"Mattie!" Gertie exclaimed. "It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

"I've been well," I said as I stepped away from my sister.

"What happened to your dress?" Gertie asked.

"I snagged it while I was...uhh...running errands," I said, but I could tell that Gertie didn't quite believe me.

Before I could say anything else, Moreau climbed upstairs, carrying his violin case. When he reached the top of the staircase, he noticed Gertie and I standing in front of the door to his room.

"Hello there," he said to both of us.

"Mr. Moreau!" Gertie exclaimed. "I just got your letter - are you really going to audition for the Opera de Nantes?"

"Indeed I am," Moreau said.

I looked at both of them, shocked. I wasn't sure how they even knew each other, much less how Moreau trusted my sister enough to tell her something that he'd never even mentioned to me. I paused for a moment before speaking, hoping that one of them would give me an explanation, but both of them remained completely silent.

"I didn't know you two were friends," I finally said.

"I've known Mr. Moreau for a while," Gertie said. "It's just such a funny coincidence that you two live next door to each other."

"Your sister's a wonderful neighbor, Gertie," Moreau said. "She doesn't even complain when I stay up half the night practicing."

"You've got to learn how to take care of yourself better, but at least you're not staying up all night anymore," Gertie said.

"Sleep is for the weak."

"Actually, sleep is one of life's greatest blessings."

"How am I supposed to get anything done if I sleep my life away?"

"One of the professors at Cambridge hasn't gotten up before noon in decades, and I'll have you know that he is an esteemed expert in his field. If he can do it, you can too, Mr. Moreau."

I started to walk away, feeling like a hanger-on in this conversation, but Moreau called me back. "Where are you going, Miss Brackenborough?" he asked.

"I was going to work on my composition," I said.

"Which one?" Moreau asked.

"The string quartet."

"I thought you stopped working on the string quartet."

"I...I came up with some new ideas, and I want to...I want to write them down," I stammered.

"You know, I should finish unpacking," Gertie said. "Mattie, do you want to meet up for breakfast tomorrow?"

"That sounds great," I said.

"I can't wait to catch up," Gertie said. "There's so much I want to tell you. Like did I ever tell you about the time someone almost set the medical school building on fire?"

I rolled my eyes and said, "Yes, Gertie. You've told that story a million times."

"Okay, but it's a really good story, isn't it?" I shrugged, and Gertie said, "Well, I suppose we'll talk about it tomorrow. Where should we meet?"

"How about Café de la Paix?" I suggested. "They have great coffee."

"Sounds lovely. Mr. Moreau, would you like to come too?"

"I'd love to, but I have to catch the train to Nantes early tomorrow morning."

"That's a shame," Gertie said. "Anyways, I'll see you both of you later."

Gertie walked off, leaving Moreau and I alone. "You're not really going to work on your composition, are you?" Moreau said as soon as Gertie was out of earshot.

"I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you first," I said.

Moreau smiled and then said, "Why don't we take a walk? I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air."

I looked down at the hole in my dress and asked, "Could I change first?"

"Of course," Moreau said, and I went into my room for a moment. As I changed into one of my other dresses, I wondered how Gertie and Moreau knew each other, but I figured that I'd find out soon enough. I simply found it strange that Moreau and Gertie were apparently such close friends, and I was only hearing about it now.

I met up with Moreau again outside of his room, and the two of us headed downstairs and started walking towards the riverbank. If not for the wind and fog, it would have been a lovely day too.

"It's good to talk to you again, Miss Brackenborough," Moreau said.

"You too, Mr. Moreau," I said. "I'm sorry I've been so cold lately."

"Me too," Moreau said. "I'm sorry about what I said about Léa too. I shouldn't try to pick your friends for you - who you befriend is your choice, not mine."

"I forgive you, Moreau," I said. "I still can't believe that you're friends with my sister though."

Moreau chuckled. "It's quite a coincidence, isn't it?" he said.

"How long have you known Gertie?"

"It feels like I've known her forever, honestly."

I paused for a moment and then asked, "You don't fancy her, do you?"

Moreau laughed again. "Of course not! She's like the sister I never had." He paused and then asked, "You're not jealous, are you?"

"No," I said. "Of course not. Why would I be?" There was a long pause, and then I asked, "When are you coming back from Nantes, Mr. Moreau?"

"I don't know," he replied. "It depends on how the audition goes. If I don't make it, I'll be home in a few days. If I do...I'll have to pack my things and move west. I'll miss Paris, of course, but Brittany is a lovely region, and I look forward to seeing it."

"There isn't a chance I can come with you, is there?"

"Don't you have work?"

"I'm sure Mr. Sylvestre wouldn't mind me taking a few days off."

Moreau sighed. "I wish you could come," he said. "I always feel so much more relaxed when you're around, and honestly, I'm terrified that I won't pass this audition. It's going to be like the Concertgebouw all over again."

"Don't say that, Mr. Moreau," I said. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

Moreau stopped suddenly and looked up at the large building we were standing directly in front of. "It's the conservatory," he said, laughing. "I didn't even mean to walk here, but I must have taken this route millions of times when I was a student. It's ingrained in me."

"What was it like being a student there?" I asked as I looked up at the conservatory. For a moment, I wished that I could cease my arrangement with Sylvestre and enroll at the conservatory like Moreau had, but it was impossible. They would never admit someone like me, and besides, I'd grown attached to the life I led now. Sophie needed me, Jean-Luc was starting to grow on me, I was quite fond of Léa, and, of course, I would never find a better neighbor and friend than Moreau. It wasn't a perfect life, but it was mine.

"To be perfectly honest, Miss Brackenborough, I felt like an imposter the whole time I was there," Moreau said. "I somehow passed the audition to get in, but I'm not a great musician, not like all of the others there. I'm mediocre at best on the violin, I still don't know how to sight read, I can't compose to save my life..."

"Mr. Moreau, I've heard you play," I said, sensing that Moreau needed some encouragement. "In all my life, I have never heard anyone play the Mendelssohn concerto so beautifully. There's so much expression in your playing, and you may not like to admit it, but you have a lot of heart, which will take you much farther than knowing how to play double-stop harmonics. You're not perfect, but no one is, and you are certainly not 'mediocre at best.'

Moreau blushed, and he was about to say something to me, but all of a sudden, the wind started blowing again, and a piece of paper flew by. I managed to reach out and catch it, and as soon as it was in my hands, I read the paper, which was apparently an early draft of someone's assignment for class.

Timothée Geiger

May 28, 1895

Introduction To Composition

Prof. Bertrand Sylvestre

Cazendas Throughout The History of Music, from the Baroque Period to the Present

Throughout history, composers have used candenzas. These cadenzas were used for a variety of purposes, which we can experience by listening to them. Candezas are defined as an improvised passage in a concerto that the soloist executes before the conclusion of a movement (Dictionnaire de l'Académie Française, 7th edition). Aspects of a canderaz includue it's length, location, meter, range, use of tehmatic material...

"He was telling the truth," I said as I looked at the paper, amazed.

"What are you talking about?" Moreau asked.

"Mr. Sylvestre said that he was at the conservatory on the night of the murder," I said. "He was grading papers because he'd assigned a ten-page essay to his Intro to Composition class on the use of cadenzas throughout history. This...this proves it was all true." I pointed to the date on the top of the page, "Look at that, Mr. Moreau. It's the same day Bergmann was killed."

Moreau chuckled. "Looks like that kid must have been procrastinating," he said.

"Come on, Mr. Moreau," I said. "Everyone does that in school."

"Not me," Moreau said. "I never left an assignment for the last minute."

"Let me guess," I said. "You were one of those students who broke into hysterics every time you had an unfinished assignment, even if it wasn't due for another six months."

Moreau turned pale and said, "You know me too well, Miss Brackenborough."

I turned back to the paper. "So Mr. Sylvestre couldn't have committed the murder if he was at the conservatory that evening."

"I don't know if we can say that," Moreau said. "This only proves that Mr. Sylvestre assigned a paper that was due on the night of the murder, not that he was at the conservatory grading papers or that he didn't kill Bergmann."

"It lends a little bit more credence to his story though, doesn't it?"

Moreau nodded. "I'd like to think that Mr. Sylvestre is innocent, but who else could have killed him?"

"I don't know," I said. "Everyone who was close to him was in the orchestra, onstage, or somewhere else entirely."

"Not to mention that nobody seems to have a motive," Moreau said. "Maybe it was just a random killing - some street ruffian deciding to go after Bergmann with no rhyme or reason."

"Yes, but why would they kill Johann Bergmann, a famous composer?" I said. "And why do it at the Palais Garnier, where they would be more likely to get caught?"

"I don't know," Moreau said as we walked past the Palais Garnier. "There's so much about this case that just doesn't make any sense."

I nodded, but all of a sudden, someone ran up to us. I recognized him from the Order of the Nightingales, but I couldn't quite remember his name. I thought that he played the trumpet, or possibly the French Horn, but I wasn't quite sure.

"Hello there," I said, trying to hide the fact that I couldn't remember his name.

"Mr. Moreau! Miss Brackenborough!" he shouted, panicked. "Someone! Find the police!"

"What's going on?" Moreau asked.

"Don't worry about it, Joffrin," another orchestra musician said. "Maret has already gone to fetch them. They should be here any minute."

"Can someone please tell us what on Earth is happening here?" I said.

"Haven't you heard?" Joffrin said. "Someone murdered Pierre Lajoie."