‘Inevitably, since the pregnancy was more than two months advanced ...’

Finally, regretfully realising that he was not going to reveal anything further, she decided to change the subject. ‘But what about your case, Monsieur?’

Margont floundered for a moment, then pulled himself together. ‘No, in the case of my lady friend, she’s only in her first month.’

‘In that case it’s possible that a concoction of plant extracts and a massage of the stomach will be all that’s necessary. If that doesn’t work, or if you leave it too late, I’ll use a needle. But I’m experienced. If your friend decides to use my services she will have to give me her name. Her real name, because I will check ... I need to know. It’s my way of ensuring that there’s no trickery, that you’re not a policeman ... Also, sometimes when I discover the identity of the person I choose to withhold my services. You would be astonished to know the celebrated and powerful people who contact me. Even the wife of a marshal ... In those cases, I always refuse, whatever price they offer me. But you can count on my complete discretion.’

The room behind the door made its presence felt more than ever. Catherine de Saltonges had been there, eaten up by doubt; the odour of her blood still impregnated the air; women had died in there ...

‘I’ll think about it,’ he announced. He rose, adopting the air of a man who had been reassured and who was going to confer the life of his loved one to a woman he barely knew. They said goodbye to each other cordially and Margont took his leave. He had not even revealed his name. As he crossed the threshold he shivered under the glacial caress of those who had died in the house.

CHAPTER 17

ONCE he had sent Michel away, Margont relayed everything to Lefine. As he was talking, a bitter taste filled his mouth as if he had bitten into a plum without checking whether it was ripe. He was upset that he had been drawn into the private life of Catherine de Saltonges. He had barely finished his account before he launched into his hypotheses.

‘In leaving her lover in ignorance of her pregnancy, she lied to him - by omission. And she did that even though she has a horror of lying!’

‘Well, you’re playing at espionage and you’re cheating and manipulating even though, ordinarily, you vaunt the merits of sincerity, honesty and loyalty ...’

‘The world has become a giant fools’ playground where everything is topsy-turvy. Do you think the father is a member of the Swords of the King?’

‘I think it’s very likely, since they’re the only people she keeps

company with. According to the police, since her divorce she doesn’t see her old friends any more. Michel and his brother have been watching her since the beginning of our investigation: she often walks in the public gardens or in Faubourg Saint-Germain, but she never goes to visit anyone, nor does anyone visit her.’

‘She’s been pregnant for more than two months. The child must have been conceived around the beginning of January. She hesitated a while before deciding to get rid of it. If the father really is one of our suspects, it’s possible that he was the murderer. If that’s the case, does she know? Was she his accomplice? She told the abortionist that the father had business to attend to. She also mentioned that he had already lost many close relations. That could be Louis de Leaume or Jean-Baptiste de Chatel ... But the others must also have seen family members disappear during the Revolution. We don’t know enough about the pasts of our suspects, I’ve already told you that.’

‘I’m doing my best to find out! They don’t know anything about your past either, otherwise—’ Lefine stopped short, looking embarrassed.

Margont was reminded once again of the risks he was having to run for this affair. He had fought all over Europe, against the Austrians, Hungarians, Russians, Prussians, English and Spanish ... and yet he could easily be killed right here in Paris by a Frenchman. Apparently Fate had a sense of humour; how it must laugh seated with Death in that tavern at the end of the street, drinking to his demise as it watched him through the window. These sombre reflections were chased away by a flash of inspiration.

The father will go and visit her! Even if he hasn’t guessed what’s wrong he must have noticed that something is. She can’t be her normal self! If he loves her, he must be worried about her. Or else she will go and visit him. She almost died and she’s lost a child she wanted to keep! She needs the man’s support. I’m going to stay here. Call Michel back so that he can help me.¹ ‘And I suppose I’m going to have to try again to find out more about our suspects ...’

Margont was not very good at surveillance. Waiting exasperated him. He tried to make use of the lost hours by thinking about his investigation, especially about the evening he had met the committee of the Swords of the King. Perhaps an important detail had escaped him. In light of what he now knew, the memory of that meeting took on a different hue. Who could be the tormented lover of Catherine de Saltonges? It was Louis de Leaume who had addressed her to introduce Margont as the new recruit. Was that a sign of connivance between them? Or had he merely been the one to speak because he was the head of the committee? It was probably not Honoré de Nolant ... Catherine de Saltonges seemed to have a horror of murder; she would not have allowed her lover to be the hangman of the group. Although ...

Michel was amused to see how Margont, who was obviously a soldier - he had a scar on his left cheek and his assured manner spoke of success in dealing with dangerous situations - could not bear the enforced inactivity. Michel, on the other hand, was enjoying it. He was being paid to do nothing - what could be better?

‘You’re going to give us away, Boss,’ he told Margont with his most ironic smile.

‘Don’t call me “Boss”.’

The boss is the person who pays, Boss. If you don’t stop walking about and turning in circles, someone is going to notice us. You need to melt into the crowd - but you hate crowds.’

‘Because they don’t move fast enough. You’re right, though, I’ll try to calm down.’

Half an hour later he was less calm than ever. He was on the point of returning to the printer’s when the door opened. He hurriedly hid out of sight. Michel was aghast. ‘It’s a good thing your woman is still crying and can’t see anything much, otherwise she would be wondering who that man was, pressing himself against the wall and dirtying his overcoat just as she was coming out.’

‘You stay here, Michel.’

‘Happy to.’

Margont followed Catherine de Saltonges. He had not taken offence at the brat’s comments. He knew the child was right, and

tried to behave like someone out for a stroll like everyone else. He raised his collar and crammed his hat down on his head to make himself unrecognisable at first glance, hoping it would be assumed that he was feeling the cold. The crowd also helped to make him less noticeable.

Catherine de Saltonges was making her way along Boulevard Saint-Germain in a strange fashion. Sometimes she would walk quickly, at other times she was almost stationary. She was riven with indecision. She branched off towards the Seine, reached the embankment and went over to the river, moved closer to the river, then closer still ...

She’s going to throw herself in, thought Margont. What should he do? Save her and ruin all his efforts to be accepted by the Swords of the King? Call for help? Catherine de Saltonges leant over the green, glacial water. An invisible thread seemed to pull her backwards. Nevertheless she continued to walk along the embankment. It was as if she was walking along beside Death and finding it surprisingly soothing. Finally she turned back and went across the old Saint-Michel bridge, which now resembled a plucked peacock. In 1809, the sixty houses that had been built on the bridge two centuries before were all destroyed.