“Bad news,” said Gaston. “Our flight has been delayed. They rebooked us for tomorrow morning.”

“So now we have more time to hear the story,” said Barrow.

Over croissants and pains au chocolat, she recounted the story for them.

“We need to find Esmé’s painting,” said Lara, pushing her porcelain cup away.

“I’ve been looking for that painting for twenty years now,” said Barrow, ruffled.

“And Lara has discovered two of them in a matter of weeks.” Gaston sipped his espresso. “My bet is on her to find the remaining one.”

Barrow conceded.

“I figure that Émile told Cecile that he threw Esmé’s painting away out of shame, but I doubt that he actually destroyed it,” said Lara. She could feel the ache of Cecile inside her, the burden of carrying another being. There were pangs of melancholy at hearing Giroux’s name batted around among the group. Lara realized these emotions were Cecile’s, yet they were now hers as well.

“I agree,” said Barrow. “No artist destroys his work, especially if it is a great one. He had to know the three paintings were something special.”

“Fragonard said his father found Cecile Cabot Takes Flight in the trash,” said Gaston.

“Art was traded around in that neighborhood quite a bit, back then,” said Barrow. “Giroux’s apartment would be a good first place to look, but frankly, it’s a long shot.”

“This entire thing has been a long shot,” said Ben. “Lara and I will try his old apartment building.”

“I’ll check the records for other art that was bought and sold around that time in Montparnasse,” said Barrow, placing his sunglasses on his head as he rose from the table. It was another hot, humid day in Paris, yet Barrow’s white jeans and black T-shirt looked refreshingly cool. “It might have been added to a sale if they thought there was little value to it at the time.”

Lara thought her mother looked tired. “You should go back and rest. We’ve all been here longer and we’re over the jet lag.”

“I just need you to be careful,” said Audrey, touching Lara’s arm.

“Let’s actually try to do a little sightseeing.” Gaston took Audrey’s hand. “Let me show you my hometown.”

“I’ll take care of her, Audrey,” said Ben.

“You can join me,” said Lara, placing her messenger bag across her body. “I can take care of myself.”

Ben and Lara took a cab back to Émile Giroux’s old apartment in Montparnasse, just blocks away from where they’d dined last night. Lara didn’t need to consult a map for the street. Cecile knew the way to Rue Delambre. As they opened the foyer door, she could feel Cecile’s ache inside her, especially as she gazed up at the stairs to the second floor and his door. To be back in his house.