a lily might appear out of place in a field full of wheat.
The man beside the lady held her arm and now offered her a glass of champagne. Physically, he was in no way her equal. He had rings of doughy flesh lining his ample neck and a few strands of hair the color of ash. He made a quick comment to her and then followed it with a series of short, uneven chortles, and André wondered if he was made more nervous by the crowded party, or the company of the bored, beautiful woman on his arm. André noticed how General Murat’s eyes, too, watched this young lady’s entrance, fixing on her with an odd, intense expression.
“I think I’ve lost your interest, Nicolai.” Kellermann was speaking, and André noticed that he, too, had not heard a word.
Murat turned back to the conversation, reluctantly rending his eyes from the beautiful blond woman across the room. Then, in a whisper intended only for Kellermann, Murat added: “She’s just arrived.”
Kellermann nodded. “Should you not go greet her?”
“Oh, yes. In a moment.” Murat shifted his weight. “But what were you saying?”
André observed this exchange with great interest, though he forced himself to keep his eyes off the lady in question as Kellermann cleared his throat and continued. “I was asking: what do you make of the trial?”
Murat now straightened his posture, redirecting his attention from the lovely woman in light blue to his colleague. He took a slow sip of champagne before he responded. “I think we did our democratic duty. We gave the man a trial, according him the justice of the law. And now let’s be done with him, with all despots, once and for all.”