“It’s a classic dish, and they do it very well here,” said Sylvie with an approving nod. She had a few mouthfuls and then rose. “Excuse me, please. I will be back in a moment.” Then, moving quickly, she disappeared behind the bar, in the direction of the kitchen, following the arrow on the TOILETTE sign.

Lucy cast an inquiring glance at Elizabeth, who responded with a whisper, “The toilet. She must really need to go, as it’s considered rude to absent yourself from the table while people are eating.”

“Bulimia?” asked Rachel, also whispering. “She’s very thin.”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s the smoking that keeps her thin. Believe me, if they didn’t smoke, a lot of skinny Frenchwomen would be a lot fatter.”

“Maybe she’s smoking in there, like we used to do in high school,” said Pam.

Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t think so.” But as time passed and Sylvie failed to return, they began to grow concerned.

“Do you think she’s sick?” asked Rachel.

“Maybe she’s pregnant,” said Pam, speculating.

“Or shooting up,” offered Sue, getting disapproving looks from the group. “Just a thought,” she added, defending herself.

“I’ll go check on her,” offered Elizabeth, taking the same circuitous route behind the bar, where the barman was busy slicing up a couple of baguettes and filling the bread baskets.

When she returned a few moments later, her expression was puzzled. “The toilet is empty. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” asked Lucy. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. There’s just one bathroom, and it’s tiny. There’s no place for anybody to hide. She must have left through the kitchen. There’s a back door.”

“Did you ask the cook?” demanded Lucy. “Did anyone see her go?”

“I did ask,” said Elizabeth, “but he just shook his head.”

“I’ll ask the barman,” said Lucy, popping up. “La jeune fille qui . . . uh . . .”

“No, Mom, I’ll do it,” offered Elizabeth. “I don’t think your French is up to it.”

But all Elizabeth was able to get from the barman was a shake of his head and a muttered “Désolé.”

“People don’t just disappear,” said Rachel, her eyes huge. “Do you think she was kidnapped?”

“No way,” insisted Elizabeth. “She probably just encountered some guy. Could be the pot washer. I wouldn’t be surprised. She’ll go with anything in pants.”

“Really?” asked Rachel. “She seems like such a nice girl.”

“She seems to me like a girl who knows her way around,” said Sue.

“You can say that again,” agreed Elizabeth. “Honestly, I never know who’s going to be tiptoeing through my room in the morning, shoes in hand, heading for the door.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t believe it.”