“I’m seeing Micheau right after this,” said Barrow about Alain Micheau, the Giroux specialist who’d driven up from Nice. Earlier, Barrow indicated that two scholars needed to agree that it was a Giroux before raising the discovery to the larger art community. “Last night, Alain was at the institute until I had to force him to leave. The paints used on Sylvie on the Steed match an order Giroux placed with Lefebvre-Foinet on Rue Vavin in Montparnasse right before his death. They would have custom-blended the pinks and aquas for him. Giroux got his canvases there as well. He’d ordered three smaller ones for The Ladies of the Secret Circus a month before his death. The size on the first painting is a match. The journals also provide a wonderful first-person account of the creation of these works.” Barrow looked at the notes and the second book in disbelief. He reached out and touched Lara’s hand. “I want to thank you for this gift.”

She smiled. “It’s quite a story, isn’t it?”

“The paintings need to be together,” said Barrow. “I can’t believe Fragonard has held on to it all these years. They were an urban legend in Paris. Fragonard would have known that, especially being in the circus community. It was selfish… irresponsible.”

“So how did the first painting measure up?” asked Gaston, changing the subject. “I’m sure it was different in your mind.”

Barrow did not shift his gaze, and it seemed as though he didn’t hear the question at first. “Sylvie on the Steed was smaller than I’d thought it would be, a bit like the Mona Lisa—it lives large in your mind but is rather small on the wall. It was also moodier than his earlier work, the colors more vivid, and he used a technique that made them look like they’re dripping, yet it was not an impressionistic work. So I guess I would say I was underwhelmed by the painting’s size but overwhelmed by how it spoke to me. After seeing one of the series, I believe they are the crown jewels of Giroux’s works.”

“Why Giroux?” asked Lara.