Paris: The Novel

replied.
    King Henry looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

    As the two brothers made their way back into the Marais, they were both rather quiet. Finally Robert said: “I had not thought of you departing.”
    “I know,” Alain answered. “Nor had I. But it’s an opportunity. A big adventure. And with a letter of recommendation from the king …”
    “But Canada …”
    “I shall write to you, brother.” Alain put his arm around Robert’s shoulder. “With every ship that crosses the ocean.”

    Simon Renard was just a quarter mile ahead of the two brothers as he turned into the street that led to his house.
    At just past forty, he was quite a handsome man, with only a few gray hairs. A year ago his wife had died, leaving him with three children. He was still getting over her loss.
    On reaching his home, he found the house quiet. There was a single servant in the kitchen, who told him that his daughter had taken the younger children to the market with one of their friends, but that the friend’s mother would be coming by to pick up her child.
    Simon was glad of the chance to make up his accounts in peace for an hour, and was about to go out to the storehouse in the backyard when he heard a knock at the street door and, on opening it, saw a pleasant, dark-haired woman who was obviously the mother of the child to be taken home.
    “Come in,” he said. “I’m afraid the children went to the market, but no doubt they’ll be back soon.” It was annoying to have his work interrupted, but he hoped he didn’t show it.
    She stepped in and glanced around.
    “You have always lived here?” she inquired.
    “Yes. It was my parents’ house. I enlarged it some years ago.”
    “Ah.” She nodded. “Your parents are still living?”
    “No. I lost them in the plague of ’96.”
    The plague had returned to Paris twice since his childhood. Once in 1580, then again in 1596. The first time it had missed this little enclave of the city. The second time, he had been away in Lyon on business and returned to find both his parents gone.
    Simon tried to think of something to say. His children had many friends, and he didn’t always remember the details of all their families.
    “I forget how many children you have,” he said.
    “Just three.”
    “Ah yes. The same as me.”
    They had stepped into the parlor. It was well furnished. There was a pair of square, upright walnut armchairs with panels of Brussels tapestries across their backs, and a carved trestle table. There was a Turkey carpet on the floor, and a tapestry hanging on the wall. Simon was rather proud of it. So he was pleased when the woman glanced around admiringly and remarked that he had a very handsome parlor.
    “I see your business prospers,” she remarked with a smile.
    Unlike his father, Simon had not refused to accept any help from his relations. When Guy’s father had offered to put him in the Italian trade, importing silk and leather gloves, he had gladly accepted, and the results had been excellent. Indeed, he could have increased his fortune more had he wished to. But he didn’t. He’d enlarged the house. His family wanted for nothing. But that was enough. He was a member of a guild, but he took no part in its politics. He did not want to impress anyone. He hoped his children would marry into solid, honest families, but not more than that. He had never moved from the quiet spot at the end of the alley which remained a haven of peace and quiet in a stormy world.
    His visitor was smiling at him.
    “You do not remember me.”
    “Forgive me.” He gave her an embarrassed look. It was no use pretending. “My children have so many friends …”
    “The fault is mine. You are clearly expecting someone. The mother of some child your children know. But I am someone else. I was last in Paris thirty-two years ago. I did not even know your name. But I came here to see if you still lived here, because I owe you thanks. When I was a little girl, you saved my life. Do you know me now?”
    He stared at her in amazement.
    “My God. You are the little Protestant girl. You are Constance?”
    “I would have sent you a message years ago, but when your father left me with my relations in La Rochelle, all those years ago, he would not even tell them his name. He just hurried away.”
    “I didn’t know that.” Simon nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that inthose days, when it was dangerous even to help a Protestant, he might have thought he was protecting