“I’m thirty-nine. Tell me,” he continued, “since I had to think about it myself, I’m curious to know what made you decide to volunteer?”

Le Sourd shrugged.

“I’m a socialist. If the German kaiser wins the war, that won’t be good for us.”

This was certainly logical. The conservative German emperor had far more authoritarian instincts than the left-leaning French government. Most of the French trade unions and socialist organizations had come to the same conclusion and backed the government at once. As an expression of national solidarity, several socialists had immediately been given important government positions.

“You’re like me, then. I’m a patriot, but a socialist too,” said Luc. It wasn’t true, but years behind the bar had taught him two things: if he agreed with a man, that man would believe him, because he wanted to; he’d also be far more talkative. And he could have defended his socialism with ease. Men had confided every political position to him, so many times that he could reproduce those views exactly as he’d heard them. “I was a Jean Jaurès man myself.”

Jean Jaurès, the workingmen’s leader. A figure of towering decency, beloved by every socialist and even many conservatives too. Murdered by a right-wing fanatic that summer, and generally mourned. A safe choice that carried immediate conviction.

Jacques Le Sourd nodded, and continued.

“I’ve seen so many of my young comrades—good union men, socialists, even anarchists—going to the front, that … I felt embarrassed to remain behind, to tell you the truth.”

Luc glanced at him. He’d heard so many stories down the years that he could usually tell if a man was lying. If he was any judge, Le Sourd was telling the truth.

“Any family?” he asked.

“A wife. I married late. But I have a little boy.”

“Did that hold you back?”

“Yes. I lost my own father. He was a Communard. It’s not good, to lose a father. But then I thought, what if my son has to live under the kaiser because I refused to fight?”

“That’s it. I’ve nephews and nieces. I feel the same way.”

Was it possible this married man was still pursuing his strange vendetta against de Cygne? It seemed improbable. Nor could Luc see how the war would make it any easier to accomplish. Even if, by some fluke, Le Sourd appeared in the same company or regiment as the aristocrat, de Cygne would soon come to know of it. He discarded the idea.

“Shall we enlist, comrade?” said Le Sourd.

“Why not?”

When they got to the desk, a young officer was taking down their details. He looked like a child. Le Sourd gave his age as forty, and though the officer gave him a quick look, he either didn’t care, or he was so young that anyone over thirty-five seemed equally old to him.