Lucy and Bill found the somber group gathered for Sylvie’s burial and spotted Elizabeth among them, standing with Serge and a number of other hotel employees. Malik and Adil were also there, she noticed, standing rather uneasily on the edge of the group, as if they were no longer accepted by the others. She raised a hand in a small wave, but neither responded, both apparently wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Lucy and Bill were not able to stand next to Elizabeth without jostling and disturbing other mourners, so they took places at the foot of the grave. Elizabeth pointedly avoided looking at them. She was hanging on to Serge’s arm and gazing fixedly at the open grave, where Sylvie’s rain-spattered coffin was balanced above the void. Lucy wondered what her daughter was thinking. There but for the grace of God go I? Or perhaps she was regretting that she hadn’t been closer to Sylvie. Or maybe she was simply thinking about paint colors for the apartment.

Monsieur and Madame Seydoux were standing on the opposite side of the grave, accompanied by a nun, who was saying the rosary. It was impossible to know if they were receiving any comfort from the recitation. Their faces were grim, and they seemed terribly tired, defeated by this most cruel and unfair twist of fate. The priest had had the foresight to cover his skullcap with a clear plastic protector, and the sight of it, and the cheap plastic poncho covering his vestments, struck Lucy as wildly incongruous.

She was working hard to stifle a nervous giggle when he began to intone the words of the funeral service, and she tried to focus on the French words of the burial service, but she was distracted by a sudden flurry of movement. To her horror, she saw that Adil and Malik had suddenly sprung into action and had grabbed Elizabeth by the arms and were dragging her away from the gathered mourners and through the cemetery, toward a cobbled roadway, where a white van waited, its motor running.

“Stop! Arrêtez! Stop!” she screamed, taking off after them. This was her worst nightmare come true, and Lucy could hardly believe what she was seeing. She was struggling on the uneven paving, slipping on the wet stones in her leather pumps, weaving through the narrow spaces between the graves, her heart pounding. Bill overtook her, and Serge dashed ahead of him, gaining on the abductors. Elizabeth was screaming and struggling, trying to free herself, but her captors had almost reached the van when a whistle blew and it suddenly seemed that the cemetery was filled with black-clad commandos.