"How do you think? Look, Herr Cramer, why don't you forget about my luggage and just tell them to stop the war. I think maybe that would be most useful in the long run. Certainly for my career. Anyway, I need to work again ... you have no idea what this house is costing me."

He took a sip of tea. "Cold."

She sighed. "I can ring Anna."

"No, please don't bother." Then leaning forward as if to take her hand: "You know, I think you are a very intelligent woman, Madame Zelle. I think that possibly under different circumstances we could have been great friends. As it is, I think we can at least be of use to one another, of benefit to one another."

She drew her hand back. "And what benefit would that be?"

"Did you know that Dutch merchants are no longer able to do business in France? Now, of course, this is agreeable to the British, but very disagreeable for me. The problem, you see, is that occasionally I require the services of traveling merchants in order to obtain a certain commodity, a certain commodity that my government is willing to pay a great deal of money to obtain."

She was toying with the crumbs again. "I'm not a merchant, Herr Cramer."

"No, you're not a merchant. You're a very great dancer, an artist. Still, I think you might be in a position to help me obtain this particular commodity."

"And exactly what is this commodity?"

"Information."

She swept the crumbs away and got up from the table. The canal was deserted, the carpenters had left for the day. He was behind her when he spoke. "The information we seek is not of an unduly sensitive nature. I mean to say, there's no danger of any kind."

"Of course, no danger." Turning to face him again: "You know, I'm really not certain whether to be angry or amused, Herr Cramer. Really, should I be angry or amused?"

"I had hoped that you might be interested."

"Oh, but I am interested. I'm outrageously interested in why anyone would possibly think I would agree to become a spy. And that is what this is all about, isn't it? You want me to become your spy?"

"Technically, no."

"Then what? Secret agent, perhaps?"

"I think correspondent is the better term."

"Correspondent then. Yes, foreign correspondent . . . which I'm afraid is equally absurd."

"There is also compensation. Say, ten thousand francs?"

She moved back to the table, posing with a hand on her hip. "Actually, Herr Cramer, ten thousand francs wouldn't cover my expenses. Besides, I have no intention of returning to Paris. This is my home now, or will be if they ever send my furniture."