“Are you okay?” Lara was shocked to hear herself, forgetting she wasn’t alone.

“Huh?” Ben looked perplexed. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” said Lara, composing herself. Cecile did not respond and Lara felt a tug of pity for her.

The building was not in great condition, and Lara thought that the rickety staircase had not been fixed since Giroux lived here. While the old wood was still beautiful, it was battered from neglect. The black-and-white-checkered floor was new but cheap. Everything about this apartment building felt just as transactional as it did from the days Giroux lived here.

Ben knocked on the door of the first-floor apartment.

After some time, an older woman answered the door. Her hair was a red, almost purple color, but her white roots were visible and she wore a black Adidas tracksuit.

“Bonjour,” said Lara. She let Cecile speak for her, in perfect French: “Are you the owner?”

“Oui,” said the lady. She folded her arms defensively. Her red nails were lacquered.

“Do you know who owned this house before you?” Lara looked beyond the woman into her apartment. It was cluttered, and Lara could see the walls were littered with artwork from all different periods and styles. The pastels of the Impressionists seemed to get their own wall above a pink velvet sofa.

“My father,” said the woman, pulling the door shut a hair to block Lara’s curiosity. “And my grandmother before him. We’ve owned this house for more than eighty years. What’s this about?” The woman looked from Ben to Lara suspiciously.

“I’m looking for a very old painting of a circus. It would be an unusual painting of a lion tamer—a woman. The artist who painted it lived here at one time. We thought there might be a chance that the painting was left here.”

“Are you saying we stole it?” The woman’s voice rose as she leaned her arm on the doorjamb defiantly.

“No, nothing like that,” said Lara. “The painter died. We think it might have just passed down to either the landlady at the time or one of the neighbors.”

“Is it valuable?” The woman was all business.

“Oui,” said Lara. “Quite valuable. Would you have a basement or an attic?”

“Ask her if the Germans took anything during the war,” Ben mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking from foot to foot.

The woman understood the term and shook her head. “They never bothered with us. I have not seen anything.” She began to shut the door on them, but Lara was quick.

“It’s very valuable,” said Lara, handing her Barrow’s card. “He is with the Sorbonne and can help you. We’re merely trying to find it. They would pay you for it.”

The woman eyed them warily and shut the door. As they made their way back out the door and onto the street, Ben put his sunglasses on. “She’s lying.”