Jules Verne sat in the library of the Sorbonne. The hour was late and he knew that he should be returning to his cheerless room, but the library was warm and the chair, while not exactly comfortable, was much better than the one that resided under the table he used as a desk. The pile of books beside him did not contain treatises on the law, for which he felt slightly guilty, but instead were the libraries reference volumes on that strange civilization that once ranged over large stretches of the country now known as Mexico, the Aztecs.

The pictures in this latest book showed sketches of devices found by explorers as part of that civilization. Jules was looking specifically for any mention of anything that might be a part of that strange vehicle he and his friends knew as the "Phoenix." This peculiar machine had the ability to move through time the way that Phileas Fogg's dirigible Aurora could sail through the air. He was about to give up on this one as well when he spotted a diagram that looked familiar.

He turned the pages of his own notebook to find his sketch for comparison. "Yes!" he said triumphantly. "They match!" He scribbled the name of the book down next to his drawing. When next he saw Phileas, Passepartout, and Rebecca, he would have something to report.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was coming. Someone silent. A shadow fell across his notebook. He turned quickly to look.

The sound of the walking stick's 'whap' as it landed in the middle of his notebook, nearly made Verne jump out of his skin, if that were possible. In a spastic and badly executed defense tactic, the student attempted to both grab the notebook and retreat at the same time. This merely resulted in Jules dropping his book, overturning the chair, and soundly landing on his Nantesian rump.

Alas, his execution of such preservational tactics needed much work.

Verne's instinct for danger was considerably honed by numberous run-ins with the League of Darkness. Always, they sought to capture him, or his notebooks or both.

The voice that answered Verne's rather pathetic attempt at escape was cool, English, and slightly annoyed.

"For the love of God, Verne! Haven't your professors instructed you a million times to =pay attention=? Haven't =I= instructed you to do the same? Yet, here you are in some musty little corner, buried in a book, oblivious to the world..."

Verne attempted to staunch the forthcoming lecture from Phileas Fogg. However, that hope dwindled into nothingness as the Englishman stood glaring like Napoleon overseeing the troops... well, perhaps Mons. Bonaparte wasn't the best analogy.

"You really =must= be little more prepared."

"I know, Fogg."

"You could be grabbed and thrown under a pile of these dusty tomes for a century, at least, before anyone would even =notice=... let alone find you!"

"I know, Fogg."

"And then, =who= do you suppose would be required to dig under all these moldy papers in search of you?"

"You, Fogg."

Fogg laughed. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. I would have Passepartout do it!" he added matter-of-factly.

"How did you find me?" Verne asked his protector.

"I followed a trail of breadcrumbs..." the Englishman answered. "Somewhat stale, french, bagette breadcrumbs. Verne, if you are =not= in that hovel that you call your apartment, and you are =not= in that hovel that you call a bistro, then it stands to reason that you are...=here=. Now gather your papers and your wits and let's go. Rebecca is waiting outside."

Quickly, Jules grabbed his books together, wondering why Fogg was here to see him dressed in full evening wear. The Englishman's long stride made it nearly impossible to keep up without running.

Rebecca stood just inside the doorway looking at the carriage outside, but turning as she heard the footsteps approaching.

"Thank heavens you're here, Jules."

"Rebecca, what's going on?"

"Your presence has been requested, Verne."

"What, Fogg?"

"I think Rebecca can explain it. After all, it is her assignment."

"Thank you so much, Phileas. Um, Jules..." She stumbled uncharacteristically over her words. What was going on? "Well, as you may be able to notice, we were at a formal supper this evening. It was for the new Italian consul, and it seems he had heard of the mole incident. Louis Napoleon himself remembered your involvement."

"The emperor? He asked to see ME?" Jules said, incredulous.

"No. The consul's daughter wants to meet you. She heard how you helped save the emperor, and the queen. She's only fourteen, Jules, and I think it struck her imagination. Of course," Rebecca's blue eyes teased, "it may be that she simply wants the company of someone other than boring old diplomats and a young Frenchman suits quite nicely."

"How do you know the consul's daughter, Rebecca?"

"She's my assignment."

"Yes," said Phileas depreciatingly, "another difficult job for England's first female agent."

"Oh, hush, Phileas. I'm taking care of her until she reaches London so that the consul can conduct his business here and there unimpeded.

"Does her father know that I'm a student?"

"Yes. It doesn't seem to concern him at all. Of course, Miss Cinzia seems to get just about everything she wants. Ah!"

The girl, it seems, has gotten tired of waiting in the coach. The door opens, and out steps the consulate's fourteen-year-old daughter.

The girl was small, and delicately boned. Her enormous eyes seemed to dominate her small, heart-shaped face. She seemed much too small and youthful to be a young lady of 14. Even her clothing was for a younger girl. She also carried a large porcelain doll. Both doll and girl were dressed in the finest silks and brocades.

Rebecca cleared her throat. "Miss Natalia Cinzia, may I introduce my friend, Monsieur Jules Verne?"

The child stepped forward, holding out her hand to Jules. He stepped up with alacrity, and kissed her hand. It was tiny and soft, and he felt it was like kissing a kitten's paw.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Cinzia," he said politely.

To his surprise, the girl continued to hold his hand, staring up into his face intently.

"Monsieur Verne," she murmured softly. "Miss Fogg has told me so much about you. I hope you do not mind that I asked her to bring you here."

"Not at all," smiled Jules. Never in his life had he seen such a pretty doll of a girl. "I was merely working late in the Library. I am very happy to be of service."

The girl's eyes widened. She stepped toward Jules, still holding his hand. "I hope - I hope that we might be friends, Monsieur Verne."

"Of course," Jules replied. "But please call me Jules, Miss-"

"Natalia, call me Natalia," cooed the girl, and Jules smiled and thanked her for the privilage.

Rebecca moved forward, smiling. "Natalia, we need to be going now," she said gently.

Natalia gave a little sigh. "Always I am traveling.... tell me, Jules, do you like to travel?" She stepped up into the coach as she spoke, and Jules followed, Phileas and Rebecca just behind.

"Yes, Natalia, I do enjoy traveling to new places. Don't you?"

As the coach started off, the girl gave a great sigh, and turned tragic eyes toward Jules.

"No, Jules. I hate it."

"But then, my feelings might be different, if I had a =true= home to return to." Natalia wistfully looked out the coach window. "I am sorry. I did not mean to sound ungrateful."

Jules hurried to reassure her. "No. No, Natalia. It's all right. You are right. A home. Friends. That is what makes all the difference."

Jules caught Rebecca's expression which told him to change the subject. The poor child was already near tears. Jules understood immediately.

"So, tell me. Does your doll have a name?" he asked quietly.

Natalia rewarded the question with a warm smile. "Oh. Yes. Her name is Aurora...but it is not after your airship, Mr. Fogg. I have had this Aurora for many, many years. I was very fond of the works of Homer when I was young."

Young? Jules thought. This girl looked young but did not speak, act or think young. No. Natalia had never been young.

"Perhaps my airship is named after your doll, then." Fogg offered, a gentle smile encouraging this ward.

"Perhaps, sir..."

Suddenly Natalia's eyes began to glaze over. The color drained from her face as she begged, "No." Her body was suddenly possessed by tremors which increased in intensity until they threatened to rip her apart. She lurched forward nearly landing in Jules' lap. The student struggled to contain the convulsing girl as Rebecca leaned across and pulled the ward back towards her.

Fogg was about to reach outside and throttle the driver for not going faster when the coach slowed, arriving at its destination. Before the coach had stopped, he reached and lifted the girl into his arms and carried her toward the palace screaming for a doctor.

Jules now looked at Rebecca for enlightenment. But all she said was, "Sir Jonathan will have my head for this one. Do come along, Jules. A good decapitation needs an audience. And what better place than France?"

She swept out of the coach and headed to the palace.

Phileas was far ahead of Jules and Rebecca, so did not even notice the thunderstorm Sir Johnathan stopping Rebecca in her tracks. **What an unusual shade of crimson he is already,** she thought.

"Miss Fogg what have you done to that child?" Chatsworth hissed. "She is shaking like a..like a...well, she is shaking very badly." So similes were not his strong point.

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off as the head of the British Secret Service vehemently took that agency's first female operative to task.

No! There is no excuse for this. I can't believe that you would be so careless, and guarding a child, no less! If he were staying here in France it would be bad enough, but he'll be in England soon where he can make my...our lives miserable for years, if he so chooses. Whatever shall I tell her father?"

"But, Sir..."

"But Sir nothing! What were you doing with her anyway, and why is that French fellow with you? No, I do not want to know. We must think of something to tell...oh no." Domenico Gulielmo Cinzia da Venezia, splendid in full evening dress, advanced across the palace foyer towards Rebecca, et al.

(NOTE: Gulielmo is Italian for William. GOO-lee-ehl-mo.
Cinzia is Cynthia, although here a surname. chin-ZEE-ah.)

"Mees Fogg, I am so sorry." This is not what Chatsworth was expecting to hear.

"That's quite all right, Signore Cinzia. It only just began outside. Has the doctor been found yet?"

(Signore is pronounced as Spanish senor with 'ay' added.)

"Si, Mees Fogg. He is never very far away, really. My bella Natalia, always so ill and la mamma morte per tutti quest'anni. Her mother was so beautiful as well. I miss her still every day. But..." he turned from Rebecca to Jules "this must be the studente, the young da Vinci, yes?"

Jules blushed under the high praise and intense scrutiny, and much more aware of himself than when he had met Queen Victoria. Determined to aid the Foggs in any way he could, he extended his hand to the ambassador. "It is very good to meet you, Sir."

"And to meet you, M. Jules Verne. You have contributed greatly to your nation, and to England, for which many of us are grateful. Yet, you are still so young that certainly you have many more things yet to do in your life."

For some reason, Jules did not feel at all ill-at-ease with the tall gentleman. Perhaps even taller than Fogg, and more powerfully built with a swarthy complexion possessed by many Italians, the ambassador seemed genuinely interested in him. **Of course,** he thought, **that's because he IS an ambassador, and a good one it seems.** He looked up and smiled at the dark man, almost forgetting even his inappropriate clothing.

"Sir, does your daughter have these seizures often?"

Chatsworth practically had steam out his ears by this point, and even Rebecca tensed, but S. Cinzia returned Jules' smile with one of his own.

"Not so very often, really. The stress from the trip may have caused it."

"Does she sleep afterwards? I've read that some people who have seizures don't even remember they've had them. They don't hurt her physically, do they?" He thought of the delicate child and how easily she could break, just like her Aurora.

"No, young man, they don't hurt her unless she falls, but she always has someone with her for catching. You are a very unusual person; most people are afraid of those who have the sickness, but you are not."

"No. It isn't her fault that she has seizures. I'm sure someday medicine will find a way to cure them, and many other diseases as well. In the meantime, we need to be patient and understanding."

"What a remarkable person you have brought here, Mees Fogg. I had heard that Parisian students only drink the wine at cafes and argue, but thees one has learned something at university."

"Truly, signore, although I think M. Verne studies quite well on his own."

"You are right, Signorina, I have only just met him and I must agree. Now, I shall go to see my daughter. You are quite welcome to accompany me to her room," and he held out his arm for Rebecca, which she accepted without a backward glance at Chatsworth, who watched the three head up the stairs before stomping off alone.

***

The bedroom, of course, was opulent. This was the palace, after all. Natalia looked even tinier in the ornately carved bed, her doll on the table beside it. Fogg and the doctor rose as Ambassador Cinzia entered the room.

"Ah, Signore Cinzia..." the doctor spoke rapidly in Italian, apprising his employer of the girl's condition.

Dark hair tossed from side to side on the pillows. Rebecca conversed quietly with Phileas, so Jules moved toward Natalia's bedside. He drew even closer as he heard her murmuring incoherently, trying to make out her words.

//Cara mamma, mamma...c'e l'angelo, l'angelo ha arrivato, mamma! Cosi bello, mamma.// Dark eyes opened to stare into his own. //Mamma, c'e l'angelo!// And she smiled up at Jules in wonder.

***Note--I said I was not going to follow one of my own postings, but this bit has been dead for quite a while so I am giving it a go. Perhaps it will wake up.***

***

Signore Cinzia heard his daughter muttering and immediately broke off conversation with her doctor.

"Natalia, I am here," he assured her as the tall man moved to her side.

"Papa--the angel--he's here just like mamma said."

"What angel, carina?" he asked, scanning his memories. He could recall his wife's stories of angels, but not anything specific relating to Natalia.

Jules started to back away, looking respectfully across the large bed containing the little girl. Signore Cinzia's eyes were on his daughter, but that was to be expected. Suddenly, the girl turned her eyes back to his own. Open very wide, and shining with happy tears, she blinked at him.

"Don't go!" She begged.

"Wait." Domenico asked Jules, and proceeded to speak rapidly in Italian to his daughter, who answered in an excited gush. Her father asked a few more questions, which she answered, turning back to look at Jules as she did so.

Jules felt his face flushing. The little girl's staring was one thing, but then her father kept looking at him, and the doctor as well. The Foggs, unable to understand the Italian, were the last to turn their eyes his way. He tried again to back away from the little girl's bedside but was quickly stopped by her father.

"Please, M'sieur Verne, do not leave her. I will explain, but your presence comforts her very much. Please stay for another moment."

"Of course, sir," he said, confused. Of course he would sit with the young lady, but to be asked so deferentially by such an important man was inexplicable. Phileas looked at him oddly and Rebecca raised an eyebrow, but Signore Cinzia beckoned to them and they turned away.

His blush died out as he was no longer the center of attention in the room, although Natalia kept looking at him. She smiled at him continually and her eyes glowed happily. He grew a bit uncomfortable at this, and was curious about the four figures talking on the far side of the room. Not knowing what else to do, he glanced back at Natalia and winked.

"Mamma, l'angelo si piace!" She cried out. "He really likes me," she repeated. "Thank you."

Her outburst caused her father to look at her and smile, then turn the beams on Jules for good measure. 'One more moment,' he seemed to say.

Natalia giggled a bit now as she looked up at him, adoring still, but less intense than before. **She really is a very pretty girl,** He thought. **Although I cannot believe that she is fourteen. She is so tiny, and nearly as perfectly formed as her doll.** His glance turned to the doll, and her eyes followed the look.

"Papa bought her for me because we look so much alike," she said, and giggled more at Jules' surprise. "Of course I can understand you, just like you understand me. That's why you're here, just like my mother said."

"What? How could..." he broke off as Signore Cinzia finished his conversation.

"Monsieur Verne, this is very difficult to explain," he began, "my wife was full of fanciful tales about many things. She shared these stories with our daughter. One of her favorite subjects was angels. She often told these stories after Natalia had her worst spells." He stopped again, a bit embarrassed himself, and looked at Jules again. "As I explained just now to the doctor and your friends, there was one specific story that was told most often. It seems that my daughter believes you are the angel that her mother promised would one day come to her."

"Yes, father. Mother was right again," beamed the child, as Jules stood wide-eyed in amazement.

"What..what am I supposed to do now?"