Since then, Étienne and Sophie had lived almost like hermits. They stayed mostly indoors. They had liked to go discreetly to Father Pierre’s little chapel of Saint-Gilles, but they stopped doing even that. Apart from the housekeeper and a few old retainers in the house, who’d known them all their lives, they saw no one. To all intents and purposes, for the last four months, Étienne and Sophie de Cygne had disappeared.

They came to a crossroads. They had been meaning to go straight on, but a small crowd had gathered outside a house ahead of them. It looked as if someone was being denounced. They turned off down another street. It was only when they had gone a dozen yards that they realized this route would take them past old Father Pierre’s little chapel to Saint-Gilles.

All the same, they hadn’t expected to find the old priest at the chapel door. Seeing them, he insisted that they step inside. With a quick glance up and down the street, they followed him in. It would have been discourteous and unkind not to do so.

The widow Le Sourd watched. She had only just come to the end of the little street. When the young couple glanced furtively back, she did not think they had noticed her.

A priest. It might mean nothing. Or it might be a conspiracy. She turned to Claudie.

“Go into that chapel down there. Pretend to pray. See if you can hear what the priest and those people are saying. Can you do that?”

Claudie nodded. Claudie was good at doing things like that.

Father Pierre was so glad to see the two de Cygnes. He had wondered what had happened to them. Of all the loyal Catholics who came to his little chapel, these two were his favorites.

He had gone to their house a couple of months ago, and the housekeeper had told him that they were away in the country.

“I am so delighted to see you,” he cried. “But what terrible events are happening all around us. Have you heard about the Carmelites today?”

They hadn’t. And he was just about to inform them when a skinny young girl with a limp came in. Moving to a bench only feet away, she sat down, and seemed about to pray.

Father Pierre looked at her. No doubt she was harmless, but in the awful world in which they were living now, one had to be careful. He moved to her side.

“Are you all right, my child?”

“Yes, Father. I was passing, and I came in here to pray.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “It is a house of God. Do you pray often?”

“Each day. I pray that my leg may get better.”

“And what caused you to come into this chapel?”

“I cannot say.”