Paris: The Novel

contains one twentieth of what you brought with you last evening. And you are to tell your brother officers that you, and you alone, are the man who received the favors of La Belle Hélène as a gift, for free.”
    He gazed at her in amazement. Then, before putting on his hat, he bowed.
    “If I live to be a hundred, I shall never feel more honored.”
    “Don’t say that. You might even get the Légion d’honneur.”
    He grinned.
    “Not even the Légion d’honneur, madame,” he said gallantly, and left.
    As he put on his top hat and strode up the street, Roland de Cygne felt happier and more proud of himself than ever before in his life. For just a moment, he considered the possibility that some other man might be in La Belle Hélène’s house that very night, but he put the thought from him. Across the street he noticed a small black-and-white cat. Probably the one that fellow was looking for last night.

    After he had gone, she smiled. He was a nice boy. Too preoccupied to be entirely sensuous, but nice. As for the gift, she was amused. And for five percent of one night’s work, she had purchased a story that would travel all around Paris to her credit. It was always a good thing to be liked.

    It took Luc only a day to find out about Le Sourd. A couple of the regular women at the Moulin Rouge had danced with him. One had slept with him.
    “You want to know what he’s like, dear?” she asked.
    “No. Just his name.”
    She knew that. And that he was a printer who wrote articles for the radical press. That was all Luc needed. But he thought carefully before he made his next move.

    The captain was most surprised at the barracks to receive word that a Monsieur Gascon from the Moulin Rouge wished to speak to him in private. He came out of his office to make sure it was Luc, then called him in.
    Luc told him quickly and concisely what he knew.
    “I don’t know what it means,
mon capitaine
, but I thought I should be discreet. I haven’t told Monsieur de Cygne. I thought it better to tell you.”
    “My God.” The captain stared at him. “And you’ve already saved his life, by the sound of it. You think this is some affair of the heart? A jealous husband?”
    “He’s not married. He likes to dance with girls and sometimes …”
    “Why on earth would he want to shoot de Cygne then?”
    “I don’t know. But he’s political. Radical.” Luc made a face.
    “You don’t like the socialists?”
    “There are not many people in the restaurant and entertainment trades who do,
mon capitaine
. They think we’re decadent and want to close us down.”
    “A little decadence does you good, eh? Well, I entirely agree.” He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “The de Cygne family is old, monarchist, Catholic, of course. But so are half the officers in the French army. There’s got to be more to it than that. I’m interested that you didn’t just tell de Cygne himself all the same. He could show his gratitude to you for saving his life, at least.”
    “I don’t know him,
mon capitaine
, nor what this means, nor what he might do. So I came to you.”
    “You’re a clever fellow, Luc, and we’re in your debt. I shan’t forget that,” said the officer. “I want to think about this. But in the meantime, I need to protect de Cygne.”
    “I do have one suggestion,” said Luc. “With your permission.”

    It was two days later when the errand boy at the printers came back to where Jacques Le Sourd was working and told him that there was a policeman at the door who wanted to see him.
    The boy noticed Le Sourd go very pale, but he followed the boy to the front door, where the policeman was waiting for him. The policeman was a tall, severe-looking man who looked at him coldly.
    “You are Jacques Le Sourd?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is for you.” The policeman handed him an envelope. Then, to Jacques’s astonishment, he walked swiftly away.
    Jacques opened the envelope, frowning. Was this some kind of legal summons? To what did it refer?
    The envelope contained a single sheet of paper. On it were written just two short lines in capital letters:
    RUE DES BELLES-FEUILLES
YOU ARE BEING WATCHED
    For the rest of that day, Jacques wondered what to do. The message was clear enough. Someone had seen him waiting for Roland de Cygne. That person, or whoever had informed him, appeared to be a policeman. But how much did he know, and what did he want?
    Was it a policeman who had given him the envelope? Here his