Ney and his aides had ridden off, so she took Simon’s arm and they headed back to their inn. They would be leaving in the morning, first to go to Monsieur Morel’s office, then on to Brussels after they’d signed the necessary papers.
When they reached the inn, the garrulous innkeeper, Monsieur Gagnon, greeted them after they rang to be let in. “Eh, my children, have you enjoyed your time in Paris?”
Suzanne generally let Simon do the talking, and she did so now. “It’s a grand city, Monsieur Gagnon. It makes our Brussels look like scarcely more than a market town,” Simon said. “Though my business here didn’t prosper, I’m happy to visit again after too many years away.” He glanced fondly at Suzanne. “And to show Paris to my bride.”
Suzanne smiled and batted her lashes, trying to look not very bright since she didn’t want Gagnon to think much about her.
“Ah, you are newly married?” the innkeeper said jovially. “Come into my quarters and have a glass of wine with me.”
Simon agreed readily since he was always interested in hearing what people had to say. Gagnon shared a cozy ground-floor apartment with his aging mother, who poured wine for her son and his guests, then retreated into a rocking chair in the corner and lit up a foul-smelling pipe. After they were seated on worn but comfortable chairs, Gagnon asked curiously, “You mentioned that your business hadn’t prospered?”
“We came from Brussels to look into a possible legacy from my wife’s uncle. Luckily we expected little, because that is what we found.” Simon sipped at his wine, a robust red. “There was about enough to pay the costs for this trip.”
Suzanne said innocently, “But we’ve seen Paris, and in such exciting times!”
Gagnon snorted. “Too exciting! The madness of kings and emperors.” He shook his head. “Most Frenchmen want a liberal government with a Parliament that speaks for the people. Rather like what the British have, but better because it would be French. But what do we get? Tyrants who make promises to obey the will of the people, but then go ahead and do whatever they want. They listen to no one. Bah!”
His mother pulled her pipe from her mouth long enough to spit out, “Hang the bloody emperor!”
Gagnon said uneasily, “That’s not a wise thing to say,ma mère.”
“I spit on the emperor’s grave!” She jammed the pipe stem back in her mouth and began rocking furiously.
Gagnon lowered his voice, looking nervous. “Pay no mind to my mother. My father and both of my brothers died fighting for France. It is a hard thing for a mother to accept.”
“No mother could forget such losses,” Suzanne said warmly, thinking that Gagnon probably didn’t like Napoleon, either, but was too discreet to say so to strangers. “We women pray for peace. Do you think there will be a new war?”
Looking troubled, he poured himself more wine. “No one knows. But it is easier to rally a nation to fight the enemy than it is to agree on bitter political issues.”
Simon sighed. “I fear you’re right, Monsieur Gagnon.” He swallowed the last of his wine. “Come,ma petite. We have a long journey ahead of us and it’s time we retired. Thank you for the wine and your thoughts, monsieur. We’ll return to Brussels and pray for peace.”
Suzanne also rose and took her leave of the innkeeper and his mother. She and Simon didn’t speak until they were in their bedroom. As she set her cloak and bonnet aside, she said, “Do you think he’s right about what the people of France want?”
“Yes, most people want peace and prosperity with a good job, enough to eat, and time to enjoy friends and family.” He peeled off his coat. “But leaders like Napoleon find no glory in peace.”
* * *
They left Paris early the next morning when the streets were largely empty except for farmers driving in carts of produce from the country, and the ominous stamp of marching feet as new military units entered the city.
Their stop at thenotairewas only long enough to sign the required papers to the accompaniment of coffee and pastries. Then Monsieur Morel sent them off with best wishes for a safe journey. Simon felt there was unusual intensity in that farewell, and suspected that their return to Brussels would not be as smooth as the journey to Paris.
His feeling was confirmed not far north of Saint-Denis when he saw a manned barricade across the road ahead. He said under his breath, “Look dull,ma petite. I believe we are about to have our papers checked.”
She drew in her breath. “Napoleon doesn’t want information about Paris moving north toward the Allied headquarters?”
“That’s my guess.” He pulled up his horses at the barrier and greeted the guards politely. The guards studied the identity papers and asked questions about why they had come to Paris all the way from Brussels. Simon answered the questions patiently, avoiding any unnecessary comments. Suzanne sat beside him looking nervous and mousy. Eventually they were waved on.
Suzanne breathed with relief as they continued on their way. Simon warned, “I doubt this will be the last time we’re stopped and searched.”
“I think we should conceal the documents from Monsieur Morel. They aren’t obviously valuable like jewels, but they represent a considerable amount of money. If the guards can read the bank statements and see how much is involved, they might think we’re aristocrats fleeing Napoleon’s return.”
“That’s a good idea. What kind of concealment are you thinking about?”
“I’m a seamstress. When we stop for the night, I’ll stitch one set of documents into my cloak and the other into the lining of your travel case.”
Simon nodded. “With luck, they won’t be disturbed. But if hidden documents are found, we’ll look very suspicious.”
“I thought of that. It will make me feel better to be doing something that might help us to get out of France safely,” she explained. “I have a couple of other ideas that might be useful. Even if they aren’t, staying busy is better than fretting.”
