On the first day of April 1889, at the start of the afternoon, Monsieur Eiffel gave a party at the tower for the workers, almost two hundred of them, in the presence of a large company of the great men of the city. The prime minister was there, the entire municipal council, numerous dignitaries, all formally dressed in top hats, together with their wives and children. Among these, Thomas noted with amazement, were Monsieur Ney and his daughter, Hortense, elegant in a blue silk dress in the latest fashion. Somehow, deploying his two hounds, Loyalty and Gratitude, the huntsman from his small attorney’s office had managed to bring down this impressive quarry. Hortense, as usual, looked pale and strangely sensual as her father quietly insinuated himself in one group after another. Surely, Thomas thought, amid such a distinguished gathering, the small-time attorney should be able to find a worthy suitor for his daughter’s hand.

It was a windy day. The sun showed through the clouds as they chased across the sky.

Recently Thomas had gone to a tailor in Montmartre who made men’s clothes for a price that the artists and artisans could afford. From the tailor he had acquired a suit with a short coat in which he looked very smart, and he was wearing it today.

At one thirty precisely, Eiffel and a party of more than a hundred dignitaries prepared to ascend the tower. It was a pity that the elevators were still not working, but that did not deter them from ascending the stairs to the first platform. One of the deputies, afraid of heights, insisted that he would go up all the same, which he did with a silk scarf wrapped around his eyes.

Eiffel took his time. Every little while he would pause to explain this or that detail of the construction, and let the visitors catch their breath. On the first platform, the bar, brasserie and two restaurants, one French and one Russian, were still being fitted out for the public opening the following month.

The more determined members then accompanied Eiffel on the long climb up to the second platform. And a still smaller group ascended to the very top, where Eiffel ran the national Tricolor flag up the flagpole where it flapped in the wind, a thousand feet high in the sky. And at this patriotic signal, a burst of fireworks sent out the equivalent of a twenty-one-gun salute from the second platform.

It took a long time for them to come down. The wind was growing stronger, and Thomas wondered if it was going to rain. But they all sat down to their feast of ham, German sausage and cheese.

And if there was a hint of Eiffel’s Germanic origins in this choice of food, it was quickly dispelled both by the champagne which was served, and the patriotic speeches which followed.