Paris: The Novel

thought, Frank Hadley was watching her niece with more than usual interest.
    All that was needed was an opportunity for them to spend some time together. It presented itself during the dessert.
    They had been discussing the statue of Charlemagne. Jules had been rather pleased with the results of his committee. “We raised all the funds we needed,” he remarked. “I’m sorry that the Vicomte de Cygne didn’t live to see it, because he’d have been pleased. We even got an excellent contribution from that lawyer, Ney, whose daughter you painted.”
    “Talking of sculpture,” remarked his wife, “I hear there’s a scandal about Rodin the sculptor in the newspapers. Is this right?”
    “Rodin’s
Kiss
and his
Thinker
have even become quite famous in America, you know,” Hadley remarked. “I didn’t know there was a scandal, though.”
    “It’s not exactly a scandal,” said Marc. “Nearly ten years ago, he was commissioned by the author’s society to do a big statue of Balzac. As most people think he’s our greatest novelist, something monumental was calledfor. And Rodin’s been at it ever since. He’s had to ask for fifty extensions to complete the work. And now they’ve seen it, they’ve rejected it.”
    “Why?” asked Marie.
    “I heard it was a monstrosity,” said Gérard.
    “
Ah non
, Gérard,” said Aunt Éloïse.
    Marc laughed.
    “Actually, he’s right. It is a monstrosity. But a magnificent one. Faced with such a heroic task, Rodin attempted to depict the soul of the writer, rather than the literal man. The result is a shape like a tree trunk wrapped in a cloak, with this great head, with a neck like a bull, bursting out of it. They were all horrified. So Rodin’s taken the plaster model back to his studio. Perhaps it will never be cast.” He smiled. “Personally, I’d have preferred it if they’d put it in Père Lachaise instead of that rather boring head that sits over his grave at present.” He turned to Hadley. “You remember the one I mean?”
    “Do you know,” said Hadley, “I’ve never been to the cemetery of Père Lachaise.”
    “You haven’t?” Aunt Éloïse was astounded. “My dear Hadley, you must go there.”
    “You should,” agreed Jules. “Certainly worth a visit.”
    “I propose,” said Aunt Éloïse, seeing a beautiful chance, “to take you there myself. Marc and Marie, you must come too. I insist. We shall go this very week, while the weather is still so mild.” She looked at them all.
    “Why not?” said Marc.
    And Aunt Éloïse was feeling quite pleased with her cleverness when Gérard intervened.
    “I think that’s a wonderful idea. We should love to come too.”
    “We should?” said his wife, looking puzzled and not especially pleased.
    “My dear Gérard,” said Aunt Éloïse, “I think you might be rather bored.”
    “Not at all,” said Gérard. “We’re coming.”

    It seemed to Hadley that Marc was looking a little pale when he came by to collect him.
    “Something wrong?” he asked.
    “Hortense,” said Marc.
    “You spoke?”
    “You could call it that.”
    “You broke up with her?”
    “I did.”
    Hadley gazed thoughtfully at his friend.
    “I guess you know what you want,” he said.
    “She wasn’t too pleased.”
    “I don’t suppose she was.”
    “She called me a lot of names.” Marc sighed, then shrugged. “However, I’m used to that.”
    “I’d imagine you are.”
    “Let’s go to Père Lachaise,” said Marc.

    It was such a perfect afternoon. The weather was still pleasantly warm. The leaves were on the trees. But there were hints of gold in some of them, and now and then, as a light gust of wind made them tremble, a few leaves floated down to the ground.
    The two men, Aunt Éloïse and Marie shared the Blanchard carriage. Gérard and his wife were meeting them at the cemetery.
    But it wasn’t Gérard and his wife they found waiting for them.
    “She couldn’t come,” Gérard explained. “The children needed her. So I have brought a friend of mine instead. May I present Rémy Monnier.”
    He was a well-dressed man of about thirty. Medium height. Alert hazel eyes. Hair cropped very short, rapidly balding. But there was a brisk, almost dynamic energy about him that was quite impressive. He seemed like a man who shaved close and knew all the markets.
    He bowed in a friendly way to them all, and immediately paid his addresses to Aunt Éloïse, as good manners demanded.
    Meanwhile, Gérard was murmuring