I knew exactly what I had to do. I packed my things, went downstairs, and headed for the fencing hall - even at this hour, I was sure that was where Léa would be. "Mattie!" Gertie shouted on my way out. "Where are you going?"

I didn't respond as I walked out of the building - I would be home again soon enough, and I could explain everything to my sister then. For now, I needed to talk to Léa. I needed to know what her exact connection was to Bergmann, if she had any insight into why he was murdered. Now that I'd thought of it, I couldn't get the idea out of my head.

As I walked to the fencing hall, I wondered about the possibilities. Was Léa really an old girlfriend of Bergmann's, or was I reading into this too much? Either way, she had to know more about him that she was letting on. Maybe she knew something I didn't know about Lajoie's murder too. Maybe she was like Miss Pascal, holding her cards close until the right moment came.

I passed by the Gare du Nord, and I was about to keep walking when I saw a familiar face. He was carrying a violin case, and there was a remarkably sad look on his face, but it was definitely him. "Mr. Moreau!" I shouted, hoping to get his attention.

He glanced in my direction and smiled slightly. "Miss Brackenborough!" he exclaimed as he stepped closer. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too," I said with a smile. "How did the audition go?"

Moreau suddenly looked quite distraught. "I...I don't want to talk about it," he said, looking like he was moments away from bursting into tears.

"It's okay, Moreau," I said, forgetting all about going to see Léa at the fencing hall. After all, I could always do that another day. For now, I needed to make sure that Moreau was doing alright. "You can talk to me."

The two of us started walking back to the boarding house, Moreau keeping a tight grip on his violin case, and after a long period of silence, Moreau finally said, "I didn't even make it past the preliminary round."

"How?" I asked. "You're an amazing violinist."

"I...I messed up the first note," Moreau said. "I played...I played a C instead of a B in...in the Mendelssohn, and they didn't even let me play the orchestral excerpts. That's how bad it was, Miss Brackenborough. I...I'm a failure."

Tears were streaming down Moreau's face, so I gave him a quick hug, hoping to give him a little bit of comfort. "You're not a failure," I said. "It was just a silly mistake. Nothing to worry about."

"You don't understand," Moreau said. "My whole career rested on that audition. My savings are running out - money's already tight, but soon, I won't have anything left. I needed that job."

"There will be other auditions."

"Yes, but I have to pay rent until then." Moreau sighed and then said, "Maybe I should give up. Clearly, I'm not meant to be a violinist."

"Perhaps you could get a job in music while you keep auditioning," I suggested. "I think you'd make a great music teacher."

"Don't you think I've tried that?" Moreau said. "Those positions rarely open up, and when they do, I always botch the interview. I'm telling you, Miss Brackenborough. I'm a failure."

"No, you're not. You're a fantastic musician, and whoever's running the Opera de Nantes must be deaf if they can't tell that."

Moreau wiped away his tears. "Thanks for the encouragement, but I don't think that's true."

"Let's agree to disagree."

"Alright," Moreau said. "So did anything exciting happen while I was gone? It always seems like I miss out on something whenever I leave town. Last time I had an audition, someone set off a bomb in a café..."

"You didn't miss much," I said. "I met the private detective de Villiers hired to solve the case, who gave me some interesting information about Bergmann and Lajoie's murders."

"Like what?"

"Apparently, they were committed by the same person, and Sylvestre isn't the murderer."

"Interesting," Moreau said. "So who does he think the murderer was?"

"She," I corrected. "Her name is Louise Pascal."

"Pascal," Moreau repeated, before he shrugged. "Well, she can't be doing any worse than the police department right now."

I laughed a little bit and then said, "I think I might be on the verge of a breakthrough though. You see, when Léa and I broke into Bergmann's hotel room..."

"Wait, what?" Moreau said. "When was this?"

"Right before you left for Nantes."

"Why on earth would you do such a thing?"

"It was Léa's idea, not mine."

"I told you she was a bad influence."

"She's not a bad influence," I said. "If anything, she's been a great friend, and she's helped me grow as a person."

"You're being dangerously naive if you think that Miss Valencourt's intentions are as innocent as yours."

"Let's not argue over this again, Mr. Moreau," I said. "Anyways, she said something about an old sweetheart of Bergmann's playing the trombone, and then I found out at the Order of the Nightingales meeting..."

"How was that, by the way?" Moreau asked. "It must have been interesting without Lajoie there."

"It was, but Léa did an incredible job hosting the meeting," I said. "Anyways, it turns out that she used to play the trombone, so I think she might have some connection to Bergmann that she hasn't told me about."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Léa Valencourt's probably slept with the entire population of Europe by now."

Before I could defend my friend, the two of us approached Madame Leclerc's boarding house, and when we walked inside, Gertie was still there, debating with a stranger. "I'm telling you, the Korteweg–De Vries equation is not that complicated," she said. "It's an exactly solvable model, and..." All of a sudden, she noticed that Moreau and I were here. "Mr. Moreau! You're back! How did things go in Nantes?"

Moreau looked like he was going to have another nervous breakdown, so I jumped in and said, "I don't think he wants to talk about it."

"I don't," Moreau said, so Gertie changed the subject.

"Mr. Moreau, have you ever read The Time Machine?" Gertie asked.

"I don't have much time to read these days," he admitted.

"Well, you should make time," Gertie said. "I haven't finished the book yet, but it's very good so far, and I think you would like it."

"Thanks for the recommendation," Moreau said. "I'll keep it in mind."

"You know what I'd say if I ever had a time machine?" Gertie said.

"What?" Moreau asked.

"Ahhh...this really takes me back."

Moreau laughed, and the two of them went on like that for a while, talking about nothing, and I wondered just how they knew each other, why they acted like old friends, people who could see each other once every few minutes and pick up their friendship as if no time had passed at all. Perhaps I was reading too much into their relationship, but I saw the way Moreau let his guard down when Gertie was around. There was a sense of ease in the way they interacted with each other, like Gertie was the only person Moreau felt like he could be himself around.

Eventually, Moreau said, "I...I should go practice. I need to master that Mendelssohn concerto if I'm going to pass the next audition that comes around."

"Well, I'm going back to Cambridge tomorrow morning," Gertie said.

"Already?"

Gertie nodded. "I can't take too many vacations like this, unfortunately. The physics department at the university needs me."

"You'll write to me though, right Gertie?"

"Of course."

"Fantastic, and with any luck, we'll see each other soon."

"I certainly hope so," Gertie said as Moreau began to climb upstairs. "Goodbye, Mr. Moreau."

"Goodbye, Gertie."

Moreau headed toward his room, and Gertie turned to me. "Are you coming to the train station with me tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Great," Gertie said. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

I went upstairs, knowing that I would need some rest if I was going to the train station tomorrow. I worked on the symphony for a few hours, carefully orchestrating the melodies Bergmann had written, and when I was satisfied with my progress, I went to bed, the soft sound of Moreau's violin drifting into my ears from the next room over.

When I woke up the next morning, Moreau was still practicing, or perhaps he had never stopped. Either way, I heard the opening of the Mendelssohn violin concerto again and again as I got ready to go to the station with Gertie. When I was ready to go, I found that she was still in her room, fast asleep.

"Gertie!" I shouted. "You're going to miss your train!"

Gertie reluctantly stumbled out of bed and got ready to go, and a few minutes later, the two of us walked to the Gare du Nord. As soon as we went inside, we were surrounded by all kinds of people, and the sound of train whistles was practically deafening, but through the chaos, a pair of bright blue eyes met mine.

Léa was here.