I said, “Vaugeois. Her name was Delphine Vaugeois. But that was a long time ago. I just wanted to see the place.”

“Vaugeois.” Fanny widened her eyes. She looked thoughtful, but stayed quiet. I paid for the brown shirt and thanked her. She responded politely and said goodbye. I squeezed my way out of the shop. I had my hand on the door when Fanny’s voice stopped me. “You know …” she said. I turned. “There is still a Vaugeois or two in Alencourt, at least partly here. Simone and Gilles.”

“Is that right?”

Fanny nodded solemnly, like she was letting me in on a secret. “There’s a house. Brumaire.” She pointed through the door. “Over the bridge. You’ll find it. Say hello from Fanny.”

Brumaire. Why not? I thanked Fanny and went out the door. The little bell tinkled.

The wind blew. The air was warm. A little white Citroen sped by. The cloud cover was impenetrable, silver. Across the fields the river was silent. I crossed the road. Walked down to the water. Yellow gravel and clay crunched underfoot. I sat on a bench. Nothing was going on there. The water was faster than it looked from the road. I noticed a heron standing on one leg. Gray. Perfectly hidden against the river bank. Judging by the heron’s position the water was shallow. A willow leaned thirstily. I felt myself winding down.

The incident with the muggers had been distracting. The guy had spotted me when I was still on the train. Maybe I looked like a tourist.

As far as I knew, my mother had left her homeland as an eighteen-year-old and never looked back. Like a lot of Americans. Maybe she had played here on the river bank, or sat on this bench as a teenager, looking out at the water, thinking about life. The country air was good to breathe after the train ride. It smelled clean.

I decided to check out the house, Brumaire. I would still have time to catch an overnight train out of Alencourt before dark. I like trains. I stretched out again. Cracking joints.

From downriver a barely perceptible whining sound had become the annoying buzz of a modified motorcycle engine. A couple of teenagers were cruising up along the little river tow path. Destroying the peace. Stirring the fish. The guy in front revved his engine. It was a derestricted 125 cc trail bike. They modify them to go faster than the law permits. These kids were being annoying on purpose. That was fine, I can be extraordinarily patient.