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"You have guests. Why are you here alone?"
His angel with the face of Saint-Just was already waiting for him. He was sitting on the table, gently flapping his wings as if fanning himself.
"There are too many people down there. My head hurts," Maxime replied. He wasn't surprised to see an angel. He had been here almost all the time lately. Maybe he had nothing else to do.
"Ah…" the angel jumped down, approached him, and placed a translucent hand on his forehead. "You don't have a fever. You just need a moment of rest. Sit down, I'll give you a compress."
Maxime didn't argue with him. He sank into a chair and rested his head in hands.
"Maybe it would help if I could be alone for a while," he muttered, closing his eyes.
"It wouldn't help you," the angel replied firmly. He pressed the cool compress to Maximilien's forehead.
"You said I needed rest. Why won't you let me breathe lately?" he asked.
"He sent me to you. I have to watch over you. You're in danger," the angel said. "Serious danger. And if he cannot be with you, I'm here." He pointed at himself, flew up to the ceiling, and did a spin in midair.
He was showing off, obviously, Maxime thought.
"Who sent you? Who is HE? Are you talking about God?" Maxime looked up at him.
"Who? Saint-Just, of course. Why do you think I look like him?" the angel wondered.
"Why? To torture me," Maxime sighed. "To give his face to something so…"
"Intangible?" the angel laughed. "Yes, I know. We angels lack something after all. An earthly body."
"You're wrong," Maxime blinked. "I don't desire his body. Not in the way you think. But… sometimes one touch, one hug, can say more than a hundred words."
"He sent me to you. I think that says it all. He's worried about you. He loves you, Robespierre. With all his soul, otherwise he wouldn't be able to do it." The angel flew closer and wrapped his wings around Maximilien.
"I know he does. Just sometimes…" he looked into those familiar eyes. "I don't feel it."
The angel flapped his wings violently, sometimes desperate about his task.
"So what else should I do? What do you want, Robespierre?"
Maxime reached out, but his hand passed through the translucent mist of the angelic being.
"Bring him back to me." Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to him.
"If you're here, who's protecting him? What if…? What if they kill him? I'd die."
The angel looked at him for a long searching moment.
"So you love him. You really do." He smiled and stroked Maximilien's cheek. "Your love will protect him, Robespierre. He will be fine and will return to you soon. Sleep now. Your headache demands rest."
Maxime lay down and closed his eyes. This time he really fell asleep and slept peacefully.
The angel sat down on the table again, looking at him, and gently flapping his wings as if fanning himself.