I settled back into my hermetic life. I spent my days in bed, writing. After a few days, I began to fear I would never hear from Édmonde again. I considered returning to the manor where she’d lodged me, but I realized I had no idea of how to find it on my own. When her letter finally arrived, more than a week after we’d parted, it was on plain paper, with no letterhead or return address. The envelope appeared to have been tampered with, as if opened with the aid of steam and resealed. The landlord, I suspected, hoping to find money inside. Édmonde had thought of this: we’d agreed to write to each other in a kind of code, impenetrable to outsiders.

Dear Charles, her note read,

Forgive me that this letter has taken rather longer to reach you than I would have wished. I am making every effort to find the person matching your description. Even under normal circumstances, arranging such a meeting would prove troublesome, but my physiognomic impediment only adds to the difficulty. You asked me to find an able-bodied youth with literary talent. I have made my tour of the city’s universities and seminaries and have unearthed no such personage. I shall now venture further out, into the provinces and towns, and shall write to you as soon as I have found a candidate. Please remain patient and hopeful. Yours, etc.

Three days later, Édmonde’s next missive arrived. It, too, betrayed signs of having been opened illicitly. Take the nine o’clock train to Charleroi on Tuesday. I will meet you there.

Standing beside the ticket counter at the village railway station, Édmonde, veiled as always, appeared to be the dark center of the revolving world, impervious to the noisy, smoky hubbub that overtakes a railway station in the moments after a train’s arrival. But when she spotted me limping toward her (I was still walking with a cane), she sprang into action. She took me by the arm and led me outside, through the clatter of horses, buggies, and drivers, to the village coffee house. “His name is Fernand Roux,” she said. “He is exactly what you asked for—young, educated, from a family of clerics. He is healthy, afflicted neither by the pox nor by consumption. And he is a seminarian. After his ordination, he wants to travel to the colonies to convert the natives.”

“What does he know of our intent?”