“The demonstrators will hardly come here. This is a residential area,” said Sue. “All the action seems to be on the Champs-Élysées.”

“That’s true,” admitted Lucy, pulling the map of Paris out of her guidebook and studying it. Much to her surprise, she discovered that the apartment wasn’t really all that far from the Île de la Cité, where the hospital was located.

“I’ve got cabin fever,” she said, testing the water. “I think I’ll see if the Monoprix is open, or maybe one of those little tabacs.” Nobody protested or warned her not to go, not even Bill.

“You could pick up something for lunch,” suggested Sue. “We’re kind of low on food—except for pâté de foie gras and Mariage Frères tea.”

“Okay,” promised Lucy, donning her plaid coat. “I’ll be back soon.”

Once outside, she noticed the streets were emptier than usual, but a few stores were open, including an ethnic grocery on the next block. She’d stop there on the way back, she decided, and get some couscous or stuffed grape leaves for lunch. But first, she was determined to get to the hospital and see Chef Larry.

It felt good to be out on her own, she decided, striding along the mostly deserted streets. Many businesses were shuttered, there were no taxis and no buses, and few people had bothered to go out. She thought it was a big improvement from a usual day, when the streets were packed with traffic and the sidewalks full of people, as she crossed the Pont de Sully to the Île Saint-Louis. This was a tony residential area, a small island east of the larger Île de la Cité, filled with hôtels particuliers, large private town houses, most of which, she guessed, had been converted into pricey apartments. It was peaceful here. The quaint streets were lined with trees, now producing tiny, fresh green leaves.

The Île de la Cité was busier, containing not only the Cathédrale Notre-Dame, the Sainte-Chapelle, and the Conciergerie, which attracted tourists from all over the world, but also the courts in the Palais de Justice, the police headquarters at quai des Orfèvres, and the hospital. Police cars were coming and going, no doubt due to the farmers’ demonstration. There also seemed to be more ambulances than usual, with their braying horns.

The lobby of the hospital was quiet, with only a few visitors. Nobody was manning the reception desk, which Lucy took as a very good sign. She marched right on past, took the elevator to the seventh floor, and stepped right out, disregarding the cop who was sitting in front of the door to Chef Larry’s room. He gave her a cursory glance, then returned his attention to his iPhone.