Not until the night of June 28 did André receive a letter on the road from Marquis de Condorcet. Evidently, after Brissot and his circle learned that Lafayette had come south toward Paris almost alone, without bringing troops, they immediately rejected Marquis de Condorcet’s proposal and abandoned the costly bargain with André. Instead, they changed course, set aside old grievances, and—unexpectedly—reached a mutual compromise with Robespierre’s faction.

  As a political response, Robespierre published an article in a Jacobin periodical. In it, he indirectly acknowledged that he had been wrong on the question of war, and that this mistake had led him to misjudge Brissot, the true revolutionary mentor. For the first time, Robespierre recognized Brissot’s leading position within the Jacobins.

  “When a powerful nation launches a war for liberty, the entire country and nation must unite without distinction. The people will fight under the guidance of the leaders they have chosen, who are the most outstanding defenders of equality and the public interest. From the moment the war for liberty is proclaimed, everything is prepared to guarantee victory: the purpose of the war is glorious, those who march are invincible, and the offensive is excellent and great. Just as the Army of the North’s June victory has already recovered Tournai and Mons… As for those conservative, idle bad soldiers, they must be condemned by the people. Send them before military tribunals as soon as possible!”

  Thus, amid Robespierre’s unrestrained praise of the war for liberty, the Jacobins closed ranks again. Majority and minority members alike became cordial, and they began to respond actively to Lafayette’s counterattack.

  Twelve hours later, the long-distance carriage of the de facto commander of the Army of the North, Lieutenant General André, reached Franciade around noon, a northern suburb of Paris (today Saint-Denis; the Revolution loved renaming cities), only fifteen kilometers from the city gates.

  Captain Grisel, André’s nth aide-de-camp, came to the carriage window and asked whether the general wished to rest in the town for a while and enter Paris after lunch. André smiled without answering. He glanced back and saw the gendarmes following the carriage, each of them staring dry-eyed at a tavern not far ahead. The men were clearly sick of sleeping rough and hoped to eat their fill before entering the city.

  “Do not clear the place. Keep it quiet,” André instructed his aide. Paris, the capital, was not like the provinces. Even with his power, he did not want to make an unfriendly disturbance and hand his enemies an excuse.

  Perhaps because the February famine in Paris had not fully receded, the roadside tavern’s business was mediocre. Though it was mealtime, the long tables on the first floor hall—able to seat more than two hundred—held fewer than thirty customers. They were merchants and travelers. Their food was simple: mostly black bread, mashed potatoes, corn porridge, and a thin meat-and-vegetable soup. Only about half had small bottles of wine before them.

  When more than fifty fully armed soldiers crowded into the tavern, the customers grew tense at once. They clutched their bundles and shrank into corners like timid quails, staring helplessly at an unknown fate. The flustered innkeeper hurried to tell a servant to seek help from the town’s National Guard. But the innkeeper’s wife soon called the servant back.

  “Do not panic, citizens!” Captain Grisel’s voice rang out in the hall. Tall and imposing, he continued, “We and our commander only wish to eat here. Now then—where is the proprietor?”

  The short, pot-bellied innkeeper rolled forward at once. Bowing and scraping, he asked what the soldiers wanted, while repeatedly adding that the inn’s provisions were limited and he feared he could not serve them properly.

  André, just inside the door, took a bag of livres from his coat and tossed it to the innkeeper. Smiling, he said, “Here are 200 livres. Bring whatever the house has to eat and drink. If it is not enough, I will pay more afterward.”

  The innkeeper opened the bag with satisfaction. After a rough count, smiling all the while, he handed the coins to his wife to lock away in the cashbox. Then he turned to the kitchen, ordering the cook to prepare food for the soldiers, and told a servant to bring wine at once. The coins in the bag were not assignats, which lost value daily, but real hard currency, and it was the inn’s largest single transaction in two months.

  At that moment, André swept his gaze over the customers cowering by the wall and said with an apologetic expression, “I am truly sorry. I sincerely invite everyone to return to your seats. Madam, please bring one bottle of Burgundy red to each table as well. Consider it my apology—add it all to my bill.” In the eighteenth century, Burgundy red was the wine Paris loved; Champagne was a prop for the upper circles’ vanity.

  With 200 livres for the meal and a bottle of wine as compensation, the hall calmed at once. Among the travelers who had been so tense, some cheered, some stood and removed their hats, some raised their cups—or bottles—to thank the superior who looked dressed like a lawyer. André smiled and returned their greetings one by one.

  André frowned. He noticed that the wooden tub holding the Champagne bottles was filled with well water, not ice. He called the innkeeper over and asked, “Why is there no ice? Was my payment not enough?”

  The innkeeper shook his head quickly and explained to the customers, “Since two weeks ago, the sale of saltpeter has been completely forbidden. In addition, several abandoned monasteries in the town have been converted into nitre beds.”

  André asked casually, “Oh? Who is running the nitre works—the town authorities, or the army?”

  “I do not know. It seems to be people from Paris. They say the delicate residents of the capital hate the stench from nitre beds, so the works were moved here. Damn it—are we country folk supposed to breathe that filth?” The innkeeper’s face grew indignant.

  After sending him away, André tasted his Champagne in an absent manner, but his mind was already turning over the matter. He was certain that neither the Paris provincial administration nor the Paris City Hall had issued any order to cultivate nitre beds in abandoned monasteries.

  Because André had intervened early, the northern provinces had begun stockpiling war materials, including saltpeter, in the second half of last year. Beyond increasing overseas purchases, the border provinces in the north had also planted large nitre beds. Under the guidance of the Académie des Sciences, purification efficiency had improved greatly, and the monthly output was sufficient for routine warfare along the northern frontier of the three major armies. There was no need for Parisian citizens to “support” nitre production.

  In Paris itself and its surrounding province, saltpeter, as a strategic material, was indeed forbidden from open sale. Yet pharmacies and restaurants were still permitted to buy small quantities for their own use. In the Legislative Assembly, Brissot—once the son of an innkeeper—had argued forcefully to secure this privilege for tavern owners.

  Now, in a small town north of Paris, someone was secretly cultivating nitre beds under the name of the Paris municipal government. André could smell conspiracy in it.

  “Grisel, take a few men at once. Change into plain clothes and inquire around. Verify whether the innkeeper’s words are true. Then go look at the nitre beds in the monasteries and find out who is in charge there. Remember: do not startle them,” André ordered.

  The aide before him was among the few candidates recommended by Principal Javert. Captain Grisel, twenty-five years old, also came from the greater Champagne region. In earlier years, Grisel’s father had been close to Javert; he had once taken several knife wounds for Javert when Javert was still a prison guard, and died of them. When Javert later rose in power, he brought Grisel under him, making him a street patrolman. One year later, Grisel was recommended to the Paris police school for further training. He graduated first in his class and received the rank of lieutenant. This June, after completing gendarmerie training, he was sent to the Lille camp to serve as André’s aide-de-camp and intelligence officer.

  Half an hour later, Grisel returned to the tavern and reported the results.

  “The innkeeper’s statement is basically true. All three nitre beds are being handled by an outsider named Babeuf. He started in mid-June this year, and the local town officials are letting it happen.”

  “Babeuf?” It was a familiar yet distant name. André was sure he had not seen this man, or heard anything of him, for a long time. He confirmed again: “Full name Gracchus Babeuf? Medium height, narrow forehead, high cheekbones, with an unusually severe face?”

  Captain Grisel answered firmly. “Yes. Without doubt. The Babeuf I saw matches your description. Sir, should we leave men to watch him?”

  André shook his head. “Forget it. Let your teacher, Principal Javert, handle it.”

  By division of duties, intelligence work in Paris and its surroundings belonged to Javert. Domestic affairs outside Paris had been placed under Father Marey; foreign matters were Penduvas’s specialty.

  Besides, an outsider could not linger here long without alarming the other side. As for Babeuf’s cultivation and collection of saltpeter, André could readily guess that Marat or Danton was directing it from behind the scenes. Most likely the Cordeliers were already preparing ammunition for their own forces.

  And the target, beyond doubt, was the Palais des Tuileries. In the June 20 affair, Danton had not merely sabotaged Brissot’s faction in secret; it was also a rehearsal for the next assault on the palace. Because of Lafayette’s repeated refusal to cooperate, André—who put interests first—had no intention of disrupting the plot being prepared by Danton, Marat, and Babeuf. He would watch coldly from the side.

  …

  Lafayette returned to Paris around the evening of June 29. This army commander, prone to hot-headedness and painfully short of political sense, did the first thing he did upon returning: he rushed to the Tuileries without regard for propriety and met the King and Queen in private, rather than discussing countermeasures with his allies. This provoked strong displeasure from Constitutionalists such as Barnave and Lameth, who believed Lafayette was showing off to the royal couple. In truth, aside from a proud belief in a reputation that no longer existed in reality, Lafayette thought that his name alone was enough to crush any enemy opposed to him and to the constitution.

  Yet the Tuileries still distrusted Lafayette. Though he offered the King and Queen a full package of forceful measures to suppress unrest, Louis XVI reacted coldly to the advice of the General of the White Horse.

  After several cues from the Queen, the King said to Lafayette, “General, the constitution is my safeguard, and at present, as King, I am the only person who obeys the constitution.” The meaning was clear: Lafayette was being warned not to interfere in the conflict between the court and the people.

  When the General of the White Horse turned away helplessly, Queen Marie answered the doubts of a lady-in-waiting who had long attended her. “I know Lafayette wishes to save us,” she said, “but who will save us from Monsieur Lafayette?”

  The next morning, Guadet raised a motion in the Legislative Assembly. He pointed out that “while a great enemy stands before us, General Lafayette, commander of the Army of Moselle, has left the front without any national order and returned to Paris in private.” He demanded severe punishment for Lafayette’s shameless conduct and called for him to be sent to a special military tribunal for further trial.

  Fortunately, Lameth and his circle had already coordinated and mobilized a large number of Constitutionalists deputies and neutrals. Guadet’s impeachment motion was rejected by 339 votes to 234. Moreover, the presiding president, dominated by the Constitutionalists, ignored the fierce objections of Jacobin deputies and publicly issued an invitation for the respected General Lafayette to take a seat in the Assembly’s guest gallery and attend the day’s ordinary session.

  When Lafayette’s figure appeared again in the hall, cheers and curses erupted together, and the chamber seethed in noise for some time. After order was finally restored, Lafayette’s first words were a demand to the Assembly: “Dissolve the Jacobin Club that incites riots at once, punish severely the conspirators who humiliated the King on June 20, and prevent any similar event from happening again!”

  At once, the galleries roared again like a storm tide. Brissot stared at Lafayette with a dark face. Vergniaud, usually so eloquent in passion, was struck into momentary incoherence, stammering and speechless.

  After returning to Paris, André learned that during the National Assembly’s six-hour morning session, five hours had been conducted only with difficulty amid cheers, applause, curses, and accusations.

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  Le Figaro reported: “Although General Lafayette, who abandoned his post, was not impeached by the Legislative Assembly, he has received the merciless contempt of the people of Paris—this is already the second time. There will likely be no third.”

  After returning to Paris, André submitted his report to the office of the presiding president for that day. Then, citing exhaustion from travel, he retired to his villa on the Ile Saint-Louis to recuperate. In the days that followed, André instructed his steward to refuse all requests for visits in the name of the master’s illness. Only internal members of “the Andre faction” (Robespierre’s label for André’s group) were exceptions.

  In the study, André first heard Perrier’s report on the takeover of the United Commercial Bank. The gaunt-faced Jew had been transferred back to Paris from Bordeaux two weeks earlier. Under André’s instructions, Perrier had taken control of the bank’s Paris headquarters from Comte de Cabarrus of Spain.

  In the second month after France formally declared war on Austria, the Kingdom of Prussia and many German states declared war on France. In addition, Spain and the Kingdom of Sardinia broke diplomatic relations with France and dispatched large forces to the Pyrenees and to northern Italy. War on France’s southwest and southeast fronts was also on the verge of eruption.

  It could be said that from late June 1792 onward, aside from the Kingdom of Great Britain standing across the Channel and watching the continent’s turmoil, every surrounding region was hostile to France. Switzerland was included as well.

  To meet the wartime crisis and prevent danger in advance, the Legislative Assembly demanded that the Paris City Hall issue a law regulating foreigners. The law required all foreigners residing in France to report regularly and on time to the local police office and submit unconditionally to security screening. Otherwise, patrolmen had the right to arrest them as foreign spies.

  On this basis, for reasons of personal safety, Comte de Cabarrus and a number of Spanish financiers left Paris. However, the two common-born swordsmen bodyguards, Gonzalez and Fernando, perhaps enamored of life in France without constraint, ultimately chose to remain in Paris. Under André’s arrangements, Gonzalez and Fernando, along with their relatives who volunteered to come to France, also took French citizenship.

  As for his partner, André did not exploit the war to seize assets cheaply. He bought them at a high price. Moreover, he promised that when France and Spain restored peace, Comte de Cabarrus would have the right to repurchase forty-five percent of the United Commercial Bank. André knew that war between France and Spain would not last long. And since the eighteenth century, every shrewd French politician had understood that, because Britain existed, maintaining an allied relationship with Spain best served France’s fundamental interests.

  Comte de Cabarrus had nothing to complain of. On the contrary, he was grateful to André. Their cooperation was not limited to French finance and banking. It also expanded into politics: from mutual support in colonial possessions in the Caribbean to interference in the rise and fall of prime ministers within Spain.

  Thanks to André’s warning, Comte de Cabarrus had laid his groundwork two years earlier and successfully made contact with Godoy, the favorite of Queen Theresa of Spain. In March 1792, unable to withstand Queen Theresa’s constant urging, King Carlos IV appointed Godoy as prime minister, promoted him to marshal of the army, and granted him the title of Duc d’Alcudia.

  In return, Comte de Cabarrus relayed a message through Perrier to André: Prime Minister Godoy had no desire to fight France at all. He was only forced into it by pressure from the Bourbon court (the Spanish royal house was descended from the direct line of Louis XIV) and from radical military commanders.

  The Spanish prime minister even hinted to André that if French forces destroyed a few armies commanded by those radical generals on the frontier, Madrid would reexamine its relationship with revolutionary France.

  André only laughed. “A politician’s words can be believed only halfway. That Spanish prime minister is an opportunist who likes to play both sides.”

  In another timeline, in September 1793, without the full assistance of the Spanish army and navy (including the forces of the Kingdom of Sardinia), Britain’s Mediterranean fleet would never have dared to land on southern French soil and then take Toulon, the naval port held by rebels.

  “How is Little Victor?” André asked. Little Victor was his illegitimate son with a comtesse.

  “He is very healthy,” Perrier replied, and quickly handed André a pure-gold enamel portrait watch.

  The round gold case was decorated with lavish enamel and strings of red, blue, and green gemstones. Inside was a portrait of a young mother holding an infant. The mother was the comtesse of Bordeaux; the child was Little Victor, the illegitimate son of André and the comtesse. In the portrait, though the comtesse was already over thirty, she remained strikingly beautiful. The little boy was full of mischief, tugging at his mother’s neckline as if trying to wriggle free.

  “The comtesse hopes that she and the child can come to Paris, if only to see you,” Perrier said uneasily, playing messenger for once. All France knew that when André took office as Plenipotentiary of the Army of the North, he had sworn that before driving the Austrians out of the Netherlands (Belgium and the United Provinces), he would not consider marriage.

  André hesitated, then said evenly, “You may send word for them to wait for me in Reims. Also advise the comtesse to liquidate her holdings in Bordeaux. Paris has become unsafe as well.”

  Then he shifted topics and issued instructions. “The bank’s future focus must be the northern provinces. Continue to reduce business in the central and southern regions. Downgrade the branches in Nantes, Tours, Orleans, Bordeaux, Toulouse, Nimes, Marseille, and Lyon into sub-branches or offices. As for the headquarters in Paris, it must also be moved to Reims. All of this must be completed before the end of the year.

  “Of course, you need not do it all personally. Let your team handle it; you will oversee. Your future center of work is to prepare to return to the Netherlands. I know your Jewish federation has strong standing in the Low Countries’ financial markets. There, the Military Intelligence Office will cooperate with you.

  “I know you envy the Swiss bankers and wish to emulate Necker or Claviere and become a high official over finance. That is fine. I admire ambition. If all goes well, the future Kingdom of the Netherlands will have a place for you as Minister of Finance, or as a deputy minister.”

  For members of the Andre faction, perhaps the happiest thing was waiting for their superior to draw them a new promise and fill them with zeal. The reason was simple: André’s promises were almost always fulfilled. Even when he could not perform them in the short term, he would compensate the disappointed. The most typical case was Hoche: when André was still a minor lawyer, he promised to raise Hoche to general within three years, and he kept the promise in only two.

  After seeing off Perrier, who walked away in private ecstasy as if he were drifting in the air, André was preparing to return to his bedroom when he heard the steward arguing with visitors outside the villa. The dutiful old man was carrying out his master’s will, refusing entry to any visitor, identified or not, into the grounds.

  A faint smile appeared at André’s mouth. He instructed Captain Grisel, standing at the door, to tell the steward to bring the guests into the great reception room and to prepare tea and refreshments. He had recognized several familiar voices among the visitors.

  …

  To protest Lafayette’s slanders against the Jacobins in the Legislative Assembly, a group of unnamed left-wing radicals went to the door of the Feuillant Club across the street and, before nightfall, burned an effigy of Lafayette. This vile provocation immediately aroused intense anger among the Constitutionalists.

  At noon the next day, a large group of grenadiers in blue uniforms, artillerymen, and serving officers crowded around Lafayette’s carriage and came slowly to the Jacobin Club, stopping at the gate. Soon, these National Guards sympathetic to the Constitutionalists began to shake the fine plumes on their hats. With fierce expressions, they waved their fists and shouted, “Down with the Jacobins! Punish the lawless instigators!”

  Fortunately, these military zealots had received no order to attack the Jacobin Club. Their weapons remained on their shoulders from beginning to end; no ammunition was loaded, and no bayonets were fixed. After shouting a few slogans, they followed Lafayette’s carriage onward again. It was said they were going to relieve the guard at the Palais des Tuileries.

  At the Jacobin Club gate, Brissot, Robespierre, and Danton watched Lafayette’s carriage depart with dark faces, yet none of them dared to speak out in defiance. The enemy’s intention was obvious: Lafayette was not merely intimidating the left; he also sought to stir the National Guard of Paris against left-wing radicals. Under the danger of coercion, the Jacobins set aside internal divisions and thought only of the Revolution’s security.

  “We also need the support of the army, not a pack of cowards,” Brissot said firmly.

  Events had already proven that those so-called militias of trousered militants were usually worth nothing when facing a real army. Meanwhile, Colonel Santerre, who had opened the palace gate in secret, was dismissed by the National Guard staff. His infantry battalion was dissolved, and several other guard battalions sympathetic to the Revolution suffered the same fate.

  Danton took up the thread. “One week from now, Paris will hold the third Festival of the Federation, and the federated troops from the departments will arrive in Paris before July 14. In addition, my friends in the Cordeliers are quietly agitating and suborning several National Guard battalions. But we lack weapons badly, and we need rifle ammunition urgently.”

  The King had vetoed the previous Minister of War’s decree to recruit 20,000 volunteers, but in early July the Legislative Assembly passed a new decree ordering the National Guards of the departments to come to Paris for the July 14 Festival of the Federation, and to be provided with travel expenses and lodging conveniences.

  Robespierre shook his head. “Gentlemen, the waiting time is too long. I fear that next time Lafayette will directly order his loyal troops to attack the Jacobin Club, not merely threaten and demonstrate as he did today.”

  Marquis de Condorcet stepped forward. “Why not seek André’s help? He is also a Jacobin. If we speak of how much the court hates the popular party, André is far ahead of any of you.”

  Brissot, Robespierre, and Danton looked at one another and said nothing. If there were any other choice, none of them would yield to André again on the question of the army. But now…

  Condorcet continued, “I know you all fear André’s power in the army. I do as well. I have read that book written by the English deputy. But gentlemen, if André does not oppose Lafayette, are we truly prepared to oppose the muskets and cannon of the Constitutionalists army with the spears and sickles of the sans-culottes?”

  After weighing gains and losses, Condorcet, Brissot, Robespierre, and Danton reached agreement and decided to visit André, who was recuperating at home. In addition, Danton brought Pétion along. Having learned that Lafayette had returned to Paris, the man finally tore himself from a comtesse’s embrace and returned to the Jacobins’ fighting post. Because the matter involved the army, Brissot also brought the former Minister of War, General Servan. As for Robespierre, he likewise called in his friend Carnot, a deputy of the Legislative Assembly and an excellent engineer captain.

  …

  When André took over Judge Vinault’s villa, he barely altered the original furnishings, except for the great reception room on the first floor. The new owner had instructed the designer to keep the interior simple yet tasteful: nothing useless, nothing luxurious. The furniture was walnut, without ornament.

  André liked the great reception room because it opened directly to the rear garden. Beyond the tall windows lay a green lawn dotted with several trees, countless roses, and flowers of every color. The columns and railings on both sides of the windows were covered by jasmine, honeysuckle, grapevines, and clematis, while at the front of the house stood an arched stairway wrapped in vines. From afar, the villa on the Ile Saint-Louis seemed to stand amid a riot of colored blossoms.

  The old steward wheeled in a cart carrying iced red wine and Champagne, along with pastries and fruit. After filling each person’s glass with Champagne, he turned and left without a word. Captain Grisel, standing outside, gently closed the door and, together with two Spanish bodyguards, kept watch.

  In the reception room, Condorcet, Brissot, Pétion, and Servan sat to the left of the cold fireplace. Robespierre, Danton, and Carnot sat opposite them. All the visitors kept silent. As for André, the master of the villa, he paced back and forth in the open space between them, looking at a loss.

  A few minutes earlier, Condorcet had bluntly asked André to join the camp opposing Lafayette. André had only smiled noncommittally, continuing to pace.

  “André,” Pétion asked frankly, “say it. What terms do you need?” Brissot gave the former Mayor of Paris a look.

  André let out a long sigh and explained with concern. “Gentlemen, I do not seeks so-called political benefit. In truth, compared with the political crisis caused by Lafayette and the Constitutionalists, I am far more worried about the 130,000 Prusso-Austrian Coalition assembling in the Duchy of Luxembourg, together with more than 10,000 émigré troops. Because of Lafayette’s inaction, the line of the Army of Moselle will become untenable.”

  Brissot cursed inwardly: “Just say you want the command of the Army of Moselle outright, instead of wrapping it in all this damn nonsense.”

  Yet in the ritual of bargaining, Brissot signaled General Servan to make the next gesture of sincerity.

  Thus the former Minister of War said, “We unanimously agree that General Lafayette is no longer fit to continue as commander of the Army of Moselle. Therefore, we hope that in the future the Army of Moselle and the Army of the North will be merged, and General Berthier will continue to serve as commander.”

  André took a sip of ice-cold Champagne, pleased, but did not answer at once.

  “Of course,” Carnot took over. “Given the excessive length of the Army of the North’s front, I believe the northern defenses should be adjusted appropriately. I propose that the Army of the North’s line should begin at the Ardennes Forest plateau and extend west all the way to the Atlantic. The other lines should be taken over by the Army of the Rhine and the forces of the former Army of Moselle that remain in the Meuse and Moselle departments. They will form a new northeastern army group: the Army of the Rhine and the Army of Moselle.”

  “No. The Meuse belongs to the Army of the North’s sector,” André rebutted at once. The Marne, the economic core of the Andre faction, and its surrounding region had to remain under his control. That was his bottom line. As for the richer Moselle and Metz, André knew he could no longer take everything for himself.

  After Robespierre exchanged a glance with Danton and Brissot, the leaders of the three Jacobin camps accepted André’s condition together. Now it was André’s turn to speak.

  “Gentlemen, do not worry about Lafayette. He is nothing but a complete fool with a cold, arrogant mask—a ridiculous knight of the Don Quixote sort, preserving medieval habits of mind. He always imagines himself the savior of the monarchy. Yet the Tuileries, which fears him even more than it fears us Jacobins, has already sold out that General of the White Horse…”

  While the Jacobins’ leading figures gathered at the villa on the Ile Saint-Louis, André had already received intelligence: Louis XVI and Queen Marie had canceled their review of the National Guard palace garrison during the change of guard on the Place du Carrousel. This struck a heavy blow to the officers and men sympathetic to the Constitutionalists, who began to accuse the court of betraying them.

  General Menou, chief of staff of the Paris National Guard, politely refused Lafayette’s suggestion, stating that he would no longer increase any defensive forces inside or outside the Tuileries, his tone carrying open contempt for the court.

  Furious, Lafayette left the National Guard camp. He decided to write overnight to his friend and former trusted subordinate, General Kléber, now stationed at the Versailles camp, asking him to move his infantry division to the vicinity of the Tuileries.

  Unluckily for Lafayette, the messenger he dispatched had already been bought by the Military Intelligence Office. In less than half an hour, the letter’s original was delivered straight into André’s hands.

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