The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. The summer passed by, and soon, autumn arrived, with the leaves on the trees changing colors and the weather outside becoming colder with every passing day. I spent each day nearly the same way, watching over Sophie while her father was at work and then spending the rest of the day with either Léa or Moreau. I lost count of how many hours I spent at the fencing hall, how many times I asked Moreau for advice on my compositions, how many boxes of eclairs I dropped on Léa's doorstep, and for the first time since Lajoie's death, I felt happy.

Sylvestre told me that he wouldn't help me with my symphony until I finished the cello sonata, but I'd long since lost interest in that work. All I could think about was Bergmann's symphony, the symphony I was dead set on completing. I spent hours upon hours working on it, fixing every last detail until it was perfect, and by October, it was nearly complete. I wished that Sylvestre would give me some feedback, but I'd talked to Moreau and the handful of other Nightingales who might take my work seriously, and they had all offered some helpful advice, both criticism and praise. In a way, it felt like the closest connection I'd ever get to have with Johann Bergmann.

Johann Bergmann.

Hardly a day went by when I didn't think of him and Lajoie, but so much time had passed since their deaths, and it seemed unlikely that the cases would ever be solved. I hated the idea of their murderer getting away with such a heinous crime, but there wasn't much I could do. There was simply no lead, no evidence, no way to solve the mystery. It was a lost cause.

One morning, I woke up to the sound of Moreau's violin, so of course, I knocked on his door, hoping that he wasn't having another nervous breakdown, that he wasn't destroying himself for the sake of his music once again. He quickly answered the door, his round spectacles practically falling off of his face, and I asked him, "You didn't stay up all night again, did you?"

"No," Moreau said. "I got eight hours of sleep last night."

"As you should."

"It's just...the Concert National is holding auditions for the principal violin position, and...I'm terrified."

"You can do it, Moreau," I said.

"I can't do it. It's going to turn out like the audition in Nantes, and I'm going to have to get a real job or go back to London," Moreau said. "I...I can't go back, Miss Brackenborough. Not when I'm so close to life I always dreamed of."

"Come on, Moreau," I said. "You can play circles around every other violinist in the city."

"Not Jean-Luc Sylvestre."

I laughed. "Jean-Luc has technique, but he's the least expressive violinist I've ever heard. I'd listen to you over him any day."

Moreau smiled slightly, but it was only for a moment. "I don't think you know what's at stake," he said. "I'm running out of money, and some of my orchestral excerpts aren't in good shape, and I don't know what I'll do if I don't pass the audition..."

I gave Moreau a hug and then said, "You can do it, I know you can. Just...take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will," Moreau promised, and I waved to him as I headed downstairs and he went back to practicing. I headed straight for Sylvestre's house, but on the way there, I spotted a familiar face. She nearly blended in with her surroundings, almost disappearing into the sea of passersby, but the way she scribbled into her notebook alerted me to her presence.

"Miss Pascal!" I exclaimed. I hadn't seen her since the day we broke Sylvestre out of prison. The police had quietly dropped their charges against Bertrand Sylvestre, although they hadn't yet identified any new suspects, and I was beginning to think that they had given up on the investigation altogether. Nevertheless, I had never gotten the chance to thank Miss Pascal once again for her assistance.

"Be quiet, Miss Brackenborough," Pascal whispered as she adjusted her hat until it was partially blocking her face. "You're going to blow my cover."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't seen you in a while. How's the case going?"

"Which one?"

"The one with Bergmann and Lajoie."

Pascal sighed. "I'm sorry to say that I've made very little progress since we last saw each other," she said. "I'm still investigating, but I've taken on a few more cases since: insurance fraud, cheating spouses, lost pets, nothing particularly exciting. I still want to solve the murders, of course: I have a reputation to maintain, and I can't let my client down. It's just hard when there's no evidence."

I nodded and then asked, "Do you have any idea who might have done it?"

"I have a better idea of who didn't kill Bergmann and Lajoie than who did."

"Alright then," I said. "Who didn't do it?"

"Bertrand Sylvestre, obviously," Pascal said. "I also don't think you were involved - I talked to Miss Valencourt, and she said you were on a walk with a man named Felix Moreau that night. She also said that you were a brilliant composer and remarkably attractive, but I don't see how that's relevant to the case."

I blushed and said, "Glad she put in a good word for me."

"To be fair, she said roughly the same thing about everyone I asked her about," Pascal said, rolling her eyes. "Anyways, I think we can also rule out everyone in the Paris Opera. The attendance records say that everyone was there on the night of the premiere, and although the attendance sheet for the rehearsals seem to have gone missing, de Villiers said that everyone was there on the night of Lajoie's murder too. All of them are accounted for, so it must have been someone in the audience on the night of the premiere."

"That's an awful lot of potential suspects."

Pascal nodded. "I've been trying to interview some of the people who were at the opera that day, but there are far too many of them, and many of them didn't even know that Bergmann was killed until long after it happened."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I wish there was, but for now, I'd advise staying out of it. Perhaps some new evidence will pop up, but unless it does, I'm afraid this case may never be solved."

I wished I had something to add, some shred of evidence to help Louise Pascal solve the mystery once and for all, but I had nothing to say. There was a long silence and then I said to her, "I should get to work. I'll talk to you later. Thanks again for...for all of your help."

Miss Pascal wrote something down in her notebook while I ran off to work, hoping that I might still be able to make it on time. I sprinted down the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Martin, and by the time I made it to Sylvestre's house, I was only a few minutes late, nothing to be worried about.

I went through my day, and as soon as Sylvestre came home, I went to the fencing hall. As usual, Léa was there, and this time, she was in the middle of a fight against a young man around our age. "Mattie!" she exclaimed as soon as she saw me, her blue eyes meeting mine. "Care to join us?"

"I'll just watch," I said.

"Please?" Léa said. "I promise I'll go easy on you!"

"You've never gone easy on anyone in your life, Léa," I said.

"Guilty as charged," Léa said with a smirk. "Can you still give it a try though? I'll help you if you need it."

I sighed, and Léa handed me a sword, but when her hands were on mine, teaching me how to hold the weapon properly, I felt a faint flutter in my chest, and when I looked into her bright blue eyes once again, I had reason to believe that everything would turn out fine.