I never thought, in a million years, I'd be reduced to this humiliation. Neither, did I think I'd be wearing the dirtiest of rags and scavenging for the poorest quality of food on the pulcrid smelling streets of Paris.

It had been just many months ago, I have been running scared-stricken for my life, dodging each and every one of them treacherous fiends who call themselves revolutionists wanting so desperately to lay claim on my life. All the while, leaving me wondering what I have ever done wrong for them to desire me dead. I asked myself that very question numbers of times when deep down I knew the reason why. I had escaped the guillotine.

Unfortunately, my family and many of my friends were not lucky. Until this very moment, I still mourn their passing...no, their murder, especially that of my sister, Marguerite. It should have been my neck under that cursed blade instead of hers. She was so full of life, so kind and gentle...I pleaded the revolutionary court to spare her life and the children's. I pleaded with that monster Robespierre to let them live. He just stared into my eyes with such coldness. He, then, turned his shoulder towards me as they pronounced sentence for a crime I had no idea of ever committing. I will never forget all those enraged faces with eyes fueled by pure hatred towards my class. Before we were thrown unmercifully in our prison cell, I made sure to catch a last glance of their faces, of Robespierre and his Angel of Death, St. Just. I have made sure to etch their damned names onto my memory and swore revenge for all the pain they have caused me. They will pay dearly, if not in this life, then in the next.

How I escaped my fate, I do not even remember the details of the matter. It was just one miraculous circumstance which happened along the way to the guillotine. Marguerite had been trudging behind me in the long Procession of Death. The children were obliged to stay behind. My brother-in-law, her husband, and a friend of ours had taken our places two days before. We had both begged them and argued with them, and even threatened to take our own lives if they did, but it was hopeless. At the hour, it was all over. Marguerite was widowed and I had to become her pillar of strength. Once she had cried herself to sleep, I covered her with what was left of my jacket. I had tucked the children in before accommodating myself, as best as I could accommodate, in some far off corner of our cell. It did not take me more than a second to burst into tears. I cried all night so that when judgment day arrived I would be facing my death with my head held high. That was what I did as both Marguerite and I followed the others towards the Gates of Hell. Still, inside...deep inside, I was afraid. All the while, I thought how Oscar had been right and how I had been too much of a coward to not follow her. Just to imagine, I would have probably be watching this procession from the crowd instead of participating in it.

It was far from quiet. These commoners hurled curses at us as well as rotted food. I remember being hit in the face with a head of lettuce. Marguerite had been hit with tomatoes. I heard her cry in pain. The crowd grew menacingly ugly. I could feel my sister's face hiding against my back. I wanted to fight back but it is very difficult with your hands tied behind your back.

"Victor?", my sister whimpered as more things were thrown at us. I did my best to protect her, taking in most of the damage. "Victor, make them stop!", she cried, my sister was scared. So was I. The crowd kept coming near, growing furious by the minute. "Marguerite, stay close to me!", I shouted. "Victor, I'm scared!" I know, Margie, I know, I kept reminding myself.

"Down with the nobles! Down with the nobles!", they angrily shouted. "Kill them!" Before I could react, before any of us could react, a riot broke out.

What recall of that moment is quite vague. There was confusion. An entire mob of commoners grabbed at us from many directions. They were armed with staffs, with pikes, with weapons of a varied sort. Everyone was screaming. Marguerite was screaming. A large sordid man grabbed her. He tried carrying her off but she struggled frantically like an animal terrified. "Marguerite! I'm coming Marguerite!", I yelled through the mob. As I pushed my way through, more like fought my way through, a large, grotesque woman jostled me off balance. Her strength was incredible. In her hand, she had in her grip a broom, a worn out broom with which she commenced beating me with. I tried earnestly to defend myself but with my hands skillfully bound to my back, the fat cow had the advantage over me. It took little time before another woman of slender build joins in beating my head and face with a loaf of staled bread.

"Victor!", I heard my sister yelping as that burly heathen and five others stripped her of her clothes. I had to do something. I knew I had to do something to save my sister from her fate. But, before I could do anything, I was hit in the head by that cursed broom. From there, black as pitch.

When I finally came to, all was over. I found myself in what seemed to have been, but was not, a dark alley. My head throbbed as I sat up. I strived focusing my eyes towards my surroundings. The pain was too great. On impulse, I reached to touch my head. To my discovery, it was dressed. Someone had brought me to this place. I still could not open my eyes too well but I could hear like the gushing of water in a river. I Also heard the squeaky sound of an animal...or was that two? The smell of it was something beyond all that was holy...not even a skilled priest could excorsize the necromanic stench that possessed my safeplace. Then, it had finally dawned on me to where I had been taken to. Never in my wildest dreams I ever thought I'd be THIS close to a sewer. Never.

"Where am I?", I uttered to myself. Even though, I already knew the answer to that.

"We are in the sewers, but I get you already know that," a voice answered, a male voice like that of a teenage boy.
 

"What happened?"
 

"You were knocked out of your senses, Sir. If I didn't bring you here, you'd be dead now."
 

"You know what I am?"
 

"A noble, Sir," he answered.
 

I knew what this was leading to. I had to ask.
 

"It is not that I am not grateful but why did you bother bringing me here if I am...?"
 

He wasted no time in answering my question.
 

"I couldn't stand to watch ya die. It goes against all I've been taught. I couldn't watch ya die," he answered. There was deep emotion in his raspy voice. "Here, eat." He pushed a morsel of bread and salted meat into my hands. It was not veal or caviar but I ate without argument. I was just thankful to be alive. I was thankful to be eating...I ate like a savage. The boy smiled, pleased.

"Many nobles had been wounded. Some had been beaten to death," with that, I stopped my eating. I stared into space realizing the reality at hand.
 

"Marguerite," I whispered.
 

"She's probably dead. After the riot fell apart, the execution line started up once again."
 

Dead? It was not so.
 

"Eat up, you need your strength. Paris isn't safe anymore." With that said, he brought out an accordion. "This was my father's before he died," he said with a soft smile. "It was in these very waters I had to dispose him in. He was blind in one eye and had only one leg to stand on. He would roam Paris often by night using a crutch to help him walk. He would recite ballads playing this accordian to add some mood."

I do not know how long I spent there. However, I was beginninng to being accustomed to the nauseating stench of pure sewage. All the while, the boy entertained us both with the somber melodies of his instrument.

I had to ask him.
 

"What is your name?"
 

He kept playing that instrument and answered, "Jean. And yours, Sir?"
 

"Gerodere."
 

My host stopped. "Gerodere? Does Gerodere have a real name?"
 

"Gerodere is a real name."
 

"Sir, a real name like mine. Gerodere is your key to getting killed. What is your first name?", he inquired insistantly.
 

I, by now, did not care. "My name is Victor," I replied.
 

"Well, Victor, it is a pleasure to meet ya," he smiled.
 

"The feeling is quite mutual, Jean." And why not? This boy saved my life.