stayed with him, and Hester and I wandered out along the river. We tacitly agreed we should not go and see Mother; I could not have trusted myself near her. We avoided the cove and between
us was a weight of silence. Even to Hester I could not speak of what was in me, and as if she felt a barrier she did not speak either, which was remarkable for Hester, until we came out on the
towing-path, when—“Look,” she said, “the Marie France is gone.”
“It had to go sometime,” I said. It did not seem important, but there seemed a curious blankness on the river where the little barge had been.
We went in to goûter, getting it ourselves. Mauricette was leaning on Monsieur Armand, reading the paper over his shoulder. “That is why Monsieur Dufour came asking about Monsieur
Eliot,” she said in French, but I was beginning not to notice if people spoke in French or English. I had been cutting a piece from a baguette and I stopped with the bread in my hand.
“Why?” I asked.
“Vol de diamants, à Paris,” read out Monsieur Armand. “Coup de main audacieux dans le quartier de l’Etoile. Le malfaiteur s’enfuit avec cent millions de
francs de diamants.”
“Diamonds?” I asked, and, “What does it mean?” asked Hester.
“Only that there has been a robbery,” I said.
“Tell her,” said Monsieur Armand, giving the paper to me to do my translation. “Now, nicely, for your sister.”
Painfully I began: “An armed . . . Qu’est-ce que c’est ‘malfaiteur’?” I asked Monsieur Armand.
“Gangster,” said Monsieur Armand, who went to the cinema.
“Armed gangster steals one hundred . . . million . . . it is million?” I asked.
“Million,” confirmed Monsieur Armand.
“One hundred million francs’-worth of jewels and escapes. Once a month Mademoiselle Yvonne Lebègue, secretary to Monsieur Roger Dixonne, a diamond . . . merchant,” I
read, stumbling over the unfamiliar words, “whose offices are in the Rue La Fayette, ninth ar . . . what is that?”
“Neuvième arrondissement,” explained Monsieur Armand, which left me none the wiser.
“Collects pierres precieuses . . . precious stones, chiefly diamonds, from a colleague in the Place du Trocadéro. On Friday, towards three-fifteen, Mademoiselle Lebègue was
being driven on her way to the Rue La Fayette through the Rue Dumont d’Urville by Jean Sagan, Monsieur Dixonne’s chauffeur. She had with her . . . un lot spécial . .. special lot
of . . . qu’est-ce que c’est ‘pierres taillées’?” Mauricette pretended to cut sharply with a knife. “Oh, cut stones! . . . valued at about one hundred
million francs in a small . . . qu’est-ce que c’est ‘une mallette d’aluminium’?”
Mauricette seized a saucepan and tapped it to show me. “Oh, aluminium case.” I had not known cases could be of aluminium. “. . . which she placed under her feet in the car, a
large Mercédès. When the Mercédès was almost . . . à la hauteur de la rue . . . at the top of the street near the PTT, a small light-blue car, parked on the right
side of the road, drew out suddenly and stopped . . . in a cross? Oh, crosswise! . . . across the road, forcing the Mercédès to stop. At the same time a man appeared by the car, swung
open the door by Mademoiselle Lebégue, seized the case, slammed the door and was gone. It was so quickly and quietly done that the chauffeur did not see him at all and, though there were
many people on the pavement, no one realised what had happened until Monsieur Sagan jumped out . . . aux cris de ‘Arrêtez cet homme! Arrêtez-le!’ . . . crying ‘Stop
that man! Stop him!’, and they heard Mademoiselle Lebégue’s cries. Meanwhile the small car had driven off. Monsieur Sagan ran through the crowd, but there was no sign of the
thief, who must have . . . very well known . . .” I translated literally, “known Monsieur Dixonne’s habits to be able to organise this attack in less than two minutes.”
“Ah
us was a weight of silence. Even to Hester I could not speak of what was in me, and as if she felt a barrier she did not speak either, which was remarkable for Hester, until we came out on the
towing-path, when—“Look,” she said, “the Marie France is gone.”
“It had to go sometime,” I said. It did not seem important, but there seemed a curious blankness on the river where the little barge had been.
We went in to goûter, getting it ourselves. Mauricette was leaning on Monsieur Armand, reading the paper over his shoulder. “That is why Monsieur Dufour came asking about Monsieur
Eliot,” she said in French, but I was beginning not to notice if people spoke in French or English. I had been cutting a piece from a baguette and I stopped with the bread in my hand.
“Why?” I asked.
“Vol de diamants, à Paris,” read out Monsieur Armand. “Coup de main audacieux dans le quartier de l’Etoile. Le malfaiteur s’enfuit avec cent millions de
francs de diamants.”
“Diamonds?” I asked, and, “What does it mean?” asked Hester.
“Only that there has been a robbery,” I said.
“Tell her,” said Monsieur Armand, giving the paper to me to do my translation. “Now, nicely, for your sister.”
Painfully I began: “An armed . . . Qu’est-ce que c’est ‘malfaiteur’?” I asked Monsieur Armand.
“Gangster,” said Monsieur Armand, who went to the cinema.
“Armed gangster steals one hundred . . . million . . . it is million?” I asked.
“Million,” confirmed Monsieur Armand.
“One hundred million francs’-worth of jewels and escapes. Once a month Mademoiselle Yvonne Lebègue, secretary to Monsieur Roger Dixonne, a diamond . . . merchant,” I
read, stumbling over the unfamiliar words, “whose offices are in the Rue La Fayette, ninth ar . . . what is that?”
“Neuvième arrondissement,” explained Monsieur Armand, which left me none the wiser.
“Collects pierres precieuses . . . precious stones, chiefly diamonds, from a colleague in the Place du Trocadéro. On Friday, towards three-fifteen, Mademoiselle Lebègue was
being driven on her way to the Rue La Fayette through the Rue Dumont d’Urville by Jean Sagan, Monsieur Dixonne’s chauffeur. She had with her . . . un lot spécial . .. special lot
of . . . qu’est-ce que c’est ‘pierres taillées’?” Mauricette pretended to cut sharply with a knife. “Oh, cut stones! . . . valued at about one hundred
million francs in a small . . . qu’est-ce que c’est ‘une mallette d’aluminium’?”
Mauricette seized a saucepan and tapped it to show me. “Oh, aluminium case.” I had not known cases could be of aluminium. “. . . which she placed under her feet in the car, a
large Mercédès. When the Mercédès was almost . . . à la hauteur de la rue . . . at the top of the street near the PTT, a small light-blue car, parked on the right
side of the road, drew out suddenly and stopped . . . in a cross? Oh, crosswise! . . . across the road, forcing the Mercédès to stop. At the same time a man appeared by the car, swung
open the door by Mademoiselle Lebégue, seized the case, slammed the door and was gone. It was so quickly and quietly done that the chauffeur did not see him at all and, though there were
many people on the pavement, no one realised what had happened until Monsieur Sagan jumped out . . . aux cris de ‘Arrêtez cet homme! Arrêtez-le!’ . . . crying ‘Stop
that man! Stop him!’, and they heard Mademoiselle Lebégue’s cries. Meanwhile the small car had driven off. Monsieur Sagan ran through the crowd, but there was no sign of the
thief, who must have . . . very well known . . .” I translated literally, “known Monsieur Dixonne’s habits to be able to organise this attack in less than two minutes.”
“Ah
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