Lucy and Bill accompanied them inside, waiting on a bench in the hallway as the couple went through a heavily scarred metal door. They were gone a good three-quarters of an hour, most of which, Lucy suspected, was devoted to the endless red tape the French were so fond of, before they emerged. Both looked as if they’d been sucked dry by vampires. Their faces were white, and Monsieur had to support Madame, who seemed ready to collapse. Bill jumped up to help, taking her other arm, and between them they were able to lead her out of the building and into a nearby café, where Lucy ordered café for everyone and double brandies for the Seydouxes.

Lucy didn’t know what to say, even without a language barrier. They sat at the table in the nearly empty café, two sets of parents separated by a gulf deeper and wider than the Atlantic Ocean. The Stones’ daughter was alive, busy at work building her future, and the Seydouxes’ daughter was laid out in the morgue, her life over.

Madame finally spoke when she had finished her coffee and had had a sip or two of brandy. “Où est votre fille?” she asked.

“At the Cavendish. Elle travaille aujourd’hui,” replied Lucy, explaining that Elizabeth was at work. “Voulez-vous parler avec elle?”

Receiving a nod, Bill asked the counterman to call a taxi for them, and when it arrived, they all squeezed in for the trip to the hotel. When they arrived, the handsome Serge was on duty in the lobby, and he hurried over to express, in the most elegant manner conceivable, his condolences to the Seydouxes. Lucy and Bill left them to it and went to the concierge’s desk, telling Elizabeth that Madame wanted to speak to her.

“How are they doing?” asked Elizabeth.

“About like you’d expect,” said Lucy.

“Sylvie complained about them all the time,” said Elizabeth. “They were so proper, so conservative, and cheap, too. I don’t remember her saying a single nice thing about them.”

“Don’t tell them that,” said Lucy.

“Of course not,” said Elizabeth. “I was just thinking how ironic it is, that’s all. I was wondering, what if it was the other way round? What if it was one of the parents who died? Would Sylvie be as upset as they are about losing her?”

“Probably,” said Bill. “You know what they say: You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.”

“Maybe you’ll appreciate us now,” said Lucy, partly serious and partly attempting to lighten the moment. “Go on. Tell them how much you liked Sylvie and how much you’ll miss her.”

Much to Lucy’s surprise, Elizabeth grabbed her hands tightly and squeezed. “I do, Mom. I really do appreciate you and Dad. You’re the best.”