Le Sourd gazed at him. His eyes, set so wide apart, were certainly intelligent. They conveyed no emotion.

“I am glad that we have had this meeting,” Le Sourd said calmly. “For centuries your class and all you represent have been an evil force. But I see that we are making progress. For you are almost an irrelevance, and soon I think you will be an absurdity.”

“You are too kind.”

“When the opportunity comes to kill you, I shall take it.” He stood up. “Until then, Monsieur de Cygne.” He bowed and left.

Before returning home, however, Roland had another idea. There was one other person he needed to see.

“Take me across the river,” he ordered the taxi driver. “You can put me down at the church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

The church wasn’t far from the family mansion in that aristocratic quarter, but his object, first, was an old presbytery near the church that housed half a dozen elderly priests. In particular, it was now the home of Father Xavier Parle-Doux.

Father Xavier was there, and delighted to see him.

“Your last letter said that you would be back in Paris. But with all the things you must have to do, I did not expect to see you so soon.”

They had always written to each other every month or two, and so it did not take them long to exchange their recent news. Roland told Father Xavier how delighted he was with Paris, which he found more elegant than when he had left it. “But I thought you would be interested to hear that I have just met a man who is trying to kill me,” he announced.

“Evidently he has not succeeded yet. Tell me all,” said the priest.

When he had finished the story, Roland had one question.

“Did my father ever express to you any regret about this business? I am wondering if it had any connection with his decision to resign his commission.”

Father Xavier paused.

“Had your father ever said anything about this in the secrecy of the confessional, I should not tell you. But it is not a secret that he considered the war of Napoléon III against the Germans to have been a foolish adventure, and that the necessity of Frenchmen killing each other at the time of the Commune was distressing to him.” He looked at Roland curiously. “Do you wish to inform the police about this Jacques Le Sourd?”

“No. His attempt upon me ten years ago would be hard to prove. And …”—he shrugged—“it’s not my style.”

“Personally, I do not think you are in immediate danger from this Jacques Le Sourd,” said the priest. “Though morally I consider him a madman, I do not think he is a fool. If his socialist revolution comes about, however …”

“They will probably kill me anyway.”