A novel about perfume began like this:
People could close their eyes before greatness, terror, and beauty; they could turn a deaf ear to beautiful melodies or beguiling words. But they could not escape scent. It entered their bodies with every breath, and if they wished to survive, they could not resist it.
The first thing Fargeon did after returning to Paris was sort out his old workshop. It stood directly across from the Louvre Museum; crossing the Pont des Arts would bring one there.
When Georgiana arrived in the area in Julian Ouvrard's carriage, she found galleries, art schools, and craftsmen's workshops there. Not far away stood the Mazarine Library and the French Academy.
"He certainly knew how to pick a place," Georgiana sighed sincerely. Even she wanted a workshop of her own in such a place.
Though he had once supplied perfume to the queen, Fargeon's perfumery was not in the busiest district. Instead, it stood near the Royal Academy of Architecture.
Since the reign of Louis XIV, the French royal family had attached particular importance to architecture—Baroque, Rococo, Neoclassicism, and so on. But a true school of design had not been established until 1766. Fargeon's workshop sat right beside the academy's wall and looked especially inconspicuous.
Only after entering did they discover a courtyard behind the shop. Going around it led straight into the school grounds, where a vigorous poplar tree grew.
It had the feeling of quiet amid bustle. Across from the poplar stood a single-story building with its door open. Georgiana walked in and found two apprentices working inside.
They seemed shocked that visitors had come. They stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
"Is your teacher here?" Julian asked.
"Uh, he went out," one apprentice said blankly.
"Where did he go? When