“This man you danced with . . .” He asked, now writing something in his book. “Who was he? Do you see him anywhere, now?”

She looked around, all the while knowing she wouldn’t see him, because right now, he was lying dead on a concrete patio. “I think he said his name was Luc?”

“And what was he wearing?”

“A blue velvet coat with brass buttons and a black mask.”

He nodded. “Well, that fits the description of the victim. We haven’t identified him. Can you tell me anything about what you two talked about?”

“He told me he’s been to Versailles a lot. He described a lot of the artwork to me. And then we waltzed, and . . .” she winced. Now, their rendezvous didn’t just sound silly. It could likely get her in a lot of trouble. “Well . . . it must’ve been an accident, right? Maybe he had too much to drink, and he slipped . . .”

“Did he seem that way, when you spoke to him?”

Oh, he’d seemed a lot of things, to Diana. Handsome. Dazzling. A dream come true. But dead? It was almost too much, too horrible to believe. “Huh?”

“Did he seem drunk?” he pressed.

She gnawed on her lip and shook her head. “No. He was coherent. But . . .”

“I brought you your tea, dear!” a voice called from behind her, as the woman came back, saving the day with a tiny china teacup and saucer, which she set on Diana’s lap.

“Thank you,” Diana said, taking a sip. It burned her mouth, but she didn’t even care.

The lieutenant growled at the interruption, but that didn’t stop Old Marie Antoinette from standing there expectantly as if she wanted to be included in the conversation, “Oh, it’s the least I can do, love.”

The lieutenant looked up at her and scratched at his cheek near the end of his dark moustache. She seemed to have rooted herself to the spot.

“S'il vous plait, madame . . . wait over there while I finish with this witness,” he sounded firm, but not angry, as if he was used to dealing with busybodies.

She frowned but eventually did as he said. The lieutenant leaned forward. “You were about to say something about the victim? After you waltzed, what happened?”

“Yes . . . after we waltzed,” she said, looking down into her tea. “After we waltzed, he went out the double doors to the balcony, and I went to the restroom.”

It was the truth, really. With just one small omission . . . that he’d invited her to accompany him outside. That she should have been with him at the moment he died. That maybe if she had not questioned herself and headed out there right away, he might still be alive . . .

She clenched her teeth at the thought. Was this her fault?

“And you didn’t see him again until you found him dead?”