Memory of Flames

CHAPTER 27

ON 27 March, Paris was in turmoil. Until then Napoleon and his army had formed a barrier between the Parisians and the bad news, shielding them from the worst of it. But now that the Emperor had moved away to threaten the rear of the Allied armies, the citizens were exposed to the flow of bad tidings that accompanied the haggard streams of refugees, wounded, deserters, and soldiers that were converging on Paris from all over the country.

Margont had difficulty making his way through the crowds, skirting round chaotic groups only to find himself enmeshed in further rabble. Wagons were piling up, heaps of furniture and trunks stuffed to overflowing were falling over, adding to the uproar, and the guards of honour were getting impatient with the crowds. Those who wanted to leave were no more able to move than those who were arriving; the columns of soldiers were collecting new conscripts, known as Marie-Louises, in their wake (in 1813 the Empress Marie-Louise had signed the decrees, in the absence of her husband). All this humanity formed a sort of glue that stuck to the passers-by, forcing them to elbow their way through.

Somewhere near his printing works, Margont went into a packed cabaret. He had asked Lefine to meet him there and found him seated in a corner, drinking beer. He was savouring the drink as if it might be his last.

‘It’s the end of the world, our world anyway,’ he declared, putting his glass down on the table.

‘Don’t be so defeatist!’

‘No, of course not. You’re going to set me right.’

Margont drew closer and spoke into his ear. ‘Now people are beginning to realise what’s happening, their reactions are going to be unpredictable. Who knows how a panicked crowd will react if a group of determined royalists promises them the sun, the moon and the stars? Paris is becoming a powder keg and our friends are about to throw torches into its midst.’

He indicated that he and Lefine should leave. He needed air, although he was not sure he would be able to breathe any more easily outside.

‘I’ve had an idea. Follow me, you’ll understand in a minute where we’re going. But first, we’ll get our bearings.’

Margont was not normally mysterious like this, at least not with his close friends. But Lefine was not put out. He went with Margont in all confidence, without wasting time wondering where he was being taken.

Lefine gave Margont back the button found in Notre-Dame. Unfortunately the friend who worked in the commissariat had not been able to identify it and had reached the conclusion that it was not a French army button. Despite his best efforts, Lefine had been unable to find out anything new about their suspects either. Catherine de Saltonges had not left her house, and she had not received any visitors.

Margont told Lefine about his second meeting with Joseph and Talleyrand, and how he had been given a new objective, about his examination of Count Kevlokine’s body and what Jean-Quenin had discovered. He had also obtained copies of two reports from

Mathurin Jelent, which he had read and then immediately destroyed. Lefine reproached him for not observing the security precautions they had agreed on, but again Margont objected that time was pressing.

The first report had been written by Inspector Sausson for his superiors. He was making no progress with his investigation, which he found incomprehensible. Not being a man to mince his words, he had written: ‘I am almost coming to suspect that someone (why and under whose orders I cannot yet say) is hiding clues from the official and only legitimate investigators, in order to conduct a parallel investigation.’ No doubt those words had sent Joseph into a rage.

The second had been produced by the section of Joseph’s secret police that had arrested the people visiting the Gunans. It was an incomplete, censored copy. And it didn’t say who the author of the report was. All names had been omitted; some paragraphs simply fizzled out, since their endings had been scored through. Certain sentences were limping because parts of them had been amputated. This half-report revealed that so far twenty visitors had been interrogated, but that it had not been possible to tell which were genuine royalist agitators.

‘But why murder the Tsar’s envoy?’ said Lefine.

They were walking past the Botanical Gardens. Napoleon had had it transformed into a zoological park.

‘I don’t know, Fernand. I’m not even sure that Colonel Berle and Count Kevlokine were murdered by the same person. Joseph and Talleyrand were counting on the latter to help them negotiate a separate peace with the Russians. Perhaps our assassin had found that out, or guessed, and that was the motive for the murder. The extremists kill the moderates, the moderates end up killing the extremists, even though that’s what they themselves have become. Isn’t that one of the bloody lessons the Revolution taught us?’

‘But why leave the emblem of the Swords of the King?’

Margont had developed a sort of tic, a grimace. Leading investigations made him adopt the expressions of a hunting dog scenting the odour of its prey.

That’s a very good question! Either, there’s one murderer who’s sending a signal to others in the group that he’s prepared to execute them if they don’t start to take action! That would be proof that he didn’t care about being rewarded for his acts since, if the monarchy is restored, Louis XVIII will immediately imprison the man who killed the Tsar’s friend, even if that same man has done him a great service by preventing a compromise from being reached between Napoleon and Alexander I. Or else, we are looking at two murderers, and the second one is trying to pass his crime off as being committed by the first, by using the symbol and by mutilating the body with burns.’

‘In the first case, it only makes sense if the Swords of the King find out that their symbol was pinned to Count Kevlokine’s body.’

‘You’re right. But the Swords of the King know all sorts of things they don’t tell me! I was completely unaware that some of them were in contact with Kevlokine; it’s possible that the police keep them informed. Honoré de Nolant must have kept in contact with his old colleagues who’re still serving the Empire. We can’t

assume they don’t know about the symbol - they’re very well connected. If they don’t know already, they’ll find out sooner or later.’ ‘Are we sure it’s the same symbol?’

‘Yes. Mathurin Jelent told me that Joseph’s agents compared the two emblems - Monsieur Palenier removed the second one from the body, right under the nose of Sausson ... They’re identical. But we still know nothing about the symbols.’

Margont slowed down. They were almost there. ‘Or there’s a third possibility. Maybe the assassin isn’t genuinely royalist. Perhaps he’s killing for personal motives and leaving the emblem to make them look like politically motivated crimes.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘The burns. We need to probe the significance of fire for the murderer.’

‘How do you propose we do that?’

‘By coming here.’

Margont pointed out a majestic gateway with two pillars bearing a massive pediment surmounted by a rounded arch. The Salpetriere hospice welcomed - or more often imprisoned - the capital’s old women who could no longer fend for themselves, invalids, the handicapped, indigents, beggars, orphaned or abandoned girls, prisoners of conscience and lunatics.