“The Louvre is papered with notices warning about them,” said Rachel.

“A handy cover for somebody who’s after something he thinks you’ve got,” said Lucy. “I think we should call Girard.”

“No need.” Elizabeth was consulting her smartphone. “He just texted me. It’s okay for me to go back to my apartment. The lock’s been fixed, and they’re done checking for fingerprints.”

“No way!” declared Lucy. “You’re staying right here with us, where it’s safe.”

“Safe? Are you crazy? Look at him!” Elizabeth pointed to Ted. “And this place was tossed, too. It’s not safe here. It’s not safe anywhere, but in my own place. . . .” She paused, obviously rephrasing her thoughts. “I really just want to be by myself.”

“And how are you going to get there tonight?” asked Lucy. “The Métro’s impossible due to the slowdown.”

“I got a ride from a friend.”

“How?” demanded Lucy. “When?”

“Just now, on my phone,” replied Elizabeth in a “How dumb can you be?” tone of voice.

Bill got right to the heart of the matter. “Who? Who’s giving you this ride?”

“Really?” Elizabeth cocked her eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

From outside, they heard a couple of quick beeps.

“He’s here,” she said, dashing for the door. “Bye.”

Bill was right after her, rushing out the door and following her down the stairs. When he came back, he shrugged. “It was a guy from work. Serge something. He seems nice enough. He has a motorcycle.”

“Oh, no!” moaned Lucy. “You didn’t let her go, did you?”

“What could I do?” He paused. “Like I said, he seems nice. He even had a helmet for her to wear.”

“So that makes it all right?”

“Not really,” sighed Bill. “But we can’t lock her up like Rapunzel, can we?”

“I wish we could,” said Lucy.

“Daughters,” muttered Sid, adding a sympathetic nod. “Well, life goes on. We’ve got to eat. . . .”

“Eathy for you,” groused Ted.

“We’ll pick up some soup for you,” said Sue. “I guess I’ll grab another fillet steak and some bread and salad at the Monoprix. Okay with you all?”

“Sure. I’ll go with you,” offered Rachel.

Lucy was tired and wanted some time to herself, so she went into the living room and turned on the TV, watching the news report of the Métro slowdown and trying to follow the weather report. There was definitely rain in the Pyrenees, but that was all she understood, unable to translate the Celsius temperature into Fahrenheit. There was a simple formula. She’d learned it once but couldn’t remember it now, when the knowledge would actually be useful. Life was like that, she thought.