It was a few years after the French Revolution when Joséphine de Beauharnais had bought the little estate after marrying the rising young general Napoléon. By the time he returned from his campaign in Italy, the young conqueror found that Joséphine had already spent far more than he could afford on improvements to the place. But in the end Joséphine’s extravagance had produced a delightful retreat, where she’d lived herself until her death. Since the days of Napoléon, the house had had several owners until it had been occupied and stripped by the military in the war of 1870, from which it had not recovered.

But now Osiris was taking the place in hand.

“It will still be years before we have entirely restored the place,” the secretary explained, “but Monsieur Iffla has a fine collection of Napoleonic objects which will find a natural home here. He is a great admirer of the emperor.”

“What does he admire in particular?” Marc inquired.

“Many things. But especially that Napoléon gave the Jews religious freedom.”

As they walked through the house, their guide pointed out the music room; the fine dining room in the Pompeian style; the council chamber, which had been decorated to look like the inside of a lavish military tent; and the library, which might have belonged to a Roman emperor. These were full of Napoleonic character. But Marie and her mother preferred the rich but charming room of Joséphine with its canopied bed.

“One must always remember,” their guide remarked to her, “that Joséphine became elegant, but she was also a little exotic. She was brought up amid plantation life in the Caribbean. That was perhaps what fascinated Napoléon: that she was different.”

“I have never traveled anywhere,” Marie remarked.

“You have plenty of time, mademoiselle,” he said kindly. “Plenty of time.”

One of the last rooms they visited was the Salon Doré—a salon that had once been beautifully gilded, but was now in a state of terrible disrepair.

“This was horribly damaged in the war,” the secretary remarked. The curtains had been torn to shreds, he explained, the furniture had had to be thrown out, even the gilt paneling had been smashed.

At one side of the room, on a table, were various items that had been salvaged. These included a rather nondescript chess set, which caught her father’s eye. He smiled.

“I have read that the emperor Napoléon was an indifferent chess player,” he remarked. “Too impatient. Perhaps Joséphine was better.”

“Papa took up chess recently,” Marie told them all. “But he doesn’t practice.”

“I’m so bad that no one wants to play with me,” her father said. “And Marie refuses to learn.”

She noticed Fox looking thoughtful.

“Do you play, Monsieur Fox?” she asked.

“Funnily enough, I’m in the same situation as your father,” he replied. “Perhaps we should play occasionally?” he suggested to Jules.