Paris: The Novel

know that too.”
    “What is it for? Some woman? You should marry. It is time you married.”
    “It’s not for a woman.”
    “What then?”
    “I cannot tell you. I may not need it, but if I do, I will pay it back.” He paused. “It is for a good cause.”
    She looked at him sharply.
    “Tell me.”
    “No. It is better you do not know.”
    She shook her head sadly.
    “You are speaking of politics?” Seeing him indicate that he was, she pursed her lips. “Whatever you do, be careful. I have always told you to be careful.”
    “I am careful.”
    “There is a leather wallet in the top drawer of the desk. Bring it to me.”
    “You should hide your money better, Maman,” he remarked as he did so.
    She shrugged, took the wallet and counted out the notes.
    “There are not many more,” she said.
    Soon after this, Jacques Le Sourd went back to his own apartment. He worked on the anarchist article for a little while, then turned in to sleep. He still hadn’t decided what to do.

    The following evening, he went to the Bois de Boulogne. It was certainly a good place to make a drop of this kind. Anyone could be hiding in the trees, slip forward to pick up the envelope and vanish into the trees again.
    He left the money by the tree. Inside the envelope with the money was a note. It was written in capital letters and unsigned. It said: “THERE IS NO MORE.”
    As he left the park, he reflected that to escape further trouble, he’d better stay away from Roland de Cygne for a time, perhaps a long time.
    It had not occurred to him that this was exactly what Luc Gascon and the captain had intended.

    “In the name of the Father, and of the Son …” The voice of Roland de Cygne came through the screen of the confessional. Old Father Xavier listened attentively.
    “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Roland’s voice continued. “It has been a month since I last confessed.”
    Father Xavier knew that. The last confession had been quite boring. Indeed, as a friend rather than a confessor, he sometimes felt his young protégé needed to get out and sin a little more.
    So he was rather pleased when, a couple of minutes later, Roland confessed to the sin of fornication.
    “With one woman or several?” he quietly inquired.
    “One.”
    “How many times?”
    “I slept with her one night. And again in the morning.”
    “With what sort of person was this?”
    “A courtesan.”
    “When you say a courtesan, my son, you mean a prostitute?”
    There was a momentary pause.
    “She was not what you’d call a prostitute. She is known as La Belle Hélène.”
    “La Belle Hélène?” Father Xavier shifted on his seat. This was getting interesting. Could the Vicomte de Cygne really be giving Roland such a huge allowance? “Very well. You paid for her services, in any case.”
    Another hesitation.
    “Well, yes and no.”
    “My son, either you paid her or you didn’t. The sins of fornication and prostitution are slightly different.”
    So then Roland explained.
    For a few moments after he had finished, no clear sound came from the priest on the other side of the screen. Then, in a slightly strangulated voice, Father Xavier spoke: “The sin of prostitution is greater than that of ordinary fornication, because each person treats the other heartlessly, as an object rather than a child of God. In this case, given the circumstances, I think we may say that the sin does not quite—I say quite—constitute prostitution, and your penance may therefore be somewhat less. Have you other sins to confess?”
    Roland listed a few minor transgressions.
    “And do you repent of your sins?” asked the priest.
    Again a hesitation. The young man was really too honest for his own good.
    “I am trying to, Father,” he said.
    “That will do, as a start.” Father Xavier pronounced a penance that would take Roland a couple of hours and gave him absolution, before dismissing him.
    After Roland had departed, and no other penitent had come, Father Xavier sat quietly contemplating the tale he’d heard, and practically hugging himself with amusement and with pleasure.
    Of course he knew, theologically, that it could not be so; yet it was hard for Father Xavier not to believe, loving the aristocracy as he did, that La Belle Hélène’s rebate was a divine dispensation for the family of de Cygne, which had served Him so faithfully and for so long.

    It was a month later that the three men met for lunch at the Café de la Paix. They met