And then she reached inside her coat on an instinct and withdrew something small enough to fit inside her long, graceful fingers.  Upon her touch, there was a small glow, just enough to make the dirt caked in the wrinkles on her knuckles visible.  She scowled, shifted Nicolas in her arms, and waited to be Told.

The vision came, though she didn't see it in the Stone.  It appeared in her mind, in her eyes.  She still had an odd, vague sensation of the area around her, the palpable world, though as she Told the vision she saw seemed more realistic than the slums surrounding her.  Pupils dilated into large black discs made her eyes seem wide and young and innocent again, though in truth she was none of those any longer.  Marie needed no information at this point, but Telling was an escape from the present, an escape her unblooded high-society body and soul was grieving for. 

Slowly her vision was taken over, like the gradual winding tendrils of a vine upon a trellis.  She relaxed and in place of the crusty man she viewed her old house, the rolling country behind it, the willow tree and then bench beside it that overlooked a hill.  It was gorgeous on summer evenings, the reds and golds of the sunset melding together.  She missed those nights, she missed the peace and calm, she missed the bench that overlooked the hill.  What she didn't miss, and what she didn't see, were the newly dug graves halfway down the hill, haphazardly covered with dirt.  Though Marie was gone, her family would be able to watch the sunsets for eternity.

Nicolas squealed, and Marie became conscious of the world around her once more.  She shushed him as the people around her cursed or shifted in annoyance.  Marie only rolled her eyes as they complained.  She rearranged herself and winced as her arm pained her.  She gritted her teeth as she twisted to pull something from the back picket of her coat, now slightly reeking of the poor.  She withdrew the documents that had nestled in her pocket.  Mr. Taide had given them to her.  They were the final step to change her identity, to forget her past, and to bless Nicolas with a new future.  She knew that men were after her, all the nobles were in danger.  And in the magical community, the purging of nobility in France was already underway.  She had been Told to flee, warned of what could come to her if she stayed behind, stood strong with the others instead of taking flight.

Taide had informed her of her trackers, ever since her first visit weeks ago when she had been warned of the danger.  None of the nobles were safe in any event, and she was in even more danger because not only was she nobility, but she was magical as well.  Her wand, she remembered with anguish, had been left behind so as not to arise suspicion.  She had thought—or perhaps just strongly hoped—that she would be able to return home one last time.  That was the bane of being a Teller.  She had access to the future, and no way to control what was shown to her.  But her power could not be misused; the Rite had ingrained that in her mind.  She had a gift, and whatever was Told to her—that was a gift as well.

And somehow, she was still trying to discern exactly how, the information had been leaked that she was a Teller.  In such a time of darkness and despair, the weak at heart were deviated.  The strong, brawny men that had chased her while she signed the papers weren't acting on their own, she knew.  They couldn't be.  There was an organization, somewhere, that desired her talents.  Her sisters hadn't received the gift, and males could only carry.  Little Nicolas was not entirely safe, but if she could find a home for him here in Britain then there was still hope.

France was in the past now.  She would miss her friends, her family, her home; and most of all the simple, beloved life she had lived.  Her husband, before he, too, had become part of the past just three months ago, had been active in the Magical Counsel in France.  Most other magical nobility had receded from the public eye in order to lessen the threat against them.  But Jacques had not abandoned Le Conseil Primordial, he had remained and aided the crumbling Ministry to his dying day.  The Minister, a corrupted, deceitful man, was hated; a rebellion was at his feet.  Marie knew that while she sat in the dank room, more and more precautions were being instituted across the Channel.  How easy would it have been simply to Apparate into Britain, instead of waiting pitifully in this room!  But she had gone through the trouble of doing it the normal way, the Muggle way. There was obviously a magical tracker on her, but luckily the powers of the Tellers did not register with such a spell.  Taide had informed her that at some point a magical representative would ask her a series of questions in order to determine if she was a Muggle or a witch, followed with a series of verification spells on her visa papers.  Then, at a certain point, she would be taken aside and filtered through the wizard portal to Britain.  Marie almost laughed when she thought of how the poor Muggle services must wonder over these disappearances.  What silly people they are, she mused with a smile.