For several minutes he and Bartholdi inspected the huge hand, tapping the thin bands of iron, measuring here and there, and eventually nodded with approval to the foreman and cheerfully announced: “Excellent, messieurs.” They were about to leave when the engineer turned to Thomas and remarked: “You are new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, monsieur,” said Thomas.

“And what is your name?”

“Thomas Gascon, monsieur.”

“Gascon, eh? Your ancestors came from Gascony, no doubt?”

“I do not know, sir. I suppose so.”

“Gascony.” The engineer considered, then smiled. “The old Roman province of Aquitania. The warm south. The land of wine. Of brandy too: let us not forget Armagnac.”

“Or The Three Musketeers,” Bartholdi chimed in. “D’Artagnan was a Gascon.”

“Voilà. And what can we say of the character of your countrymen, Monsieur Gascon?” the engineer continued playfully. “Aren’t they known for chivalry, and honor?”

“They’re supposed to boast a lot,” said the foreman, not to be left out.

“Are you boastful, Monsieur Gascon?” asked the engineer.

“I have nothing to boast about,” answered Thomas simply.

“Ah,” said the engineer. “Then perhaps I can help you. Why do you think we are constructing the statue in this particular way?”

“I suppose,” said Thomas, “so that it can be disassembled and taken across the Atlantic.” He knew that after the statue was completed here in the rue de Chazelles, its copper skin attached with temporary rivets, the whole thing could be taken down and reassembled again in New York.

“That is true,” said the engineer. “But there is another reason. The statue is going to stand beside the open waters of New York Harbor, exposed to the winds, which will catch it like a sail. If it is completely static, it will be under enormous stress. Temperature changes will also cause the metal to expand and contract. The copper skin could crack. So firstly, I have constructed the inside like a metal bridge, so that it can move, just enough to relieve the stress. And secondly, I have arranged that the plates of beaten copper that form the skin shall be riveted, each one separately, onto these metal strips—these ‘saddles’ as you ironworkers call them. The copper plates are attached to the framework, but not to each other. So each plate can slide, just a fraction, against its neighbor. In this way the skin will never crack. You will not see it with the eye, but all the time, the Statue of Liberty will move. This is good engineering. Do you understand?”

Thomas nodded.

“Good,” the engineer went on. “And now I can tell you why you may boast. Because of its engineering, and your careful work in putting it together, this statue of ours will last for centuries. Countless millions of people will see it. Quite certainly, my young friend, this will be the most famous construction that you, or I, will ever build. That is something we may boast about, don’t you think?”