"I've already sent word to her," says Vidocq, smiling dryly.

"What did you say?"

"Oh." He gives a bored wave of his hand. "Ask Coco, that's his specialty. Symposium on ergot fever, probably. Outbreak of leprosy in the Loire valley. Something no one would dream of asking you about." Laughing, he grabs me by the collar. "Listen to me, my friend. If all goes well, you'll be back at Mama Carpentier's tomorrow night. With the air-the mystique, yes ! -of a man who's seen something. How they'll envy you, my friend, how their little piggy eyes will start from their-say now, you don't have a pistol, do you? Never mind. Oh, but the thing is, you really are looking pale, Hector. You want a nip of arrack before we go?"

8 Brumaire Year III Leblanc has proven true godsend. Extr kind, conscientious, willing. Surprisingly gd conversationalist. Ive now passed several happy hrs in his company.

Like me, he is v. concerned about Charles, esp. as nature of child's mental/emotional aff lictions becomes increasingly clear. Before being incarcerated in cell, Charles experienced egregious abuse at hands of one Simon-shoemaker-hired, for unknown reasons, to be boy's "tutor." Fm Leblanc, I have learnt full details. Simon was charged by superiors w/ effacing "stigma of royalty" fm child. He forced boy to wear red cap, drink large amts of liquor, sing obscene & anti-royalist songs in full hearing of royal family. Boy became Simon's slave, serving him at table, shining Mme Simon's shoes. Regularly terrorized, beaten for smallest infractions. (Often, in middle of night, Simon wd shake child awake, only to kick him down again.) Strong suggestions of abuse of highly intimate nature.

Boy ultimately coerced into manufacturing appalling lies re family-most esp. re former queen. Thruout, he was utterly cut off fm comfort. Small wonder he remains in mortal terror of adults, esp. men.

Leblanc told me that if he ever met Citizen Simon, he wd happily repay him for his "tutelage." France has seen to that, I answered, for Simon perished w/ his master Robespierre on 10th Thermidor. Leblanc expressed opinion that Simon "got off easy."

10 Brumaire

This a.m., took Charles to tower platform. Vision has improved. Even in sunny conditions, boy able to keep eyes open for 12 minutes at time, see objects at distance of 100 + yds. Most promising.

Curious event: artillery regiment happened to pass by. Sound of drums initially disturbing to boy-he gripped my arm v tightly, cast eyes down. Drums left off near Ste. elizabeth. Boy able to listen to remaining music w/ some pleasure. Said he had not heard music in v long time. (At least 2 yrs, by my estimation.) Band, whether fm calculation or accident, began to play "Marseillaise." How pretty, Charles was heard to say.

1 other thing. W/ permission of keepers, boy was suffered to collect some few blades of grass from tower platform + 1 dandelion, which had grown amid cracks in stones. These he attempted to fashion into primitive bouquet. Stalks too small and slight to oblige. Boy's mood consequently depressed as we returned him to his cell.

18 Brumaire Leblanc has shown notable patience, persistence in drawing boy out. Also has been able to effect modest improvements in boy's quarters. Lamp may now be lit at twilight, thus allaying fear of dark. Knowing of Charles' aversion to loud noises, Leblanc has taken steps to muff le sounds of bolts on cell door. Addresses boy always w/ marked respect & kindness.

Rations have improved, too. Breakfast = plate of vegetables. Dinner = broth, boiled meat + 1 other dish. For supper, he receives at least 2 dishes. Food plain but relvly abundant.

Boy's condition continues to improve. Modest weight gain, most visible in face. Some color in cheeks. Expression in eyes & mouth remains languid, affectless. Speech still diff icult.

On more than 1 occasion, he has asked to see his sister, who resides on f loor below. Commissioners will not permit. "Tyrant's children" to be kept apart. I have argued that they shd not be punished for sins of fathers, etc. (Me, quoting Scripture.) Wolf cubs grow up to be wolves, they say.

6 Frimaire Summoned for meeting w/ Citizen Mathieu, Comm for Pub Safety, who asked if I'd read article in yesterday's Courrier Universel. Article expressed opinion that "a human being ought not to be degraded below the level of humanity, because he happens to be born the son of a king." Commissioners shd "take care that he be not, as in former times, deprived of the necessaries of life."

Mathieu asked me point-blank if I was behind "calumnious & royalist" trash. I answered that I was doctor, not journalist. Mathieu pointed out I have friends in 4th estate-one in particular, he believed? I reiterated my oath of secrecy.

Mathieu not satisf ied. Warned against "exciting perf idious pity" for "last remains of our tyrant's race." (Spoke as if addressing Convention.) Said son of Capet shd be treated no better than any other child.

Mathieu: "There are many more children worth much more than he who are worse in health. There are many who die that are more necessary to the world."

Cd not forbear fm answering that, in my opinion, he was being treated far worse.

Meeting distinctly unpleasant. Followed soon after by meeting w/ Commissioner Ducaze, who felt obliged to remind me that royalist plots being fomented on ev side . . . France's enemies wd reinstall boy as king if they cd . . . gd citizens of the Repub must take all precautions to repel "missions of mercy," whether they come fm w/in or w/out.

I pointed out: Temple guarded by 194 members of Natl Guard, 14 artillery members, 45 gendarmes. More than 200 men to safeguard two children. Surely no further precautions necessary?

Was admonished to take better charge of my tongue.

10 Frimaire

This a.m., Leblanc and I surprised Charles in cell w/ 4 pots of f lowers. (Chrysanthemums, v fresh.)

I believe you used to have your own garden, said Leblanc, smiling.

Boy's response gratifying. At 1st he doubted evidence of senses. Hovered over pots, scarcely daring to touch. Spent some consid time smelling, then began, with great care, to examine them. Examination consumed 1015 minutes.

Thank you, he said. CHAPTE R 18

In Which a Great Man Is Threatened with Extreme Violence If you' re going to build yourself a chateau, you could find far worse places than the town of Saint-Cloud. A mere six miles from Paris's madness, lofting up from the Seine and bearing the clouds with it. A view fit for kings, yes, and before the kings, there were dukes and Florentine bankers, and after the kings, there was a certain emperor, who turned the Salon de Venus into his personal throne room. And now the royals are back in Saint-Cloud, as eager as ever to f lee Paris. And the tourists, equally eager, are following close behind.

I would have been no more than seven the first time I came here, and the only thing I can summon back now is water. Great sluices of emerald water, pouring through the aghast mouths of gargoyles. And a fox terrier, charging out of the woods-rising up on its hind legs and cocking its chin like a pugilist. I've been afraid of dogs ever since.

We must have come in a coach like this one, under towering steeples of trunks and valises, mire f lying from the iron wheels and a great cape of dust trailing afterward. Wouldn't Mother be shocked, though, to see the change in my costume? Coarse gray woolen socks . . . wide cotton-velvet trousers . . . an old violet waistcoat, torn at every fold . . . and no shirt! Vidocq was particularly keen on keeping my neck and arms bare-never mind the chill-and before we left, he took great pleasure in drawing a faux tattoo on me. A dromedary, toiling across my right biceps.

"Why?" I asked him.

"Because tattoos make a bastard look bigger. And if anyone could use some size, it's-Jesus, Hector, where'd you get these?"

"What?"

"The scratchy things all down your arm. Been crawling through nettles, have you?"

"Little accident in the laboratory, that's all."

"Well, it does give you a breath of danger. Oh, but Christ, you're still pale as an empress."

From his desk drawer, he fished out a tortoiseshell compact.

"What's that?"

"Bit of rouge," he answered breezily. "A dab here, a dab there, you'll look like you've actually met the sun once or twice in your life. Oh, but the hands are still too soft. Here, rub 'em with sandpaper. We can't have you looking like a Parisian, can we?"

What with the last-minute toilette and a final fusillade of orders to "the boys," it's three-thirty by the time we leave and a little after five in the afternoon when the coach lumbers across the stone bridge into Saint-Cloud. On the far side of the Seine, chestnuts and hornbeam trees droop down in grapelike clusters. At ragged intervals, the gable of a folie noses through the foliage.

"We're day laborers," Vidocq is telling me. "Hoping to get in nice with the tourists. Oh, don't bother with an accent, Hector, you're the quiet one. A little simple, if you get my drift. You can manage simple, can't you?"

The inn goes by the name of the Golden Fleece. Five years ago, it was called the Golden Eagle, but all signs of eagles-or of the emperor who inspired them-have long since been expunged (except for the faint impress of an N on the street door). The proprietress is Madame Prunaud, a freely swearing widow with great patches of aggrieved scalp showing through scruffs of beige hair and a single brown tooth, f lopped over her lower lip like a loose shingle.

"You'll get no beds from me," she growls.

"We're not particular, Madame. The attic or stable would do just fine."