A million thoughts, a million emotions rushed through my head, but "fine" was certainly not a word I would have applied to this situation. I glanced toward Sylvestre, and he still had this panic-stricken look on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

To be perfectly honest, I couldn't believe it either.

Léa pulled out her sword, but I was certain that violence would only make this worse, so I turned to her and said, "Not now, Léa." She sighed and reluctantly put her sword back into her scabbard, while I turned to Robiquet and asked, "How do you know that Mr. Sylvestre did it?"

"Process of elimination," Robiquet said. "There aren't any other suspects, are there?"

"I don't think that's how process of elimination works..." Léa said.

"But Sylvestre didn't do it," I said. "He couldn't have."

"That's what I've been trying to tell them all along," Sylvestre muttered. "They don't listen."

"No one else in the city has a reason to kill Bergmann and Lajoie," Robiquet argued.

"He doesn't have a reason to kill Lajoie, and besides, he wasn't even at the opera house either of those days," I said.

"So he says, but frankly, I don't believe him, especially after his wife died under such mysterious circumstances," Robiquet said.

"They weren't 'mysterious circumstances,'" Sylvestre said. "She drowned."

"And last week, you said it was scarlet fever," Robiquet said. "It's no wonder nobody believes you, Mr. Sylvestre."

"Miss Pascal has proof he didn't do it," I said suddenly.

Robiquet laughed. "Pascal? The woman detective?" I nodded, and Robiquet said, "Have you considered there might be a reason why she's not a part of the police department? Leave this to the professionals, Miss Brackenborough."

"I'm serious," I said. "She talked to Sylvestre's neighbors and colleagues. All of them said that he was at the conservatory when Bergmann died and at home when Lajoie died. Unless there's some sort of vast conspiracy, you've just arrested an innocent man."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," Robiquet said. "Stay out of this, Miss Brackenborough."

The police officers walked away with Sylvestre, and as he started shuffling toward the police station, Sylvestre looked back at me one last time, a nervous look on his gaunt, angled face. "Well, that was strange," Léa said as soon as they were gone.

"D-do you think he actually did it?" I said. "I was so sure he was innocent, but maybe they know something we don't..."

Léa laughed loudly and said, "They're the Paris police, Mattie. They wouldn't be able to solve a crime if the killer was right in front of them. If anything, we're ahead of them."

Léa had a point, but I wasn't completely convinced. I wanted to believe that Sylvestre didn't do it - after all, I had been studying with him for a while now - but he was the only one with a motive, however weak it was, and there was always the issue of whatever had happened to Mrs. Sylvestre. What I needed was to talk to Miss Pascal again, to see the evidence she had found with my own eyes. I needed to make sure that I could trust her over the city policemen.

I opened the door to Sylvestre's house, and when I spotted Jean-Luc and Sophie inside, I wondered how they were doing, how much they knew about what had just happened. They were both at the table, quietly eating their croissants, and although Jean-Luc occasionally stopped to annoy his younger sister, they both seemed a little distraught.

"Mattie, are you alright?" Léa asked. "Do you want me to stay for a while? I can do that if you want."

"Yes, I think I'd like that a lot," I said, and Léa's hand briefly brushed against mine as the two of us walked into the house.

"Hello Miss Brackenborough!" Sophie exclaimed as soon as I walked in, while Jean-Luc ignored me and stared at the wall.

"Hello Sophie," I said.

"Where's Papa?" she asked, and I glanced at Léa, unsure how to explain this to a seven-year-old.

"He's on vacation," Léa lied.

"Where?" Sophie asked.

"Uhh...New Caledonia?"

"Whoa," Sophie said, amazed. "Can I go there too?"

Léa smiled and said, "I'd love some tropical sunshine too, kid, but unfortunately, you're stuck here with Mattie and I until your father comes back."

"When's Papa coming back?"

"I don't know, but hopefully soon."

Sophie seemed satisfied with that answer, and she took one last bite of her croissant before she turned to me and exclaimed, "I'm ready to go, Miss Brackenborough!"

"Jean-Luc?" I said. "Are you ready?"

"I don't want to go to school today," he muttered.

"You said that yesterday," I said.

"And I still don't want to go."

"Jean-Luc, nobody likes school, but you do have to attend class every once in a while," Léa said. "Maybe show up for the first hour or so, and then run off to the fencing hall or have a nice moment with your girlfriend or do whatever it is you children do for fun these days..."

"Léa, that's terrible advice," I said.

Léa shrugged. "It's how I got through my years in school. Not everyone can be as perfect as you, Mattie."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I turned to Jean-Luc and said, "Your education is important, Jean-Luc. Don't let Léa convince you otherwise."

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes, but he finished off his breakfast, and the four of us finally headed out the door, already a few minutes late. Jean-Luc looked even more moody than usual, and I wondered if he knew more than he was letting on about what had happened to his father. Sophie seemed to believe Léa's story, but Jean-Luc was older - perhaps he'd seen right through the lie. As we walked toward the Latin Quarter, I wasn't sure who I was more worried about: Bertrand Sylvestre or his son.

Léa and I dropped the children off, and as the two of us headed back to Sylvestre's house, she said, "I have an idea."

"What is it?" I asked.

"We should break Sylvestre out of jail."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Léa laughed. "You said the exact same thing about breaking into Bergmann's hotel room, and that went pretty well, didn't it?"

"We didn't find anything useful, and we're lucky that we didn't get caught."

"We found Bergmann's music."

Léa had a point. I thought of the composition notebook in my purse, filled with ideas for the symphony, a piece of music that never would have existed if we hadn't broken into the hotel room. Still, breaking Sylvestre out of jail was an entirely different animal. Harmless investigation was one thing, but you had to draw a line somewhere.

"How would we even break someone out of jail?" I asked.

Léa shrugged. "I've done it before," she said.

"When?"

"That time I was arrested, obviously," she said. "They probably would have let me go even if I hadn't broken out - they don't like to admit it, but the Paris Opera really does need me..."

I was deeply concerned, but in the end, I decided not to ask any questions: after all, some things were better off left unsaid. We kept on walking, past the schools and stone statues, over the bridge, back into Sylvestre's neighborhood. When we finally approached his house, Léa turned to me and asked, "So are you in? Are we going to do this?"

"I don't know," I said to her. "I need some time to think."

"Well, we still have a few hours until Sophie gets out of class," Léa said. "And we've got this big, empty house to ourselves..."

"Actually, I was thinking of going back to the boarding house," I said. "I need to make sure that Moreau's doing alright. He's been acting strange ever since he returned from Nantes."

"Of course," Léa said, looking slightly disappointed.

"If I don't get back in time, would you mind picking up Sophie and Jean-Luc?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I truly trusted Léa around the children, but I didn't have many other options, and besides, she had done an excellent job with Sophie earlier that day. Perhaps there were some depths to my friend that I hadn't seen at first glance.

"I wouldn't mind at all! I'll teach them how to fence and play blackjack - maybe we could even go for a wine tasting..."

Now that she'd said that, I trusted Léa to take care of the children even less than I already did, but nevertheless, I said goodbye to her and promised myself that I would be back long before the school day was over.

I then headed straight to Madame Leclerc's boarding house, still feeling a little unnerved from my conversation with Léa, and when I made it to the second floor, I heard the sound of Moreau's violin, but the tone quality seemed off, as if Moreau didn't have any energy left to inject into his sound. I knocked on the door, but Moreau didn't answer. He just kept on playing, as if nothing had happened. I knocked again, and this time, Moreau said, "What do you want?"

"I'm just checking to make sure everything's alright, Mr. Moreau."

"Of course it's not alright!" Moreau exclaimed. "My instrument is perennially flat, the trills aren't coming out right, and I still can't do the sixteenth note runs!" I cracked open the door and peeked inside, and Moreau said, "Just leave me alone, Miss Brackenborough."

Even from that tiny glimpse, I could tell that something was very wrong.