LITMIR.BIZ

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best. Because of Lardin.’

      ‘Answer me this, was there anything between Louise Lardin and yourself?’

      Semacgus gazed up at the brilliant blue sky. He blinked, looked at Nicolas’s tense face and, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder, began to speak in a hushed voice.

      ‘Nicolas, you are very young, let me say it again. To tell the truth, I fear that Louise Lardin is a dangerous woman, of whom you, too, should beware.’

      ‘Is that an answer?’

      ‘The answer is that I yielded to her once.’

      ‘Did Lardin know?’

      ‘I don’t know, but Descart caught us.’

      ‘A long time ago?’

      ‘About a year.’

      ‘Why doesn’t Descart talk about it?’

      ‘Because he himself is in the same position. Were he to accuse me, this accusation could be turned against him.’

      ‘Who knows about this business with Descart?’

      ‘Ask Catherine, she knows everything. And if Catherine knows, Marie will find out very quickly; she hides nothing from her.’

      Nicolas held out his hand to Semacgus with a beaming smile.

      ‘We’re still friends, aren’t we?’

      ‘Of course, Nicolas. No one wants your investigation to succeed more than I do and for God’s sake don’t forget poor Saint-Louis.’

      Nicolas returned to Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, sobered by what he had just learnt but cheered to be friends once more with Semacgus. He was pleased to think that Monsieur de Sartine would be deprived of certain information and that he would only give him a report when he had matters of more substance to submit to him. He still harboured some resentment towards him from their last meeting.

      Bourdeau was waiting for him, looking busy and enigmatic. A report from the men of the watch had intrigued him. A certain Émilie, a soup seller, had been arrested on Saturday 3 February at about six o’clock in the morning by the toll-gate guards on their night rounds. When she was questioned at the police station of Le Temple, the details she had given were so extraordinary that they were taken to be fictitious and had been noted down only as a formality. The old woman had been released. Bourdeau had carried out his own investigation. She was known to the police for petty offences and as a former woman of easy virtue, who as she got older had descended into debauchery, then poverty. Bourdeau had jumped into a carriage, found old Émilie and had just questioned her at the Châtelet, where she was being held. He handed his report to Nicolas.

      Tuesday 6 February 1761

      Before us, Pierre Bourdeau, Inspector of Police at the Châtelet appeared one Jeanne Huppin, otherwise known as ‘old Émilie’, soup seller and garment mender, dwelling in lodgings in Rue du Faubourg-du-Temple, near La Courtille.

      On being questioned she said in these very words ‘Alas, my God, to think I am come to this. My sins are the cause of it all.’

      Asked as to whether she did go to the place known as ‘La Villette’, at the knacker’s yard in Montfaucon on the night of Friday 2 February, there to purloin the rotten meat found upon her, the which being illegal and contrary to regulations.

      Replied that in truth she had gone to Montfaucon, there to seek sustenance.

      Questioned as to whether this meat was intended for her purveyal of soup.

      Replied that she had intended to use it for herself and that need and poverty had brought her to this pass.

      Said that she would reveal matters providing she be promised it be taken into account, not for the excusing of her conduct but for acting as the good Christian that she was and for the cleansing of her conscience of a dread secret.

      Said that being occupied in cutting with a great trencher a morsel of dead beast, she had heard a horse neighing and two men approaching. That she concealed herself from fright and fear of being surprised by what she took for a night round of the watch that surveys sometimes this place. Saw the aforesaid men empty by lantern light two casks of a matter that seemed to her bloody, all the which accompanied by garments. Added that she had heard a crack and seen something burn.

      Questioned as to whether she could tell that which had burnt.

      Replied that she was too afraid and that fright had taken away her senses. The cold having revived her, she had fled without seeking to examine anything whatsoever for fear of attracting towards her a pack of stray dogs that had gathered. She was crossing through the toll-gate of the city when the guards stopped and questioned her.

      Bourdeau suggested going to Montfaucon straight away, in order to see what the situation was. Old Émilie needed to go with them to verify at the scene the accuracy and consistency of what she had said. If her claims were true, this would at least prove that a bloody incident had taken place during the night that Lardin had disappeared. Nicolas objected that at night there were plenty of sinister goings-on in the capital, and that there was nothing to suggest a link between this case and their investigation. However, he agreed to accompany Bourdeau.

      Though generous by nature Nicolas was nonetheless thrifty with the funds entrusted to him, and he was reluctant to make a dent in Monsieur de Sartine’s finances by hiring a cab. Old Émilie was removed from her cell at the Châtelet but was not told the purpose of the journey. Nicolas was hoping that the agony of her uncertainty would make the destitute creature panic, and so undermine her defences. She was now sitting next to Bourdeau. Nicolas, seated opposite her, could observe this former woman of pleasure at his leisure. He had never seen a sorrier sight than this pathetic relic of past glories. The old woman was wearing a jumble of rags, one on top of the other. Did the poor creature fear being robbed or was she seeking to protect herself from the cold? This heap of torn and filthy clothes looked as if it were parcelled up in a sort of greatcoat made of some unknown material that might have been felt if the passage of time had not transformed it into a sort of fluffy blanket. The garment revealed in parts the splendid remnants of rich fabrics, bits of yellowed lace, of paste and embroidery in silver and gold thread. A whole past life was summed up in the layers covering this human wreck. Out of a shapeless bonnet tied with a ribbon peered a face at once narrow and bloated, in which two care-worn, mouse-grey eyes darted to and fro, unnaturally highlighted by a bluish black that reminded Nicolas of the moustaches he pencilled in with charcoal when he was a child. Her twisted mouth was half-open and revealed a few stumps of teeth and the tip of a tongue that was still surprisingly pink.

      After a while, the solemn way in which Nicolas was staring at her began to intrigue old Émilie. Out of habit she eyed him in a way that made him blush down to the roots of his hair. He was horrified at what her expression might mean. She immediately realised that she was on the wrong track, and resumed her slumped position. Then she rummaged around in a sort of green satin handbag, which had known better days, and spread out on her lap her remaining treasures: a hunk of black bread, a broken black onyx fan, a few sols, a small horn knife, a brass rouge box and a shard of mirror. She dipped a dirty finger into the rouge and, looking at herself in the triangular mirror, began to make up her cheeks. Gradually she rediscovered the customary and touching gestures of the woman she had once been. She blinked, moved her head back to take better stock of the result of her efforts, pursed her lips, smiled and tried to smooth her wrinkled brow. Instead of the beggar-woman opposite him, Nicolas thought he could see the silhouette of a charming, joyful young girl, who forty years earlier had enjoyed the company of the Regent every evening. Nicolas looked away, moved by this spectacle.

      Soon they were outside the city walls and old Émilie, who had for some time been observing the landscape through the carriage window, recognised the direction they had taken. Pitiful to behold in her anguish, she looked at each of them in turn. Nicolas immediately regretted not having drawn the leather curtains and swore that in future he would pay more attention to this type of detail.

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