Paris: The Novel

rooms in some of the most expensive brothels—if, that is, the brothel were on the scale of the palace of Versailles.
    The cinema was often sold out, so Luc had not been surprised, arriving early one evening, to find twenty or thirty young people being sorrowfully turned away at the doors.
    Why had she caught his eye? Because of her looks, of course. And she was alone. That was intriguing. But there was something else about her that aroused his curiosity. Something different. He decided that he needed to find out.
    There are many kinds of womanizer. With some it is vanity or a sense of power, with others greed. With Luc it was that purest of all motives: endless curiosity.
    “I am sorry you could not see the film, mademoiselle.”
    “Yes. It’s annoying.” She was polite, but cautious. He had a sense that if he made one wrong move, she would freeze him out. But he also noticed her accent. Very pure. The best French, not even the slightly pointed enunciation of the Paris sophisticates. She might be from a very high-class French family, or she might be a foreigner who had learned the language in that environment.
    “I haven’t got a seat either, but I am still going to see the film.” He smiled. “My nephew is the projectionist. I’m going to watch it with him, up in his little box.”
    “Really?” She looked amused. “Then you are fortunate indeed, monsieur.”
    He smiled, bowed, and started to walk away. Then he hesitated and turned. She was still watching him.
    “Mademoiselle, I think there is room for one more person up there. If it would amuse you.” He shrugged. “You will be quite safe, I promise. And should my nephew, who is a good boy, be distracted from his duties by your beauty, one scream and the entire audience will turn around, while the management comes running.”
    She laughed, gave him a quick, careful look, and evidently decided that he was respectable.
    “Very well, monsieur, I accept the adventure. But if the film frightens me, I shall also scream.”
    “Then thank God it is Buster Keaton,” he replied.
    The girl’s mind was quickly set at rest when the man at the door greeted him politely,
“Bonjour, Monsieur Gascon.”
    “My nephew’s up in the projection room? I’m going to take this young lady up there, if that’s all right.”
    “Whatever you wish, Monsieur Gascon.”
    When they got up into the projection room, and Louise encountered a most surprised young man of about her own age, who he informed her was his nephew Robert, Luc did not permit her to introduce herself at all, raising his hand and declaring: “This young lady is an angel who has come down to earth to watch the movie. When it is over, Robert, she will fly back to the heavens—though we may hope for her benediction before she goes.”
    The evening’s entertainment consisted of two Buster Keaton movies. As the projection room was not very comfortable, Luc was glad that they weren’t watching one of the new epics—for he knew that Abel Gance in France, and von Stroheim in America, were both producing movies that would run for seven hours or more. The girl seemed to be enjoying herself, anyway.
    When it was over, it was time for young Robert to go off duty, so Luc said he’d walk home with him as soon as he was ready to leave. Meanwhile, he escorted Louise down to the entrance, and said he hoped she’d enjoyed the show.
    “Very much, monsieur. I’m not sure if I thanked your nephew properly.”
    “I will do it for you.”
    “He seems to have a limp.”
    “He has a wooden leg, mademoiselle. He came by it honestly, serving his country in the war. He was working in the family restaurant, but I could see his leg was troubling him, so I was able to get him this job instead. I happened to know the manager of this cinema.” He paused. “We are going to have supper at our restaurant now, in fact, just along the street. If you would like to join us, please be our guest. We can find you a taxi to take you home afterward.”
    “I mustn’t be too late. It would upset the elderly lady with whom I live.”
    “Not a problem.”
    A quarter of an hour later, Luc had her comfortably installed in the restaurant, eating a croque monsieur and haricots verts. Business was fairly quiet that evening. Édith came by to chat for a few minutes. “This is my sister-in-law, the mother of Robert,” he explained. “And how should I introduce you, mademoiselle?”
    “Just Louise,” she said.
    “Mademoiselle Louise,