Three people waited in front of Offenbach’s memorial, where a sculpted bust of his likeness stared sightlessly out over his final resting place. A round-faced man in an ill-fitting suit accompanied a dark-haired woman holding a folded umbrella in anticipation of the threatening rain. Beside them, dressed in a drab grey coat and her pale hair covered by a scarf, was Sophie Beaufort. The little knot of people stood at ease in front of the memorial, looking to all appearances as though they were simply sightseeing. Vivienne was nowhere in sight.

Sophie turned as Estelle approached and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Good afternoon,” she said easily. “And good afternoon, Mademoiselle Varennes,” she said to Aviva.

Aviva shrank away from her and pressed herself against Estelle.

Estelle extracted her hand and crouched down in front of Aviva. “These are my friends,” she said. “They are going to take you somewhere safe. I need you to go with them.”

Aviva stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Do you remember everything I said?” Estelle asked. “What I need you to do for me? And your mama and aunt?”

Aviva nodded.

“Good.”

“My name is Edith.” The dark-haired woman was smiling kindly down at Aviva, but there was worry and wariness in her eyes. “But we have to go quickly.” She held out her hand to the child.

Aviva looked up at Estelle.

Estelle nodded and forced her face into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. Go with her. Listen very carefully to what she says.”

“Does she not speak?” The man had moved beside Estelle.

“Not for a year,” she managed, watching the woman lead Aviva away.

“Probably for the best,” he grunted and then set out after the pair.

In less than ten seconds, all three were gone.

“Walk.” The ice princess’s command was cold. She threaded her arm through Estelle’s and forced her around. She started walking, half dragging, half propelling Estelle with her. She paused long enough to retrieve a small suitcase that had been left near the memorial, half hidden behind a clump of overgrown grasses.

“Who was that man? The one who took her?”

“His name is Georges,” Sophie replied. “And that’s all I can tell you because that’s all I know.”

“But where are they—”

“Somewhere safe.”

“But—”

“Don’t think about it anymore,” Sophie said, dragging Estelle forward again. “You did the right thing.”

“I can’t not think about it.” Estelle could barely get the words out. Tears were blurring her vision, and she thought she might be sick. “What if I just did the wrong thing?”

“You saved her life.” Sophie was now propelling them back toward the rue Rachel entrance. “And one day, when she is a very successful doctor and dancer, she will thank you.”