In truth... I am not sure that I would know. [ If he returned, those whom he loved most- they would be gone. Died, as he ought to have, before he was pulled into this place. Healed from wounds that no man ought to have survived. ]

Much of what I loved... is lost to me, now. Irrevocably. [ Would he have the strength to rebuild? Would he attempt a second revolution? To bring France to the glory of a republic, at long last? Could he even rally enough support to be listened to? After his first ill-fated attempt? ] The sunshine, though... Bright, and warm, it would be welcome.