his part, Nicolas recognised his son before a notary – the boy immediately took his name – and used his influence to make sure that anything relating to La Satin’s former activities went missing from the police archives. All that remained was to inform Louis of these events which would have such consequences for his future: a delicate operation which might well distress the young man. Monsieur de Noblecourt offered to take care of it, but Nicolas wanted to begin his career as a father by being completely open and telling the whole truth. In any case, he had nothing with which to reproach himself, having been unaware of his son’s existence until quite recently. But the question remained as to what the young man would think of these decisions about which he had not been consulted.
Nicolas thought about how he himself had been at that age. Whenever he talked to Louis, it was indeed that distant image of himself that he strove to convince. Their first encounter reassured him. Under the trees in the garden of La Paulet’s house in Auteuil, he told the boy his life story, omitting nothing, and taking care not to offend the love the child bore his mother. Louis listened seriously and naturally, and immediately launched into a long series of questions. Their encounters continued through the summer, mostly at Dr Semacgus’s house in Vaugirard, and before long their relationship blossomed into affection. Having gained some idea of his son’s knowledge, Nicolas decided to have him admitted to the College of the Oratorians at Juilly: he regretted that his Jesuit masters had been expelled from the kingdom, but the education, both classical and modern, provided at the college corresponded to the ideas the Marquis de Ranreuil had drummed into Nicolas throughout his adolescence at Guérande, with modern literature and foreign languages being particularly prominent. Louis would come back and spend his holidays in Paris, sharing them equally between Rue Montmartre and Rue du Bac.
‘When will I see the King, Father?’
Nicolas gave a start, and again became conscious of his surroundings. The meal was starting. Marion and Catherine had just brought in a piping hot calf’s-kidney omelette.
‘I’ll take you to Versailles one Sunday,’ he replied. ‘We’ll attend Mass and you’ll be able to observe His Majesty at your leisure, and then at even closer quarters in the great gallery.’
Louis smiled. His expression brought a pang to Nicolas’s heart: for a moment, he had been reminded of his half-sister Isabelle.
‘How is Monsieur Lenoir?’ La Borde asked.
‘From what I see, the Lieutenant General is doing well.’
Those present noticed the bitterness of his reply.
‘If truth be told,’ La Borde resumed, ‘he’s a man extremely well disposed to everything concerning opera.’
‘I fear,’ Semacgus said ironically, ‘that our friend’s desire to be noticed has influenced his support for the successor of the late lamented Sartine.’
Nicolas shook his head.
‘It’s one of those phrases,’ Noblecourt said, ‘that suggests too much or too little. I find it a somewhat laconic remark to make about someone in such an important position. Sartine actually increased the powers of the office. What will this man do with them?’
‘Oh,’ said Bourdeau, ‘he’s become as important as a minister, even though he doesn’t have the title of minister. You know how much influence he has behind the scenes. He strikes down or he saves. He spreads darkness or light. His authority is as tactful as it is extensive. He elevates and humiliates as he pleases.’
Nicolas shook his head. ‘The last one liked wigs, this one richly bound books.’
‘Which suggests,’ said Louis timidly, ‘that neither one of them can entirely cover up his own emptiness!’
They all applauded. Nicolas smiled.
‘As our late King used to say,’ observed La Borde, ‘like father like son.’
‘He gets it from his grandfather,’ said Nicolas. ‘The marquis was never at a loss for a witty remark.’
‘Gentlemen,’ resumed La Borde, ‘allow me to abandon you to the aromas of this delicious omelette. I salute in passing the tenderness of these kidneys. In honour of young Louis, I lent a hand myself, as I used to at Trianon. Catherine and I are about to put the finishing touches to my surprise. Semacgus, prepare our host to resist temptation! Louis, come with me, I need a kitchen boy.’
The boy stood up, already tall for his age. How many things there were to teach him! thought Nicolas. Riding, hunting, fencing … He was a Ranreuil, after all. He resumed his reflections. Naturally, the new Lieutenant General of Police had received him quite promptly. Following Sartine’s counsel, he had asked for an audience as early as possible. He had found Lenoir standing behind the desk where, so often, his predecessor had played with his wigs. The man was tall, with a full figure and a distinct paunch. He had a strong nose above a mouth with a fleshy lower lip which, when it moved to express dismissal or disdain, drew the eye to his double chin. His own eyes were lively and penetrating, with a hint of arrogance, a marked scepticism, and an undisguised self-satisfaction. A powdered wig with ringlets added to the magnificence of cambric bands falling in a dazzling stream over an unadorned silk gown. The interview, cut short by the arrival of a visitor, could hardly have been classed as a genuine meeting of minds.
‘Commissioner,’ Lenoir had said, ‘my predecessor recommended you. I myself, Monsieur, had the opportunity to assess the skill and expertise with which you handled a delicate case. On the other hand, experience has taught me that personal methods, however useful and effective they may be, tend to get out of control and become a burden to those in authority. You cannot play with me the same role you played with Monsieur de Sartine. I intend to revise the rules and bring a new order to our methods, one more in keeping with my own conceptions.’
‘I am at the King’s service, Monseigneur.’
‘He appreciates you, Monsieur,’ retorted Lenoir, somewhat ill-temperedly. ‘We know he appreciates you. But the rules must be the same for everyone. Some older commissioners might be offended …’
They probably hadn’t held back, thought Nicolas.
‘… that one of their younger colleagues should get all the attention and be allowed such independence. Can we entrust you with a district? That would hardly be appropriate. You have treated your colleagues very badly—’
‘Monseigneur!’
‘I know what I’m saying, don’t interrupt me. Many complaints and grievances have reached my ear. The sensible thing, Monsieur, would be to take things easy, relax, go hunting, and wait for more auspicious times to return. A position as police commissioner at the Châtelet can be sold at a good price and with excellent interest. There is no shortage of candidates, as you can imagine. I have the honour to bid you good day, Commissioner.’
Nicolas made no effort to counter this fall from favour. His upright nature balked at doing so, and he was unable to feign submission. Absorbed as he was by his discovery of Louis, he was more worried about what would happen to his deputy, Bourdeau, who had been dragged into the same storm and who, with children still young enough to require support, now found himself reduced to his basic allowance without the profitable extras to which his position usually gave rise. Nicolas took steps to have substantial sums passed on to his friend, justifying them, in order not to offend the man, as payments of long-forgotten debts, expenses incurred during past missions. As far as his own condition was concerned, he approached it with an almost religious
