Paris: The Novel

tolerate the cold ghosts that he must also live with? He did not know.
    To his surprise, he suddenly had a great desire to ask his father what he thought. He’d talk to him as soon as possible.

    It was ten days later that Jules Blanchard was surprised to receive a visit from James Fox, who asked if he might speak to him alone.
    Sitting down in his little library, the polite Englishman opened the conversation carefully.
    “In our work between London and Paris, monsieur,” he began, “we often find ourselves asked for advice on family matters of all kinds. And we are always glad to be helpful whenever we can. Some of these areprivate matters requiring discretion. Others are relatively simple.” He paused only briefly. “At the moment,” he continued, “I have two clients in England who have asked for help. One is a very straightforward matter. There is a nice, respectable family in London who would like to find a nanny for their children. They want the children to grow up speaking French and so they are looking for a Frenchwoman to act as nanny and governess until the children go to school. You have such a huge acquaintance that I thought I would ask if you might know of anyone.”
    “I’m not sure,” said Blanchard. “I can ask my wife. What’s the other matter?”
    “The second is much more private, and requires discretion. But having had dealings with you, and having the pleasure of meeting your family, monsieur, I feel I may confide in you—with your permission.”
    “Certainly.”
    “This concerns a family who live outside London, clients of our firm for two generations now. Sadly, after some years, this couple have been unable to have children, and they want to adopt a child. They do not mind whether it is a boy or a girl. It’s easy enough, of course, to obtain a child from one of the many orphanages, but they would like to find a baby whose parentage is known, and one who is likely to be able to benefit from what they have to offer. And that is a great deal. The father is a banker, and the mother, whose own father was a professor, is a lady of considerable artistic talent. Our London office has no suggestions at present, but asked me if I could help. Unfortunately, I don’t myself know of anybody who might have an appropriate baby needing parents. But given your huge acquaintance, I thought I’d ask if you might discreetly let this be known on the grapevine.” He spread his hands. “Whoever their adopted child finally is, he or she will be fortunate. They live in the most pleasant circumstances.”
    This was followed by a long silence.
    “I see,” said Jules Blanchard.
    Fox said nothing.
    “And you don’t know of anyone in Paris who might fit the bill?” asked Blanchard.
    James looked him straight in the eye.
    “No,” he said.
    “Liar,” said Jules quietly, and smiled. “But I am grateful for your discretion. So you are offering me a wonderful solution to two problems that I have. Will this cost me something?”
    “I don’t see why it should. A ticket on the ferry to England perhaps.”
    “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Why?”
    “Both families are clients of the firm.” He looked thoughtful. “Priests often arrange these things. They have the information, and the judgment. And it’s well that they do. But I like to think that lawyers can sometimes make a contribution too.”
    “If this works out,” said Jules, “I shall be in your debt, Monsieur Fox.”
    “Then you will pay me a compliment,” said James, “by knowing that I do not consider that any debt has been incurred at all.”
    It was nicely said, even if it wasn’t quite true. He just needed Marie’s father to be grateful to him.

    Roland de Cygne arrived at his father’s house early that evening. Just before leaving the barracks, he’d heard news which pleased him.
    Émile Zola, that tiresome writer who’d made such a nuisance of himself over the Dreyfus affair, was about to be arrested. The rumor was that he’d gotten wind of it and was already on his way to hide out in England.
    “Just so long as he stays out of France,” one of his brother officers had remarked. And Roland agreed with him.
    He’d written to his father soon after the visit to Versailles. Without being specific, he’d told him he’d like to ask his advice about a personal matter. The vicomte had written back at once. Knowing that Roland’s regimental duties made it difficult for him to take time off so soon after a period of