Page 27
“Unfortunately, we need it. Still, I have an excellent replacement in Irena Fontaine. I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Merci.”
“We’ll keep the details, and our suspicions, quiet of course. I had no idea you knew Stephen Horowitz.”
“Know him,” Armand corrected. He knew he was being pedantic, but he needed to keep Stephen alive, even if it was just grammatically. “He practically raised me, along with my grandmother.”
Dussault was familiar with that part of Armand’s life, so didn’t need to dredge it up again. But he did have more questions.
“How did you meet him?”
“He was a friend of my father’s. They met at the end of the war. Stephen was acting as an interpreter for the allies.”
“He’s German, isn’t he?”
There was, quite naturally, an assumption in that question. “He was born in Germany, but escaped and came to Paris. Worked with the Resistance.”
“Escaped, you say. Is he Jewish?”
“Not that I know of. More of a humanist really.”
Dussault was quiet, and Armand looked over at him. “What is it?”
“Not that I’m doubting you, or him, but my father used to marvel how many men and women suddenly fought with the Resistance when the war ended.”
Armand nodded. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.”
“I’d forgotten that she was from Paris.”
“The Jewish Quarter. Le Marais, yes. Before …” But he left it at that. “Stephen never spoke of the war. She did, but rarely.”
“Then how do you know he was in the Resistance?”
“I heard my mother and father talking about him.”
“You must’ve been just a child.”
“I was. I didn’t completely understand, of course. Later Stephen told me that my father helped him get to Montréal and loaned him the money to start his business. When I was born, they named him as a godparent.”
“Awkward, for someone who doesn’t believe in God.”
“I think maybe he believes, but is just angry. Giving Him the silent treatment.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t get to meet Him soon. I don’t envy le bon Dieu.”
Armand smiled at that and imagined Stephen, whole and strong, standing at the Gates.
But which Gates?
“Hell is empty,” he murmured.
“Pardon?” asked Claude.
“Just something Stephen likes to say. Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”
“Charming. But this’s Paris, Armand. The City of Light. No devils here.”
Gamache turned an astonished face to his friend. “You’re joking, of course.” He examined Dussault. “The Terror was partly inspired by the Age of Enlightenment. How many Protestants massacred, how many men and women guillotined, how many Jews hunted and killed? How many innocents murdered by terrorists here in the City of Light would agree with you? There’re devils here. You of all people know that.”
