be able to convince the combatants he has to ask. We’ll never find such a man.’

Margont smiled.

‘And what about Luise?’

CHAPTER 12

AT first Relmyer had rejected Margont’s suggestion in order to protect Luise, but then he decided to trust the Frenchman’s instinct.

Margont and Lefine waited in the Mitterburgs’ sitting room while Relmyer talked to Luise. A servant in bluish-black livery surveyed them suspiciously, which annoyed Lefine, who sank down on a sofa, crossed his legs and began to hum, ‘Oh, it'll be all right, be all right, be all right. Hang the aristocrats from on high! Oh, it'll be all right, be all right, be all right. The aristocrats, we'll hang 'em all.' The servant responded with an Austrian goose step. This archetypal scene made Margont despair. It summed up the paradox of the Empire. The French, hundreds of thousands of them, were starting wars to take the principles of the Revolution to the peoples of Europe, but instead of fanning the waves of republicanism, all it did was incite nationalism in its most aggressive manifestation. It had started with Prussia, then Spain, now the Tyrol and

Austria ... Where was it going wrong? Whose fault was it? How could it be put right before the Empire was crushed by a generalised European uprising against it?

Lefine noticed that the more at ease he appeared, the more irritated the servant became. He threw his head back and sighed nonchalantly.

‘Why didn’t Relmyer think of asking Luise?’

‘I think he wanted to keep her as far away as possible from the investigation.’

‘Possibly, but she’s well and truly involved in it. Relmyer succeeded in dragging us into his struggle. Now, Luise is joining in as

well. He’s leading us one after the other to the edge of the abyss >

Margont felt oppressed by the room although there was nothing exceptional about it, quite the opposite. A portrait of Mozart, comfortable armchairs with restrained floral embroidery, vases, a fireplace whose mantelpiece was covered with knick-knacks: statuettes, lacquer boxes, fans ... Everything was in the classical style, even the antique paintings and the piano with a score open on it -The Magic Flute,naturally. The only original note was sounded by the collection of seven lead or tin soldiers displayed on a small round table. Two knights sculpted in exquisite detail dated from the eighteenth century. Their lead was worth its weight in gold. What was original was that all the figurines were representations from the Middle Ages. One of them was attacking with a lance, the other with a sword while sheltering behind a shield, a third brandished a mace ... A handful of soldiers were launched into who knows what crusade. Margont realised that what irritated him about the room was its sterile conformism. Paintings of scenes from antiquity are in vogue? Quick! Over the sofa hang one depicting two columns and another of a temple at Delphi. Suddenly it is discovered that Mozart is a genius - what’s more, an Austrian genius! True, he’s dead and buried in a pauper’s grave with three shovelfuls of quicklime, but let’s not go on about the errors of the past. Instead, let’s get hold of a copy of his portrait. That was all right. People led their lives in their own way, and so what if they

decided to let others dictate their tastes? No, what bothered Mar-gont was that it was this same attitude that encouraged the halfsilence that cloaked Franz’s death. The obsession to conform contributed to the rule of silence. Because if people submitted even in their own homes, it was unlikely that they would dare speak out and take a stand in public. Suddenly all these commonplace, predictable objects in the home of these well-off people appeared stifling and a little sinister.

Relmyer came in with Luise and the old woman who had been with her when she had been searching amongst the wounded men of Essling. The young Austrian contrasted sharply with the dowdy creature dressed in grey. Margont greeted Luise courteously under the inquisitive eye of her chaperone. Luise introduced her, speaking in French.

‘Madame Hilde. I would have preferred a puppy, but instead I have this chaperone. Puppies yap, but they’re affectionate and stop barking when you give them a sugar lump. Chaperones tittle-tattle, witter on and even bite sometimes. And you can’t shut them

in the salon when you want to go for a walk without them. Don’t worry, Madame Hilde and my servant don’t understand French.’ Madame Hilde intervened in an unexpectedly melodious voice: ‘Mademoiselle Mitterburg, it would be more suitable if you spoke in German.’

‘Yes, indeed. Alas, Captain Margont and his friend Lefine don’t understand our language. It’s very unfortunate.’

While Madame Hilde searched for a solution - should they use Spanish? Or would she appear ridiculous? Would she be able to tell just by looking that no impropriety was being committed? -Luise declared: ‘I agree to help you. But I can’t guarantee that I’ll get an answer. And even if I do it’s not likely to be the whole answer. Hundreds of people are involved in the updating of the military registers so it’s possible that some names are missed.’

‘We’ll use whatever they are prepared to give us.’

‘And it will take days and days ...’

‘Is there anything we can do instead?’

Relmyer thought not. ‘No, we have to search the Austrian archives

from top to bottom! That’s what we have to do! I’ll begin immediately.’

Luise vainly tried to get him to sit down.

‘But ... you have to rest a little ... this is wearing you out, Lukas. At least sit down for a few minutes ... just to drink a cup of coffee or chocolate ...’

Relmyer shook his head. Stubborn. Intractable. Margont felt obliged to go with him. His friend would not find it easy to get authorisation to consult the archives because of his Austrian origins. Relmyer was about to go out when he noticed the collection of figurines. He froze, stupefied. He looked over at Luise again and wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come, so he just touched her arm lightly under the scandalised gaze of Madame Hilde. Then the young hussar plunged outside onto the street as if he were diving into the sea.

Margont, although he himself walked fast, had trouble keeping up with him. Lefine followed at normal pace, far behind, shaking his head. Margont was annoyed at having had to leave Luise, but he understood Relmyer’s reaction. Relmyer was hurrying towards what he thought would be his salvation, much as he, Margont, had leapt at any possibility when he was trying to escape the Abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert. There was more at stake than arresting a killer and breaking the silence surrounding the affair. Relmyer also needed to liberate himself from the stranglehold of memories that kept coming back to haunt him, especially in periods of inactivity and in dreams. Yes, that was what this was - a war of liberation.

CHAPTER 13

THE Kriegsministerium displayed all the cold, oppressive grandeur of administrative buildings imbued with their own importance. The two sentries standing either side of the entrance presented arms to Margont and Relmyer. Their martial rigidity perfectly matched the facade.

Six other soldiers, grouped together in front of the marble columns, guarded the monumental vestibule. The duty officer had laid out his office so that he could keep an eye on the great staircase to his right and on the double doors opening on his left. Aided by two corporals acting as secretaries, he was applying himself to drawing up inventories; there was a strong odour, a mixture of wax, old papers, dust and leather. The officer had meticulously buttoned up his collar as protocol demanded, practically strangling himself to satisfy regulations. His red face, bloated by lack of circulation, turned towards one of the corporals.