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you will be kind enough to tell me what I may do to help you achieve what you are seeking?”
    “That’s why I’m here,” she said, and then tried to explain herself. “Not that I want to impose upon you, but I would like to find a publisher who can produce my work without being in danger from the government. As I told you when I first wrote to you and mentioned my work, I’m aware that many publishers are … chary about what topics they consider. Your reply was encouraging, and so I’m hoping you don’t feel constrained to follow the example of American university presses. I’d be grateful if you would consider my work for that reason alone, but I have learned that Eclipse Publishing has an enviable reputation, and that adds to my hope that your company will want my book.” She patted her briefcase. “I have a copy of my current manuscript here, which I would like to submit to your Editorial Board. I was hoping to discuss that with you, as well as what other sorts of books you are seeking.”
    “You have more projects in mind?” The flicker of amusement in his dark eyes took the sting out of his question.
    “Yes,” she admitted. “Several.”
    “Very wise. It’s always useful to have new works in progress. It keeps thoughts fresh.” He offered another brief smile. “Will you leave that copy with me? I’ll take care to get it to the Board. If it’s accepted, we will discuss further works.” He got up from the sofa but only to ring for Rogers. “Would you like more coffee, Professor Treat? Or would you prefer Lundquist?”
    “Treat will be fine.” She was about to say no to the offer of coffee, but changed her mind. “Yes, please.” She suddenly felt very vulnerable; she gathered up her courage and went on. “I am in contact with other American academicians who are seeking publication abroad, since they cannot find any editor at home willing to—” She broke off. “May I tell them how to submit manuscripts to your Editorial Board and peer review? For the most part, they’re in a similar predicament to mine: trying to do work while improvising a living here in Europe.”
    His enigmatic gaze rested on her for almost a minute before he said, “I have an information packet that Rogers will give you when you leave. Another pot of coffee for Professor Treat, and more milk.” This last was to Rogers, who had come to the open door. “And a copy of our submissions protocol,” he added.
    “It will be ready when she departs,” said Rogers, and went away.
    The Grof turned back to her. “Now, if you will tell me a little about your book? Just the barest outlines, if you will—and some idea of its level of scholarship. Do you intend it for university students, or a more general readership?”
    “For university level students of history or anthropology,” she said. “And perhaps some of the general public with such interests—history buffs and the like.”
    “And how do you present your material? How academic is your style? Might a well-informed layman be able to read it without difficulty?” He sat back and propped one ankle on his opposite knee; she saw that the soles of his shoes were unfashionably thick, and was diverted by this little vanity; so many short men, she thought, wanted to be tall.
    “I hardly know where to start,” she said, his inquiry having taken her by surprise.
    “Then please begin with the title.”
    She took a deep breath. “ Social Structures of Communes and Communards in Medieval Europe. I’m primarily interested in social structures as they relate to folklore and cosmologies of the past, but the difference between Western Medieval societies before the Black Plague and afterward was so compelling that I used this for my work.” She paused, then added, “Europe had to reinvent its social structure.”
    “Compelling,” Szent-Germain repeated, recalling the terrible years that began with the first epidemic and the chaos he saw everywhere he went; the Plague