The Châtelet Apprentice by Jean-François Parot

heartfelt gesture, he turned pale and faltered. She rushed out, gathering up her flowing dress.
    Ranreuil, who had regained his customary calm, said in a low voice:
    â€˜Nicolas, please understand that all this pains me greatly.’
    â€˜Monsieur, I understand nothing.’
    â€˜I no longer wish you to see Isabelle. Do you understand?’
    â€˜I understand, Monsieur, that I am nothing but a foundling, taken in by a good man and that I must disappear.’
    He sighed.
    â€˜But know, Monsieur, that I would have laid down my life for you.’
    He bowed and was preparing to leave when the marquis stopped him, grasping him by the shoulders.
    â€˜My godson, you cannot understand. Trust me, one day you will. I cannot explain anything to you now.’
    Ranreuil suddenly seemed old and tired. Nicolas freed himself and left.
    At four o’clock the young man galloped away from Guérande with no hope of ever returning. All he was leaving there was a coffin still awaiting burial and an old woman crying in a grief-stricken house. He was also leaving behind his childhood and his illusions. He would never think back on this senseless journey home.
    Like a sleepwalker, he passed through forests and rivers, towns and villages, stopping only to change horses. However, sheer exhaustion forced him to take the fast mail-coach to Chartres.
    It was the very day on which old Émilie had spied two suspicious-looking individuals in Montfaucon.

III
DISAPPEARANCES
    Y quieren que adivine
    Y que no vea …
    And they want him to guess
    Without being able to see …
    F RANCISCO DE Q UEVEDO Y V ILLEGAS
Sunday 4 February 1761
    Entering Paris brought Nicolas back to earth with a jolt. He emerged from a long period of torpor.
    Darkness had fallen long before the mail-coach reached the central post office in Place du Chevalier-au-Guet. His carriage had been delayed because of the waterlogged and sometimes flooded state of the roads. The Paris he was returning to was one he had never seen before. Despite the weather and the lateness of the hour, a wave of madness was engulfing the whole city. He was straight away surrounded, jostled, overwhelmed and taunted by groups of yelling revellers. Laughing beneath their masks, they cavorted around and got up to all sorts of mischief.
    A procession in cassocks, surplices and square caps mimicked the funeral rites of a straw dummy. A wretch dressed as a priest and wearing a stole imitated the celebrant. All around them were prostitutes pretending to be pregnant nuns, weeping and wailing. The whole cortege advanced by torchlight, blessing thespectators with a pig’s trotter dipped in dirty water. Everyone seemed caught up in the frenzy and the women were by far the most daring.
    A masked prostitute threw herself on Nicolas, kissed him and whispered in his ear ‘you look as grim as death’ as she handed him a grinning skeleton’s mask. He quickly freed himself from her embrace and went off under a hail of abuse.
    Carnival had begun. From now until Ash Wednesday, the nights would be given over to riotous youths mingling with the rabble.
    Â 
    Shortly before Christmas Monsieur de Sartine had brought together all the commissioners of the districts, and Nicolas, although in the background, had been present at this council of war. After his bitter experience of the scandalous excesses that had marked the carnival of 1760, the first after his appointment, the Lieutenant General had no wish to see a repetition of events that had worried even the King. Fines and arrests were no longer adequate. Everything had to be anticipated and brought under control; every cog in the police machine had to function with absolute efficiency.
    Now that he was confronted with the realities of the night, Nicolas understood Monsieur de Sartine’s words better. All along his route bawdiness was the order of the day. He soon regretted not following the prostitute’s advice by putting on a mask. Had