16
Paris, 3 December, 1870
Johann turned the corner and saw two men manhandling Marie. Without thinking, he sauntered over and put himself in the middle of the dangerous situation. For a second, he was distracted. Marie should have been panicked, but her face showed haughty contempt, and she almost didn’t look like herself.
“I have the situation under control,” she said and jerked her chin for him to go.
Like hell.
“Are you quite certain? That thug has his hand around your arm.”
“Quite.”
With movements that blurred beneath the streetlamps, Marie kicked the man in the knee, and, startled, he let go. She hit him with the flat of her palm in the nose, and he staggered back, clutching his face, blood streaming from under his hands. The other one made a grab for her, but Johann caught hi
