came to M. Charpentier, and he put his cards on the table. ‘I have a bastard,’ he said. ‘A son, four years old. I suppose I should have told you before.’
‘Why so?’ M. Charpentier gathered his wits. ‘Pleasant surprises should be saved up.’
‘I feel a hypocrite,’ d’Anton said. ‘I was just lecturing that little Camille.’
‘Do go on, Georges-Jacques. You have me riveted.’
They’d met on the coach, he said, on his first journey to Paris. She’d given him her address, he’d called on her a few days later. Things had gone on from there – well, M. Charpentier could imagine, perhaps. No, he was no longer involved with her, it was over. The boy was in the country with a nurse.
‘You offered her marriage, of course?’
D’Anton nodded.
‘And why wouldn’t she marry you?’
‘I expect she took a dislike to my face.’
In his mind’s eye he could see Françoise raging round her bedroom, aghast that she was subject to the same laws as other women: when I marry I want it to be worth my while, I don’t want some clerk, some nobody, and you with your passions and your self-conceit running after other women before the month’s out. Even when the baby was kicking inside her, it had seemed to him a remote contingency, might happen, might not. Babies were stillborn, they died in the first few days; he did not hope for this to happen, but he knew that it might.
But the baby grew, and was born. ‘Father unknown’, she put on the birth certificate. Now Françoise had found the man she wanted to marry – one Maître Huet de Paisy, a King’s Councillor. Maître Huet was thinking of selling his position – he had something else in mind, d’Anton did not inquire what. He was offering to sell it to d’Anton.
‘What’s the asking price?’
D’Anton told him. Having received his second big shock of the afternoon, Charpentier said, ‘That’s simply not possible.’
‘Yes, I know it’s vastly inflated, but it represents my settlement for the child. Maître Huet will acknowledge paternity, it will all be done in the correct legal form and the matter will be behind me.’
‘Her family should have made her marry you. What kind of people can they be?’ He paused. ‘In one sense the matter will be behind you, but what about your debts? I’m not sure how you can raise that amount in the first place.’ He pulled a piece of paper towards him. ‘This is what I can let you have – let’s call it a loan for now, but when the marriage contract is signed I waive the debt.’ D’Anton inclined his head. ‘I must have Gabrielle well set up, she’s my only daughter, I mean to do right by her. Now, your family can come up with – what? All right, but that’s little enough.’ He jotted down the figures. ‘How can we cover the shortfall?’
‘Borrow it. Well, that’s what Calonne would say.’
‘I see no other solution.’
‘I’m afraid there is another part to this deal. You won’t like it. The thing is, Françoise has offered to lend me the money herself. She’s well-off. We haven’t gone into the details, but I don’t suppose the interest rate will be in my favour.’
‘That’s iniquitous. Good God, what a bitch! Wouldn’t you like to strangle her?’
D’Anton smiled. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘I suppose you are quite sure the boy’s yours?’
‘She wouldn’t have lied to me. She wouldn’t dare.’
‘Men like to think that …’ He looked at d’Anton’s face. No, that was not the way out. So be it – the child was his. ‘It is a very serious sum of money,’ he said. ‘For one night’s work five years ago it seems disproportionate. It could dog you for years.’
‘She wants to wring what she can out of me. You can understand it, I suppose.’ After all, she had the pain, he thought, she had the disgrace. ‘I want to get it settled up within the next couple of months. I want to start off with Gabrielle with a clean slate.’
‘I wouldn’t call it a clean slate, exactly,’ Charpentier said gently. ‘That’s just what it isn’t. You’re mortgaging your whole future. Can’t you –’
‘No, I can’t fight her over it. I was fond of her, at one time. And I think of the boy. Well, ask yourself – if I took the other attitude, would I be the kind of person you’d want for a son-in-law?’
‘Yes, I see that, don’t mistake me, it’s just that I’m old and hard-boiled and I worry about you. When does this woman want the final payment?’
‘She said ’91, the first quarter day. Do you think I should tell Gabrielle about this?’
‘That’s for you to decide. Between now and your wedding, can you contrive to be careful?’
‘Look, I’ve got four years to pay this off. I’ll make a go of things.’
‘Certainly, you can make money as a King’s Councillor. I don’t deny that.’ M. Charpentier thought, he’s young, he’s raw, he has everything to do, and inside he cannot possibly be as sure as he sounds. He wanted to comfort him. ‘You know what Maître Vinot says, he says there are times of trouble ahead, and in times of trouble litigation always expands.’ He rolled his pieces of paper together, ready for filing away. ‘I daresay something will happen, between now and ’91, to make your fortunes look up.’
MARCH 2 1787. It was Camille’s twenty-seventh birthday, and nobody had seen him for a week. He appeared to have changed his address again.
The Assembly of Notables had reached deadlock. The café was full, noisy and opinionated.
‘What is it that the Marquis de Lafayette has said?’
‘He has said that the Estates-General should be called.’
‘But the Estates is a relic. It hasn’t met since –’
‘1614.’
‘Thank you, d’Anton,’ Maître Perrin said. ‘How can it answer to our needs? We shall see the clergy debating in one chamber, the nobles in another and the commons in a third, and whatever the commons propose will be voted down two to one by the other Orders. So what progress –’
‘Listen,’ d’Anton broke in, ‘even an old institution can take on a new form. There’s no need to do what was done last time.’
The group gazed at him, solemn. ‘Lafayette is a young man,’ Maître Perrin said.
‘About your age, Georges.’
Yes, d’Anton thought, and while I was poring over the tomes in Vinot’s office, he was leading armies. Now I am a poor attorney, and he is the hero of France and America. Lafayette can aspire to be a leader of the nation, and I can aspire to scratch a living. And now this young man, of undistinguished appearance, spare, with pale sandy hair, had captured his audience, propounded an idea; and d’Anton, feeling an unreasoning
