Chapter One
Angelique stood on the streets, holding a basket of matches in her hand. It was 1788, in France. Taxes were high and everyone was starving. Angelique knew her family needed money but only someone without any common sense would waste money to buy a box of matches when food was needed.
She vaguely noticed the Christmas tree, the nobles ridding past in their beautiful carriages. The only thing she felt was the cold that was chilling her and the snowflakes in her hair. The cold was numbing. She could still remember the way how her mother had brushed her hair, how her father had played the fiddle, how she and her brother had fenced next to the fire in days gone by. It was warm then. Her brother had wanted to be a soldier, like his father, to serve the royal family, the royal family that did not care for its people any more. She wanted those times back again.
She knew that those times would never come back. Her mother was dead, her father broke one of the strings on his fiddle, and her brother hated the royal family. Nothing would be the same again, nothing would ever be.
The clock struck twelve, she should head home. She looked at the basket; half of the matches were still there. She knew there would be no dinner for her tonight.
She turned and headed for home. Suddenly, she heard someone shouting her name. She turned and saw her brother heading down the street towards her. “Adrian!” she shouted and ran towards him. He caught her up and looked her over. “Look, who it is. My sister, a twelve year old, on the streets at twelve o’clock! Should you not be in bed, my dear mademoiselle? ”
She laughed and punched him in the stomach, “And you monsieur? Should a fifteen year old boy be in the streets at twelve o’clock?”
“You can’t blame me, young girl. I have a job and my boss has kept me until now.”
“You can’t blame me either. You know what happens when I go home with half the matches unsold.” He grimaced. Father was no longer the good tempered man they had known before. He drank all the time and treated them like his soldiers. They were something to be disposed of.
They walked down the road in silence. They reached their house. It once was a cheerful place but it had become dismal and quiet. “Cross your fingers and hope that he is asleep,” said Adrian. “Fingers crossed,” she answered. They walked into the house. It was deadly quiet. “Yeah, think he’s asleep,” he muttered. “Are you sure?” she whispered.“Oui! What is wrong with you?” he replied. They crept up to the attic where they slept.
就是这样
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