“I suppose it’s progress,” Miss Hetherington said. “We must get used to such things. Skyscrapers and Eiffel Towers. Impressionists and Post-Impressionists who daub on colors willy-nilly and call it painting. That’s what the world is coming to.”

Personally I thought the Eiffel Tower was spectacular and gazed at it until the train went around a bend and it was lost. The train was slowing, and with a final huff and puff we pulled into Saint-Lazare station. Porters swarmed into the carriage, whisking away bags so rapidly that one never expected to find them again. I stood on the steps of our carriage looking out over the crowd and the smoke, an expectant smile on my face, as I tried to spot Sid and Gus.

“Do you require a taxicab?” the porter who was balancing the mountain of our luggage on a barrow asked.

“We require to be taken to the Gare de Lyon to catch our train to Venice,” Miss Hetherington said in efficient French. “This young lady will be met by her friends. You may leave her luggage here and take ours out to the curb.”

“Do you see your friends yet?” Miss Pinkerton asked.

I was still looking around, Liam perched on one hip. “No, not yet.”

“Why don’t you stay here with the bags and we’ll go and locate them for you,” Miss Hetherington said. “What do they look like?”

I described Sid’s cropped black hair and mannish attire and Gus’s predilection for peasant clothing and shawls. Miss Hetherington looked aghast. “Sapphists are they? Bohemians? My dear, are you sure you should be staying with them? One hears the most extraordinary things about the way these artists live. I’m not sure that your husband would approve, seeing that he works in government.”

I assured her that Daniel knew all about Sid and Gus, who were my neighbors at home, and that they were my dear friends. Miss Hetherington gave me a strange look before she sent her troops out across the station to find Sid and Gus. They returned ten minutes later to say that there was no sign of them.

“Oh, dear,” I said. “I wonder if the telegram was never delivered. I thought it was strange when they didn’t reply to me or even come to Le Havre to escort me. I suppose I’d better take a cab to their residence.”

“They are expecting you?” Miss Pinkerton asked. “These artistic types are known to be flighty.”

“They know I’m coming. They responded to my cable.”

“Well, then. We’ll help you into a cab and all will be well.” She motioned to a porter to bring my trunk and carpet bag to a waiting fiacre. Liam and I were loaded in. I shook hands all around and thanked them again for their kindness. Then the driver flicked at the whip and off we went, rattling over the cobbles.