“Do they?” She paused. “Well, I suppose that was a good reason for killing him.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “You can’t go around killing people who insult you or disagree with you or society would be a highly dangerous place.”

“Have they caught this young Jewish man yet?”

“Not yet as far as I know. I expect they will, unless he flees to Spain or somewhere.”

“Good,” she said. “I hope they do catch him.”

We changed trains and then came up into daylight again at Pigalle. Ellie suggested that she wander around and look at things while I fed the baby. I was relieved to find Liam playing happily. He had already had some good soup, Madeleine told me. I went into her bedroom and nursed him, but he didn’t seem too interested, making me wonder if she had done this too before I arrived. But the good thing was that he was safe and he was happy. Ellie was bubbling over with enthusiasm when I met her again on the corner of the Rue des Martyrs. “Do you know that they have a market for artist’s models in the square every Monday? It’s too bad that Peter arrives next Monday or I’d be tempted to try my luck. Although I suspect I look too pure for most of their paintings. And I’ve found somewhere good to eat. Come on. I’m starving.”

She led me to a little bistro on the far side of Pigalle. The place was redolent with the scent of herbs and garlic and several tables were full of young men who might have been artists or poets. Some of them looked up as we passed, and one or two called out to Ellie. We sat in a corner and Ellie ordered us two bowls of the rabbit fricassee. “I was told it’s their specialty” she said. “I’ve only been eating things that I know would appall them at home. I’ve tried frog legs and snails too. I’m going the whole hog since this is my one chance of freedom.”

“Ellie,” I said hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing by getting married right away? You clearly want to experience life first.”

She gave me a bleak stare. “What choice do I have? I simply can’t live at home any longer. My mother is completely under the dreaded stepfather’s thumb now and I’m ordered around like a little girl. And I can’t touch my trust fund until I turn twenty-five or I marry… so it’s the only option really.”

“But do you love Peter?”

“Of course not. I hardly know him. But he’s good-looking and he treats me as if I was made of porcelain and might break, so I’m sure he’ll take good care of me.”

“Do you want to be taken care of?”

“Not really.”