Paris: The Novel

else in Paris like it.”
    “You’re really proud of the tower, aren’t you?”
    “Of course.”
    “That’s nice.”
    Before it grew dark, he took her back to Passy. On the avenue Victor Hugo, she thanked him, let him kiss her on the cheek, and parted from him. He thought she had enjoyed the visit, but he couldn’t be sure.
    The next Sunday, she wasn’t free, and so he went to see his parents. His mother waited until the meal was nearly over before she brought up the subject.
    “That girl you brought here: Are you interested in her?”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”
    “You can do better,” said his mother firmly.
    “You just say that because she isn’t the daughter of the widow Michel,” he answered with a shrug. He glanced at his father, but his father refused to meet his gaze. He turned back to his mother. “You seemed to get on.”
    “You can do better.”
    After the meal, he went for a walk with Luc. He hadn’t been entirely surprised by his parents’ reaction. Nothing less than the widow Michel’s daughter was ever going to satisfy them now. But he hoped for something better from Luc.
    So he was taken by surprise when Luc finally spoke.
    “Was that the girl we went looking for?” Luc suddenly asked.
    “Yes. How did you guess?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What do you think of her?”
    Luc paused. Then he looked a little sad.
    “She doesn’t like me,” he said.
    “Why do you say that? She didn’t say so to me. Not a word. I think she likes you.”
    But Luc shook his head.
    “No. I promise you it’s so. I can tell.”
    “I’m sure you’re wrong,” said Thomas. But he was puzzled.

    Three days later Édith asked him if he would be free to visit her mother and her aunt that Sunday.
    It was mid-afternoon when they met. She was waiting for him at the top of the avenue Victor Hugo. They walked around the great circle under the Arc de Triomphe until, directly across from the Champs-Élysées, the massive avenue de la Grande-Armée stretched down to the west. Turning down the avenue, they walked a few blocks, turned right and proceeded a little way. The houses in the street, though respectable enough, had a gray and dingy air that Thomas found depressing. One house on a corner, somewhat larger than the others with an impressive central door, also had a gateway beside it, leading to an internal courtyard, protected from intruders by a tall screen of iron railings. To the right of this iron screen was a door, and a bell chain, which Édith pulled. Somewhere within Thomas heard a small, harsh clang. Moments later, the door was opened.
    “This is my mother,” said Édith.
    One could see the likeness at once. The same freckles, the same wide mouth. But time had not been kind to Édith’s mother. She’d been pretty once. He could see that. Then she’d become blowzy. But in recent years, she’d started to let herself go. She had dyed her hair with henna, some while ago, and the gray roots showed as cruelly as a wintry wind, winnowing the autumn leaves. The eyes that had once been bright were puffy. The skin on her neck was criss-crossed with deepening lines, and sagging.
    “So you’re the boy who works on the tower.” She managed a smile.
    “Oui, madame,”
he answered politely.
    She led them down a narrow passage into a room. It contained a sofa with a curved back, two formal chairs, a sideboard on which a decanter, a bottle and some glasses stood, and a small table. The window, framed by heavy damask curtains, gave onto the yard, but the thick gauze in front of the glass only let in a modicum of light.
    “My sister-in-law has a beautiful situation,
n’est-ce pas
?”
    So Aunt Adeline was the sister of Édith’s vanished father. Thomas hadn’t realized that.
    “Beautiful, madame,” he said.
    “My aunt is the concierge,” Édith explained. “She really looks after the whole place.”
    “It’s a big house,” said Édith’s mother. “A big responsibility. But she has the head for it. That’s for sure.”
    “And Monsieur Ney lives here?” said Thomas.
    “Monsieur Ney owns the establishment,” said Édith’s mother, with the pride of someone with a rich friend. “His office is next door. And he has his own house nearby, where he lives with his daughter.”
    “His daughter is called Hortense,” Édith explained.
    “Ah, Mademoiselle Hortense,” said her mother. “She will make a fine marriage, one of these days. That’s for sure.”
    “Perhaps I