Perhaps the group members were tired after their exhausting day in Versailles, or perhaps they were thinking about the violence that overtook France during the revolution, but they were quiet and subdued on the trip home. Lucy thought of the little dauphin, imprisoned in filth and neglected, only to die at the age of ten, and wished she could believe the human race had progressed from that sort of cruelty.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” said Lucy as they made their way into the courtyard. “That’s a French proverb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, there you are,” said Madame Defarge, popping out of her lodge by the courtyard entrance. She was waving a handful of papers and seemed decidedly uncomfortable. “These came for you,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “You are all required to report to the commissariat tomorrow.” She paused, then hissed, “For questioning.”

Turning on her heel, she disappeared as quickly as she had come, apparently unwilling to linger for the briefest of chats. There was no singsong “Bonne nuit,” no “À bientôt” with a little wave, no “Au revoir” with a smile, no farewell at all, only a firmly closed door.

“That was some cold shoulder,” said Sue, turning to Rachel. “And you were saying how nice she is.”

“She was,” insisted Rachel. “But I guess Lucy was right. She doesn’t want to get involved with suspected criminals.”

They were somber as they climbed the twisting, uneven stairs to the apartment, each one dealing with this setback in their own way. Lucy amused herself by imagining what her friends were thinking: Sue was thinking of pouring herself a glass of wine or three, and Sid was hoping that this interview at the commissariat wouldn’t take very long, because he wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower tomorrow. Bob was searching his mind, looking for legal loopholes, while Rachel was wondering what information she might possibly have that would help in the investigation. Pam was planning to do a calming yoga workout, and Ted was wondering if the International New York Times would be interested in a story about an average American’s encounters with the French justice system. Bill was thinking of ways to level the stairs, while she herself was trying to think of some way she could crack the case and discover who attacked Chef Larry so they could get their passports back and go home on time.

When her cell phone rang, she grabbed it eagerly, noting the caller was Elizabeth and hoping her daughter had some good news for them. “What’s up?’ she asked, by way of greeting.

“Well, it’s Sylvie’s birthday and she’s giving a party tonight for herself and you’re all invited.”