“Both families are clients of the firm.” He looked thoughtful. “Priests often arrange these things. They have the information, and the judgment. And it’s well that they do. But I like to think that lawyers can sometimes make a contribution too.”

“If this works out,” said Jules, “I shall be in your debt, Monsieur Fox.”

“Then you will pay me a compliment,” said James, “by knowing that I do not consider that any debt has been incurred at all.”

It was nicely said, even if it wasn’t quite true. He just needed Marie’s father to be grateful to him.

Roland de Cygne arrived at his father’s house early that evening. Just before leaving the barracks, he’d heard news which pleased him.

Émile Zola, that tiresome writer who’d made such a nuisance of himself over the Dreyfus affair, was about to be arrested. The rumor was that he’d gotten wind of it and was already on his way to hide out in England.

“Just so long as he stays out of France,” one of his brother officers had remarked. And Roland agreed with him.

He’d written to his father soon after the visit to Versailles. Without being specific, he’d told him he’d like to ask his advice about a personal matter. The vicomte had written back at once. Knowing that Roland’s regimental duties made it difficult for him to take time off so soon after a period of leave, he’d informed his son that he intended to take the train up to Paris that day, and offered him dinner at the house. It was good of him to make the journey, Roland thought with affection. He was looking forward to their meeting.

The train his father took normally arrived late in the afternoon. The coachman had been sent to the station to meet him. They hadn’t gotten back when he arrived at the house, but he’d been quite content to sit with his old nanny in the meantime. An hour had passed quite pleasantly, but then the old lady had looked at the little clock on her mantelpiece and remarked that either the train was very late, or that the vicomte had missed it. Dusk had already fallen, but there was another train arriving two hours later. No doubt the coachman would wait at the station for that one.

This was quite annoying for Roland. It meant that the time he’d planned to discuss Marie with his father would be greatly curtailed. But there was nothing to be done about it. He poured himself a whisky.

Another half hour passed. Then there was the sound of the bell being pulled at the front door. Without even waiting for a servant, Roland went into the hall and went to the door himself, ready to welcome his father.

But it wasn’t his father. It was his friend the captain. He’d come from the barracks.