I am pleased to have let my anger finally roar out of me. But as soon as the thrill of letting go has abated, I see the folly of my actions. Manon will be fired. And I will certainly be arrested. Now my stomach aches with fear, and there is nothing to do but ready myself for the guards to arrive. I walk back and forth in my room, waiting, cursing myself for not controlling myself better, for not using my head. What have I done? What have I accomplished with my bravado? But the Comte does not come, and this makes me worry more. Several times during the night, I hear noises outside my door. The blood pounds in my ears as I wait for the door to slam open, and the Comte’s men to enter with their swords. But in the end, it is not the guards who come for me. It is Manon. “Get dressed,” she commands, “and gather together all your things.” “Manon, I—” I manage to squeak out. “Shush,” Manon interrupts in a whisper. “Just do as I say, and do it quickly. Bring your suitcase to me when you are finished.”
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