Mustering all my courage, I asked them where I might find the Cabaret Shéhérazade. They looked me up and down a moment—admittedly I must have been an odd sight, with my German accent and black suitcase, as if I were the vanguard of a different Wehrmacht from the one they were expecting. A day or two ago, I thought, they would have arrested me. But instead they pointed down the Rue Pigalle. A little while later—around noon, I guessed (the bells of the churches were not tolling)—I dropped my suitcase in front of a doorway and knocked. There was no response. According to a small sign by the entrance, the nightclub only opened at eight in the evening, which was exactly the time my train was due to leave. I sat on my suitcase, fished a Salomé from my pocket and lit it. It seemed I would have to choose between finding Madeleine again and leaving Paris for the relative safety of the south. I could almost hear Massu’s ironic chuckle. Had he put me in this position by design, as a sadistic practical joke or punishment for not being more helpful? I would never know. But between love and liberty, there was no doubt which I would choose. I made my way back to the hotel I’d stayed in the previous night and rented my room again. I spent the afternoon there, napping, smoking, rereading my notes, until evening, when I struck out again to find the Shéhérazade.

“Le temps passe et court

en battant tristement

dans mon coeur si lourd.

Et pourtant, j’attendrai

ton retour.”

At the song’s conclusion, the patrons took a moment from their drinking, smoking, gossiping, and giggling to applaud half-heartedly. The singer bowed her head in acknowledgment. A waitress approached her and whispered something in her ear. They both looked in my direction. The band followed the singer off stage, behind a red velvet curtain, and a few minutes later the singer re-emerged. She came to sit beside me at the bar. “Two more of those,” she said to the barman, pointing at my empty glass. She turned to me. “Were you followed?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Did you come from your apartment?”

“I haven’t been to my apartment since yesterday. I’m staying in a hotel by the canal.”

“Are you signed in under your own name?”

“Of course not. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Good. All the same, I can’t take you to Madeleine tonight, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m sure the police have better things to think about.”

“Perhaps. But then there’s also Chanel’s people.”

“How is she? Where is she?”

“She’s been waiting. She expected you sooner.”

“Why did she go?”

“You should ask her that. In my opinion it was because you didn’t believe her.”

“I changed my mind.”