PAR T III.

Place de Greve 17 Floreal Year III

Is my mother alive?

Charles posed that question to me today. I reminded him it was not my position to say. Am forbidden to speak of outside events, on pain of . . . etc., etc.

Very well, he said. You neednt say a word. If my mother lives, then simply nod, how shall that be?

After sm time, he said: You're not nodding.

19 Floreal

This a.m., on tower platform, Charles made a point of collecting f lowers & laying them outside door of his mother's cell.

26 Floreal common. Weakness excessive. Feet too tender to permit of much walking. This a.m., I was obliged to carry him up final steps to platform.

Charles' symptoms have become most alarming. Tumors have proliferated in right knee & left wrist. Fainting f its increasingly Spirits have also taken decided plunge. Even sight of "his sparrows" did nothing to gladden him. Ive entreated him to be of gd cheer. All not lost. His sister in gd health, has asked af him daily. Many people, myself included, long to see him better- You dont understand, he cut me off. My mother is dead because of me.

Cit Simon, he said, had forced him to say terrible things about his mother & aunt. How they had touched him in private places & done unspeakable things to him, & he knew it to be lies, but Simon kept at him & wdnt let him sleep, and f inally he came to believe it was true, and thats what he signed his name to, he scarcely knew what he was doing. And then they used those lies against his mother, and thats why shes dead, and how cd he ever forgive himself ?

No argument wd dissuade him. Again & again he berated himself. Said he feared death all the more now because he was sure God wd judge him most harshly.

I replied that, on contrary, God wd frown on men who so cruelly used a child to serve their bloodlust.

He was not used to my speaking so frankly. How angry you sound, he said.

1 Pr airial

Charles experiencing prolonged & extreme episodes of sore throat & fever, w/ accompanying delirium. Leblanc reports child has claimed to hear his mother's voice. Insists she is in "next tower."

6 Pr airial

This a.m., Mme Royale once more asked me about her brother. I said his condition was not improving as rapidly as Id like.

She saw thru my evasions at once. He's dying, she said.

Then something unaccountable. My self-master y gave way. I turned to one side, explaining I had piece of grit in my mouth.

Youve done your best, Doctor, she said.

7 Pr airial

Genl Barras has left orders he does not wish to see me. His attache informed me if I have any questions relating to my off icial duties, Im to take them up w/ Comm for Genl Security.

I swallowed my pride & approached Cit Mathieu. Apologized for my intemperate remarks in earlier meeting. Said I had come to speak w/ him on matter of utmost urgency.

Yes? he said. (Looking v. weary.) Louis-Charles, I said, must be removed fm Temple. Poisonous air of cell laying waste to his powers. In healthy mountain climate- Switzerland, e.g.-he might recover his strength, reverse progression of disease. Leaving him where he is wd be death sentence. Surely a civilized society cd not desire that? Surely Charles is worth more to them alive than dead?

I assured Mathieu I wd be only too glad to accompany child, w/ as many armed guards as Comm saw f it. Said I wd agree to any restrictions-work w/o compensation-if Comm wd just agree to remove him fm his cell.

He frowned & was silent for gd while.

I dont understand, he said. Why are you bothering so much about this child?

Because he cd be my own son, I said. And if he were, then I shd wish someone to care-as I do.

I hf expected him to laugh. Instead, he said, in a tone almost kindly: Doctor, that boy cannot leave. You & I both know it. If you can make his f inal days easier, so be it. If not, you have done what you can. The Republic can ask no more of you.

I believe he expected that to be a comfort.

10 Prairial Charles able to eat only a little soup + a few cherries. Time running out.

11 Prairial

Junius will know what to do.

13 Prairial

Enough for now. CHAPTE R 4 0

The Rebirth of Junius M y mothe r is bu ried next to my father under an old yew. The Vaugirard Cemetery is mildewy and unfashionable, and the mourners are few: Charlotte, Charles, myself, and Vidocq, in a black-banded hat. Vidocq himself tips the pallbearers and the gravedigger and the priest and, after paying for Charlotte's cab and dispatching Charles to Surete headquarters, he treats me to a bottle of Argenteuil at the Good Quince. I drain two glasses in quick succession.

"How are you holding up?" he asks me.

I query myself as if I were my own doctor. Pulse: regular. Breathing: regular. Hand: steady.

"I seem to be fine."

"You're not," he says. "I think you should rest a few days, Hector."

The black suit I'm wearing is one of Vidocq's castoffs, far too large in the legs and shoulders and forcibly cinched to my waist. The wine has stirred a dull sputter in my head, and the tavern air is thick with mouse droppings, and over Vidocq's massive shoulder, I can see the sun, relatively puny, setting over the dome of the Invalides.