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Maison LaFitte, 6 December 1870
When Marie woke the next morning, she found a ribbon and a thimble in her slippers, which had been placed at the foot of the bed.
Ah, right, the feast of St. Nicholas. I wish he had brought us an end to the siege. I feel restless enough to expand and float away on my own.
She couldn’t help but check around and behind her as she dressed. She’d slept later than the rest of the household, and when she went down for breakfast, she found a single roll instead of the usual variety of baked goods on the sideboard. It was one more reminder that Parisians would soon literally be tightening their belts as supplies inside the city ran out. She ate quickly and was finishing her tea—coffee was completely gone—when a knock on the front door echoed through the house
