PARIS POSTCARD - A SARGENT STORY

Laurent de Saint Périer had something he wanted to show his parents. On a recent Tuesday morning, he left his apartment, in the Sixteenth Arrondissement, and walked several blocks to their place, on Avenue Victor Hugo.

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Saint Périer was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt with raspberry stripes. He had an embroidered scarf that he'd picked up in Ethiopia slung around his neck, and he was discreetly sweating from the effort of having hauled the surprise, which he'd stuffed into a large canvas tote from the children's-clothing brand Bonton. Once he'd greeted Papa (more formally known as Amaury-Urbain Florian Marie de Poilloüe de Saint Périer de Kergorlay) and Maman (Hélène-Henriette Charlette de Bourbon, before her marriage), he produced an ancient-looking wooden box, which he set on a sideboard between two brass pheasants.

Saint Périer had spent the weekend spelunking in the archives of his mother's family's château, where his father's family's archives have been stored since their château passed into public hands, in 1978. He slid the lid off the box. Inside: a profusion of plum-colored silk, so dried out that anyone who touched it risked turning it to dust. The bundle was accompanied by a yellowing calligraphed label: “Dress of the Vicomtesse de Saint Périer worn by her the day of the Bazar de la Charité fire where she met her death (4 May 1897).”

“It's very moving,” Laurent said.

Amaury-Urbain, who happened to be celebrating his ninetieth birthday, chimed in. “As you can see, she didn't burn. She was asphyxiated.”