“People call me La Grande Sauterelle. They say it’s because my legs are way too long, like a grasshopper’s.”

She pulled her dress up to her thighs to show him. Her legs really were very long and very thin. Then she turned to the postcard again.

“The last word looks as if it might be cross,” she said.

She handed him the card.

“You may be right,” he said, “but couldn’t it be loss?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it has five letters.”

He started to laugh and she looked at him, uncomprehending.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think we look like a couple of zouaves trying to decipher some old buried treasure map!”

“We are, in a way,” she said, her manner still serious. “If your brother has taken the trouble to have an old text printed on a postcard, there must have been a reason. He was sending a message, don’t you think?”

She spoke calmly, and it was very pleasant to hear her thinking out loud.

“Unless it’s a joke,” she added.

“It’s hard to know,” he said. “Théo didn’t do things like other people.”

He switched on the motor again.

“If I were you,” said the girl, “I’d go to the museum and show this card to the curator.”

He turned around to look at her. She still had the same grave, thoughtful expression, but her head was bent to one side because the kitten had climbed up on her shoulder and settled against her neck.

“HERE WE ARE,” said La Grande Sauterelle. “Turn left.”

Jack turned off the road and parked the old Volks beside the museum. It was a frame structure with several sections arranged in a star. Beyond it, on a sort of platform, stood a group of black metal sculptures that resembled menhirs and bore inscriptions; there was also a tall granite cross that stood at least nine metres high.

They got out of the Volks. The girl left her cat inside, but she opened a window so he could go outside if he wanted.

“Won’t he get lost?” the man worried.

“No,” she said. “He likes to walk around, but he never goes far.”

In the museum lobby an old woman was washing the floor with a mop and a bucket of water. The young girl approached her and spoke to her in a low voice. Jack walked around the soapy puddles and headed for the information counter, behind which was seated a young man who seemed absorbed in a book.

“Sorry to bother you.”

“Huh?” said the young man, looking up.

“I’d like some information, please.”

“What kind of information?”

“About this,” said Jack, showing him the postcard.

The young man peered at the text for a moment, glanced at the other side of the card, then looked again at the text.

“I don’t understand a word,” he declared.

“I know, but . . .”

“If you already knew, why did you show me the card?” the young man interrupted impatiently.