"Three people are dead," I say. "I might have been one of them. That's reason enough to stay awake, don't you think?"

Staring into my glass, I find my own thumbprint glowing back at me. I try to remember what Vidocq used to say about fingerprints . . . no one's the same as anyone else's. . . .

And then I'm remembering something else. The last glass of wine I had with Mother. The way the light folded round us.

"Have you learned anything?" I ask.

"As best we can tell, the fire started in the grease drain between the woodshed and the kitchen window. Seems to have spread from there to the meat cage. As to what started it, we didn't find any incendiary devices, but we did find the remains of a phosphoric bottle."

The news filters slowly down through my skull.

"Arson," I say, nodding.

"Likely, yes. Of course, we don't yet know if it's connected to Charles."

And for the first time in memory, he can't hold my gaze. Makes a point of brushing the crown of his hat.

"Do you remember what Monsieur told Herbaux?" I ask, pushing my chair back from the table. " 'Don't kill them,' he said. 'Just scare them away.' "

"I remember."

"Then why would he try to burn us all alive? A houseful of people to get to one man . . ."

Vidocq shrugs. "Just because you start a carriage rolling doesn't mean you can stop it."

"And what does that mean? "

"It means Monsieur may no longer be master of himself. Or his schemes."

Vidocq empties the rest of the bottle into my glass. Watches with an air of regret as the last drop rolls out.

"Where do you and Charles propose to stay, Hector?"

It's a good question. Father Time is staying with friends in the Rue Gracieuse. Charlotte is ensconced with her sister's large brood in the Marche Lenoir. Until now, it's never once occurred to me I need shelter myself.

"There must be someplace," I say.

"There is," says Vidocq.

T en s pi ts f rom Notre-Dame, a mere block from the river, just around the corner from the Place Saint-Michel . . . and yet chances are good you'll walk right past the Rue de l'Hirondelle without knowing it. Which is exactly how Vidocq likes it. Few people come to this narrow cobbled street, not even Vidocq's own staff, so it is with some sense of my own unworthiness that I pause before the imposingly high front of number 111.

Charles has no such inhibitions. He's already charging up the marble steps.

"Look! They've got salamanders carved over the door."

"Now listen," growls Vidocq. "When you get inside, take your boots off. That's an Aubusson rug, do you hear?"

It is, indeed. And an Empire console table and a marble staircase. And high ceilings and burnished parquet f loors and two maids. The boy from Arras has done well.

Without leaving Arras behind. It is still very much present in the round person of Vidocq's mother: peasant earth in the midst of beribboned sleeves and lilac powder.

"My boys! " she cries, drawing us toward her. "What you've been through! Never mind, you'll sleep safe under our roof, I promise you. And you're to stay as long as you need to, aren't they, Francois?"

"Whatever you say," answers Vidocq, throwing up his hands in surrender.

"Now you can wear Francois' clothes until you find some of your own. They're a bit large-yes, I do see that, Doctor-but Catherine will take them down for you, she's a wonder with the needle. I'm told you're to share a room, but don't worry, the bed's big enough for an army. Louis the Sixteenth, you know the style. By all means, sleep as late as you want. No one here will ever rouse you before you're ready. . . ."

On an impulse, she cups her hand round my ear and whispers:

"She's at peace, you know. Just like my dear husband. The Lord has seen to them both."

That night, for reasons I don't examine too closely, I choose to sleep on the f loor, with rolled-up bedding for a mattress. Charles, for equally unexamined reasons, lets me do it. For a good hour, I lie there, and it's as if last night's fire is still raging. I can smell the smoke on my hands, I can feel the blisters on my back. I can see the black bundle of Mother on the dining room f loor.

Just after dawn, I wake to Charles' long, riverlike breaths. Putting on Vidocq's black suit, I tiptoe down the marble stairs. Turn the lock on the front door, step onto the doorstep.

"Dr. Carpentier?"