the murder, but he alone had shown genuine emotion whenconfronted with the body. The father had said that the sisters were supposed to accompany Élodie to the firework display, but they had not confirmed this. Other details played on his mind: the reference to a Venetian mask; the mention of a marriage, which could have been the marriage of the Dauphin, but could just as easily have been Charles Galaine’s second marriage. And, finally, those obsidian pearls, which certainly cast suspicion on the Micmac Indian who had vanished somewhere in the city. Nicolas was not worried about him: if he really was wandering around Paris, he would be apprehended as soon as the watch and the spies were supplied with his highly unusual description. Incidentally, what language did he speak?
One last thing intrigued him: although the younger sister was impeccably dressed, the elder seemed slovenly and neglectful. How could there be such a startling contrast between two people who were so close? There was also Madame Galaine’s silence, and the fact that no one had mentioned Élodie’s condition. Yes, the case was turning out to be more difficult than Monsieur de Sartine had imagined when he had allowed him to pursue this investigation in order to conceal another. There was also little Miette. What was that attack all about? It was some years now since a number of people had gone into convulsions over the grave of a Jansenist deacon at the Saint-Médard cemetery.
NOTES – CHAPTER III
1 . ‘Beneath a mask of simplicity and modesty, he remained impenetrable, simulating a taste for letters and a love of poetry the better to conceal his soul.’
2 . A casual garment worn in the morning.
3 . This disaster had a long-term effect on the capabilities of the French Navy.
4 . The largest and most important Indian tribe in the maritime regions of Canada. They were steadfast allies of the French against the English.
5 . A women’s prison.
IV
TWISTS AND TURNS
The care this great man takes will calm the rage
Of your most bitter foes;
The promises he keeps will then assuage
The deadliest of blows.
R ACINE
Standing outside the door of the Dauphin Couronné, Nicolas raised his hand towards the worn old bronze knocker, the noise of which would echo through the sleeping depths of the house of pleasure. His gesture came to an abrupt end. What was this wrought-iron door doing here, with its intermingling of satyrs and golden vine branches? What had become of the old, worm-eaten oak door, the top of it given a patina by years of being pushed and the bottom spattered with mud from the street? A carved handle hung there provocatively, presumably corresponding to a mechanism on the inside. Everything pointed to the fact that the premises had recently undergone a transformation. The supper planned for after the festivities in Place Louis XV, he recalled, was to have been his reunion with an old accomplice he had not seen since the autumn of the previous year. After a brief hesitation, he pulled the handle. A bell jingled inside, and no sooner had the sound died down than the door opened. A tallfigure stood there, looking him up and down and smiling. Definitely, he thought, time was passing. It was hard to recognise in this apparition the little black girl he had known in the past. A beautiful, dark-eyed young girl was nodding her head, her languid air accentuated by her Turkish-style attire. She greeted him with a lisping warble – that at least had not changed – curtseyed and moved aside to let him in. The surprises were not yet over for Nicolas. The long hall with its geometric frieze and its great chandelier was gone. Gone, too, the partition walls, and the room where once, in darkness, he had killed his first man. Farewell mirrors, gilded cornices, ottomans in pastel colours and saucy prints in frames.
He found himself in a vast circular room, and all around its edge were intimate little alcoves behind heavy brocade curtains. Here and there
One last thing intrigued him: although the younger sister was impeccably dressed, the elder seemed slovenly and neglectful. How could there be such a startling contrast between two people who were so close? There was also Madame Galaine’s silence, and the fact that no one had mentioned Élodie’s condition. Yes, the case was turning out to be more difficult than Monsieur de Sartine had imagined when he had allowed him to pursue this investigation in order to conceal another. There was also little Miette. What was that attack all about? It was some years now since a number of people had gone into convulsions over the grave of a Jansenist deacon at the Saint-Médard cemetery.
NOTES – CHAPTER III
1 . ‘Beneath a mask of simplicity and modesty, he remained impenetrable, simulating a taste for letters and a love of poetry the better to conceal his soul.’
2 . A casual garment worn in the morning.
3 . This disaster had a long-term effect on the capabilities of the French Navy.
4 . The largest and most important Indian tribe in the maritime regions of Canada. They were steadfast allies of the French against the English.
5 . A women’s prison.
IV
TWISTS AND TURNS
The care this great man takes will calm the rage
Of your most bitter foes;
The promises he keeps will then assuage
The deadliest of blows.
R ACINE
Standing outside the door of the Dauphin Couronné, Nicolas raised his hand towards the worn old bronze knocker, the noise of which would echo through the sleeping depths of the house of pleasure. His gesture came to an abrupt end. What was this wrought-iron door doing here, with its intermingling of satyrs and golden vine branches? What had become of the old, worm-eaten oak door, the top of it given a patina by years of being pushed and the bottom spattered with mud from the street? A carved handle hung there provocatively, presumably corresponding to a mechanism on the inside. Everything pointed to the fact that the premises had recently undergone a transformation. The supper planned for after the festivities in Place Louis XV, he recalled, was to have been his reunion with an old accomplice he had not seen since the autumn of the previous year. After a brief hesitation, he pulled the handle. A bell jingled inside, and no sooner had the sound died down than the door opened. A tallfigure stood there, looking him up and down and smiling. Definitely, he thought, time was passing. It was hard to recognise in this apparition the little black girl he had known in the past. A beautiful, dark-eyed young girl was nodding her head, her languid air accentuated by her Turkish-style attire. She greeted him with a lisping warble – that at least had not changed – curtseyed and moved aside to let him in. The surprises were not yet over for Nicolas. The long hall with its geometric frieze and its great chandelier was gone. Gone, too, the partition walls, and the room where once, in darkness, he had killed his first man. Farewell mirrors, gilded cornices, ottomans in pastel colours and saucy prints in frames.
He found himself in a vast circular room, and all around its edge were intimate little alcoves behind heavy brocade curtains. Here and there
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