And here events played nicely into his hands. Early in January, there was a heavy fall of snow. It made the château look magical. But unfortunately, in the ensuing frost, some pipes froze, and by the second week in January when a thaw began, it was discovered that the cellars were flooding quite seriously.

Roland’s leave was ending in any case, and he had to return to Paris. So the day before he was due to depart, the vicomte called him into his estate office.

“My dear son, I have two small favors to ask of you. The first is that I have just found this letter in my desk, which I received six weeks ago and entirely forgot. It’s from a man in Canada who thinks he is related to us. I don’t believe he is. As far as I know, no member of the family has ever gone to Canada. But I don’t think that he is trying to insinuate himself. He writes very charmingly. Anyway, as I have so much to do here, and I’m embarrassed to have taken so long to reply, would you do me the kindness to reply to him. Write something nice. One never knows when one might need a friend in Canada.”

Somewhat unwillingly, Roland agreed to do so.

“And what is the second thing?” he asked.

“Ah. I had planned to go to Paris with you, but with all this water trouble, I think I should stay at the château. Would you go in my place to a luncheon I had promised to go to? In fact, to tell you the truth, I practically invited myself.”

“When, Father?”

“On the third Sunday of this month. That’s the sixteenth, I think.”

“I suppose so. Who’s giving the lunch?”

“A friend of mine named Jules Blanchard. He owns the Joséphine department store, you know. I met him through the business over the Charlemagne statue.”

“But Father, I don’t know any people like that. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“My dear son, you don’t have to say anything. Just go there as my representative. I don’t want to offend him by not turning up. In any case, you’ll find him excellent company. He knows how to behave. Quite a man about town, in fact. And it certainly won’t do you any harm to meet some people like that. They’re important, you know.”

“I shall be a fish out of water.”

“Just turn up as a kindness to me.”

“As you wish.”

The following morning Roland left for Paris. It never crossed the mind of either father or son that they would never meet again.

Jules Blanchard lived in an apartment. Ten years ago, he and his wife had considered buying a handsome house near the Parc Monceau. But in the end they’d both decided against it. “The house at Fontainebleau is enough work to keep up,” Jules had remarked. And the apartment they had, which was already large, was so close to his beloved department store, and so convenient for the Opéra and the other amusements they both liked, that they decided to stay where they were. They had never regretted the decision.