Paris: The Novel

the Trocadéro’s Moorish concert hall as it looked across the river to the site of Monsieur Eiffel’s tower, there were some pleasure gardens, which contained two big statues, one of an elephant, the other of a rhinoceros.
    “I remember my father bringing me here to look at these,” Édith told him, “when I was a girl.” She smiled. “So I like to come and see them sometimes.” She shrugged. “It brings back good memories.”
    “Is your father still around?”
    She shook her head.
    “There’s an aquarium,” she said, pointing to a long, low building. “Have you ever been in there?”
    He hadn’t. They spent a pleasant half hour looking at all manner of exotic fish. There was a small deep-water black squid that fascinated him. And exotic jellyfish with poisonous stings. Even more exciting was an electric eel that could kill a man. The power of these sea monsters attracted Thomas, and he pointed them out eagerly to Édith. “They’re even more impressive than the sharks,” he said. She looked, but preferred the brightly colored tropical fish.
    When they had finished, Édith led the way. He noticed that they were going toward the rue de la Pompe.
    “When my mother was my age,” she remarked, “this wasn’t part of Paris at all. It was all the village of Passy.”
    “Same with Montmartre.”
    “Did you know,” she said proudly, “that Ben Franklin, the great American, used to live up the street from here?”
    “Oh.” He’d heard of Ben Franklin, though he couldn’t remember much about him. “I didn’t know that.”
    “On the west side of Passy, there was a small palace where Marie Antoinette used to stay.” She glanced at him. “You can tell I am very proud of Passy.”
    “Yes.”
    “So. I am going to show you something even more important.”
    They kept walking until they came to the lowest section of the rue de la Pompe. Looking up the street, most of the houses were set in gardens. Some were hard-faced granite residences, newly built town houses for rich people. Others, somewhat older, were less formal suburban villas with shutters on the windows, set in leafy gardens where fruit trees suggested a more rural past. But the place where she stopped was the gateway to acourtyard containing some stables, and beyond which he saw a kitchen garden.
    “Do you know who lived here before the Revolution?”
    “No idea.”
    “Charles Fermier, himself.”
    Thomas paused, unwilling to expose his ignorance. She was watching him.
    “Well, who was Charles Fermier?” she prompted.
    “I don’t know,” he confessed.
    “The ancestor of my father.” She smiled. “He was a farmer. This area was mostly farmland then.”
    “He owned the land?”
    “Oh no. Most of Passy was owned by a few big landowners. He rented his land. But he kept a lot of cows. We’ve been here ever since. Well, except my father. We don’t know where he went.” She shrugged a little sadly.
    “Your family didn’t continue to farm?”
    “My grandfather looked after the horses at a château on the far side of Passy. Then my father worked in a merchant’s house until he left.”
    They walked up the street. Just past a handsome horse chestnut tree they came to the house where Thomas lodged.
    “I rent a place in there,” he said.
    “It looks nice.”
    He thought of his tiny room where he had just space to lie down.
    “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m afraid the owner won’t allow me to bring any women into the house.”
    “I’m a respectable girl. I wouldn’t go in if you asked me.”
    They walked on.
    I make good money working for Monsieur Eiffel, he thought. I could rent a nicer place if I didn’t give my spare money to my mother. It was a moral conflict he hadn’t thought of before.
    “Where do you live?” he asked.
    “My mother lives over by the Porte de la Muette,” she said a little vaguely, “and my aunt Adeline in the other direction. I go between the two.”
    Before they reached the Lycée Janson de Sailly, they turned right and soon came into a street of small stores, where they found a little place to sit down, and Édith ordered tea and a pastry.
    “I have enjoyed my afternoon,” she said. “But I have to go to my aunt now.”
    “The one who works for the lawyer.”
    “For Monsieur Ney.” Her tone was respectful.
    “I should be curious to see such an important gentleman.”
    “I must go,” she said suddenly.
    “When shall we next meet?”
    “Wednesday is a good evening,” she