An Officer and a Spy

prompts him to reminisce about Mercier, no longer Minister of War but now seeing out the years before his retirement as commander of the 4th Army Corps at Le Mans. ‘He was right to foresee that the President might fall, wrong to believe that he stood any chance of replacing him.’
    I am so surprised I stop eating, my fork poised midway to my mouth. ‘General Mercier thought that he might become president?’
    ‘Indeed, he entertained that delusion. This is one of the problems with a republic – at least under a monarchy no one seriously imagines he can become king. When Monsieur Casimir-Perier resigned in January, and the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies convened at Versailles to elect his successor, General Mercier’s “friends” – as it would be delicate to call them – had a flyer circulated, calling on them to elect the man who had just delivered the traitor Dreyfus to the court martial. He received precisely three votes out of eight hundred.’
    ‘I didn’t know that.’
    ‘I believe it was what our English friends call “a long shot”.’ Boisdeffre smiles. ‘But now of course the politicians will never forgive him.’ He dabs at his moustache with his napkin. ‘You’ll have to think a little more politically from now on, Colonel, if you’re going to fulfil the great hopes we all have of you.’ I bow my head slightly, as if the Chief of Staff is hanging a decoration round my neck. He says, ‘Tell me, what do you make of the Dreyfus business?’
    ‘Distasteful,’ I reply. ‘Squalid. Distracting. I’m glad it’s over.’
    ‘Ah, but is it, though? I am thinking politically here, rather than militarily. The Jews are a most persistent race. For them, Dreyfus sitting on his rock is like an aching tooth. It obsesses them. They won’t leave it alone.’
    ‘He’s an emblem of their shame. But what can they do?’
    ‘I’m not sure. But they’ll do something, we may count on that.’ Boisdeffre stares over the traffic in the rue Rabelais and falls silent for a few moments. His profile in the odiferous sunlight is immensely distinguished, carved in flesh by centuries of breeding. I am reminded of the effigy of a long-suffering Norman knight, kneeling in some Bayeux chapel. He says thoughtfully, ‘What Dreyfus said to that young captain, about not having a motive for treason – I think we ought to be ready with an answer to that. I’d like you to keep the case active. Investigate the family – “feed the file”, as your predecessor used to say. See if you can find a little more evidence about motives that we can hold in reserve in case we need it.’
    ‘Yes, of course, General.’ I add it to the list in my notebook, just beneath ‘Russian anarchists’: ‘Dreyfus: motive?’
    The rillettes de canard arrive and the conversation moves on to the current German naval review at Kiel.
    That afternoon I extract the agents’ letters from the safe in my new office, stuff them into my briefcase and set off to visit Colonel Sandherr. His address, given to me by Gribelin, is only a ten-minute walk away, across the river in the rue Léonce Reynaud. His wife answers the door. When I tell her I’m her husband’s successor, she draws back her head like a snake about to strike: ‘You have his position, monsieur, what more do you want from him?’
    ‘If it’s inconvenient, madame, I can come back another time.’
    ‘Oh, can you? How kind! But why would it be convenient for him to see you at any time?’
    ‘It’s all right, my dear.’ From somewhere behind her comes Sandherr’s weary voice. ‘Picquart is an Alsace man. Let him in.’
    ‘You,’ she mutters bitterly, still staring at me although she is addressing her husband, ‘you’re too good to these people!’ Nevertheless, she stands aside to let me pass.
    Sandherr calls out, ‘I’m in the bedroom, Picquart, come through,’ and I follow the direction of his voice into a heavily shaded room that smells of disinfectant. He is propped up in bed in a nightshirt. He switches on a lamp. As he turns his unshaven face towards me, I see it is covered in sores, some still raw and weeping, others pitted and dry. I had heard there had been a sharp deterioration in his condition; I had no idea it was as bad as this. He warns: ‘I’d stay there if I were you.’
    ‘Excuse me for this intrusion, Colonel,’ I say, trying not to allow my distaste to show, ‘but I rather need your help.’ I hoist the briefcase to show him.
    ‘I thought