But after the lawyer dropped him off in the rue de la Pompe, he suddenly found he was very tired.

By the time he went to work the next day, Thomas was ready with his story. In the first place, he’d say nothing. If by chance anyone knew he’d met Pepe for a meal on Sunday, he’d simply say that he’d parted from him immediately afterward, and known nothing about the accident.

If there had been any doubt in his mind about the consequences of saying anything else, they ended as he walked down the rue de la Pompe.

He was just passing the place where Édith’s family had once had their little farm when Jean Compagnon fell into step beside him.

“Nice day,” said the foreman.

“It is,” said Thomas.

“Keep your mouth shut,” said Compagnon.

“Don’t know what you mean,” said Thomas. “But I always do.”

“If anyone finds out, Eiffel will fire you. He’ll have to.”

Thomas didn’t answer.

“But that,” continued Jean Compagnon pleasantly, “will be the least of your troubles. Because I’ll be waiting for you, and you’ll join your friend Pepe, wherever he may be.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Thomas, “but I’m sorry if you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Jean Compagnon. Then a moment later he turned abruptly into another street, leaving Thomas to go on alone.

Thomas was strong, and he knew how to fight. But he wasn’t under any illusions. If the burly foreman wanted to kill him, he could do it.

At the tower, Pepe was replaced without any explanation. They were doing the finishing touches now. Not all the men were needed anymore. No doubt the news of the accident would be out soon, but obviously it had not been released to the newspapers yet. The day passed quietly.

It did not pass so quietly for Édith. She had slept through the night in her aunt’s quarters, because Aunt Adeline had given her a sleeping draft. She awoke and took a little tea and a croissant.

But even while she was eating this petit déjeuner, the terrible feeling that had been gnawing at her the day before came back, with just the same awful, insistent coldness, so that she cried out to Aunt Adeline in agony: “It was me that killed him! It was my fault.”

Her aunt sighed.

“You’re quite wrong.”

“I told him to take a bow. If he hadn’t done that …”

“He would have done it anyway.”

“Maybe not.”

“He had the choice. People have to take responsibility for their actions. It was he who decided to go up the tower, anyway, in the first place.”

There was truth in this. But not enough, Édith felt, to absolve her. She sat with her head bowed over her cup of tea, shaking her head slowly.

And then something happened.

At first, when she felt the little gush, she didn’t understand. She went into the bedroom where she slept and used the bed pan. A few minutes later, she called her aunt.