The Louxor wasn’t just any cinema. It had only just opened then, in 1921, but it had instantly become one of the exotic landmarks of Paris.

Sitting splendidly on its corner site on the boulevard de Magenta, a short walk east of the Moulin Rouge, the Louxor was a mock Egyptian palace worthy of the pharaohs or of Cleopatra herself. With its Egyptian pillars, its golden ornaments and richly painted walls, it reminded Luc of those fantasy Oriental rooms in some of the most expensive brothels—if, that is, the brothel were on the scale of the palace of Versailles.

The cinema was often sold out, so Luc had not been surprised, arriving early one evening, to find twenty or thirty young people being sorrowfully turned away at the doors.

Why had she caught his eye? Because of her looks, of course. And she was alone. That was intriguing. But there was something else about her that aroused his curiosity. Something different. He decided that he needed to find out.

There are many kinds of womanizer. With some it is vanity or a sense of power, with others greed. With Luc it was that purest of all motives: endless curiosity.

“I am sorry you could not see the film, mademoiselle.”

“Yes. It’s annoying.” She was polite, but cautious. He had a sense that if he made one wrong move, she would freeze him out. But he also noticed her accent. Very pure. The best French, not even the slightly pointed enunciation of the Paris sophisticates. She might be from a very high-class French family, or she might be a foreigner who had learned the language in that environment.

“I haven’t got a seat either, but I am still going to see the film.” He smiled. “My nephew is the projectionist. I’m going to watch it with him, up in his little box.”

“Really?” She looked amused. “Then you are fortunate indeed, monsieur.”

He smiled, bowed, and started to walk away. Then he hesitated and turned. She was still watching him.

“Mademoiselle, I think there is room for one more person up there. If it would amuse you.” He shrugged. “You will be quite safe, I promise. And should my nephew, who is a good boy, be distracted from his duties by your beauty, one scream and the entire audience will turn around, while the management comes running.”

She laughed, gave him a quick, careful look, and evidently decided that he was respectable.

“Very well, monsieur, I accept the adventure. But if the film frightens me, I shall also scream.”

“Then thank God it is Buster Keaton,” he replied.

The girl’s mind was quickly set at rest when the man at the door greeted him politely, “Bonjour, Monsieur Gascon.”

“My nephew’s up in the projection room? I’m going to take this young lady up there, if that’s all right.”

“Whatever you wish, Monsieur Gascon.”