“You know, I’m glad I’m not a Frenchwoman,” said Elizabeth. “They’re supposed to be fortunate to have this wonderful government that provides child care and health care and everything, but there’s so much pressure on them to be perfect. They’re supposed to always be in control, always do things beautifully, always look beautiful. Their children are expected to be perfectly behaved, and if their husbands have mistresses, they’re not supposed to mind. It’s completely unrealistic. It would make me crazy.”

“You know what really gets my goat?” said Lucy. “It’s all these articles for American tourists advising us on how we can look French. Like there’s something wrong with being American. Don’t wear sneakers, don’t wear T-shirts, dress up, and don’t forget to wear a scarf. I mean, what is ‘Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité’ supposed to mean?”

Elizabeth smiled, checking out her mother’s orange plaid coat, Mom jeans, and running shoes, to which she’d added a blue scarf, as if it would fool any French person.

“It’s a slogan,” replied Elizabeth. “Like ‘liberty and justice for all.’ Something we say but don’t necessarily do.”

Lucy fell quiet, thinking about being American and being French, and how the two seemed very different but perhaps weren’t. Of course you liked your country best. It was what you knew, what you were taught in school. America was the greatest, unless you were French or Chinese or Indian, in which case she supposed France, China, or India was best. Though there were some countries where even the most fervent patriot had to admit things weren’t so great, like Afghanistan or Syria or seemingly most of the countries in Africa. In those cases, people tended to identify with their tribe or sect, believing it was superior to the others.

“There must be some connection between Sylvie, and Adil and Malik because of Egypt, don’t you think?” she asked Elizabeth, suddenly breaking the silence. “There was that photo of her grandfather in Egypt.”

“Yeah, that photo with the pyramid,” mused Elizabeth.

“Yeah. Maybe Sylvie was holding the money for them. Maybe she was doing a favor for them, for old times’ sake.”

“This is Sylvie we’re talking about, remember? She was not the least bit sentimental,” said Elizabeth.

“I know, but just bear with me for a minute. Adil’s and Malik’s parents, maybe grandparents, left Egypt with King Farouk when there was a revolution or something. We know Adil and Malik are part of that royalist faction that’s trying to put Farouk’s son back in charge. At that party they were talking about how awful things are in Egypt.”

“Okay, I can see that Adil and Malik might be involved in something like that, but Sylvie?”