Frank, with a grimace that was meant to be a smile, produced Nathan’s passport and the Sparrowhawk’s papers. They all held their breath as Jean Lepage inspected them, and tried not to look too grateful when he handed them back.

“The children?”

Lotti handed him her passport. Jean raised his eyebrows.

“You are not his daughter,” he said in French. “And you are not English.”

Lotti, beaming from ear to ear in the mistaken belief that it made her look relaxed, replied that Frank was a dear family friend, and that she was French on her father’s side, though her maman had been English.

“Where are they now, your parents?”

“Dead,” said Lotti.

Jean Lepage flushed and turned to Ben. Frank produced Ben’s birth certificate. Jean Lepage’s eyebrows rose again. Frank produced Ben’s certificate of adoption.

“My son,” he said, his voice admirably steady.

“And his passport?”

“Doesn’t have one,” said Frank, avoiding the officer’s eye. “No time. Had to leave in a hurry.”

Jean Lepage’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Lotti flew to Frank’s rescue. “Monsieur Langton is bringing me to the funeral of my grandmother,” she said in French. “She died so very suddenly. Of influenza. Ah, grand-mère! How I loved her!”

She wiped an invisible tear from her eye. Frank, not understanding a word, looked alarmed. Jean Lepage asked, “Would it not have been easier for him to bring you on the boat train?”

“But Monsieur Langton has a boat!” Lotti cried, looking astonished. “This boat, which he lives on with Ben! Who is his son! Why would we take the boat train?”

“It is most irregular,” Jean Lepage grumbled, and Lotti was beginning to despair, and wondering whether she should not just throw herself on his mercy and tell him the whole truth, when from the workshop where they had put the dogs there came a yowl of pain. Ben opened the door, and Federico shot through the cabin into the safety of Lotti’s arms.

“What happened?” she cried.

“I think Elsie bit him,” said Ben, looking into the workshop. “She’s growling and she just bared her teeth at me.”

Jean Lepage rubbed his face and, wearily, asked to see the dogs’ papers.

“Ah,” said Lotti.

How well, she wondered, would this glum-faced official respond to the story of Federico’s rescue from Malachy Campbell?

“She’s started!” Ben shouted. “Elsie’s started!”

Lotti squealed. Frank gazed at the ceiling. Would this help or make things worse?

“What has started?” asked Jean Lepage.

“Puppies!” breathed Lotti.

Jean Lepage gave up. So the boy had no passport? He seemed happy enough. So the people on the Sparrowhawk were eccentric, possibly mad? This was not a reason for not coming into France. Frankly, thought Jean Lepage, feeling a sneeze coming on, the world had bigger problems.