Page 113 of The Last Library of Paris

I handed them to Marcus and he took them, slipping them neatly into his pockets.

Then I bundled up his bloodied trousers and shoved them into Alain’s bag with the Flora and Fauna books.

I opened my desk drawer and took out some more copies of the Peacock books. Alain hadn’t been the only one to take a few for himself. I put them in the bag to take downstairs. If the stories had been chosen to raise soldiers’ spirits, perhaps they would work on librarians, too.

Marcus watched me bustling about.

‘I’m really very sorry,’ he said.

‘None of this is your fault.’ I closed the bag and buckled the strap. ‘We’ve all just been doing our best.’

Marcus nodded.

‘Do you have somewhere safe to go for now?’ I asked. ‘Somewhere in Paris?’

He nodded again.

‘Can you send help? A medic for Alain? Someone who can tell us where to go? We can’t go home, not now.’

‘I will.’

‘Right. Good.’ I breathed out slowly. ‘You should go, as soon as you get some shoes.’

In silence, we left the office and went back downstairs to the library, stopping to fill some jugs with water on the way, and then down again into the cellar.

Sylvie was taking Alain’s pulse, and looking concerned.

‘Il est très malade,’ she said, glaring at me as if it was my fault that Alain was very sick.

‘Je sais,’ I said. I know. I put down the jugs of water. ‘I found these.’

I opened the bag and gave her all the medication I’d found.

Sylvie examined each bottle, nodding. ‘This is good,’ she said. ‘Good. I can clean his wound and stop the pain. This will help.’

She turned back to Alain while I sidled over to Guy and picked up Alain’s shoes.

‘Marcus needs them,’ I said, apologetically. Guy nodded. ‘And your hat?’ I asked. He didn’t speak, simply pulled his cap from his head and held it out to Marcus.

‘Thank you,’ Marcus said, putting on the shoes. ‘I’ll get help.’

‘You must be quick,’ said Sylvie.

The words hung in the stale cellar air. Marcus tipped Guy’s hat to us. ‘I’ll be as fast as I can,’ he said. Without saying goodbye, he turned and left.

I went to Guy, who was looking stricken as he sat by Alain’s side.

‘You heard Marcus,’ I said. ‘He’s getting help. Someone will come before we know it.’

‘He saved my life,’ Guy said quietly. ‘He pushed me out of the way, and he took the bullet instead of me.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know. Maybe he is a hero after all?’

‘He did not,’ said Sylvie, who was opening the syringes.

Guy and I both looked at her, startled.

‘He tripped on the brandy bottle,’ she said. ‘It was right there, under his foot. That’s why it was next to me before I threw it. It must have rolled down the stairs.’