The Quai d'Orsay, Paris
Late 1947 - The Shadow of Pondicherry
The news of India's military operations against Pakistan, spreading far beyond the disputed valleys of Kashmir, reached the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs at the Quai d'Orsay not with the panic that had seized London, but with a tired, knowing cynicism that only a nation recently humiliated could muster.
France, struggling under the weight of its Fourth Republic's parliamentary instability, was a nation desperately attempting to rebuild its global standing after the profound shame of Nazi occupation. The scars of Vichy collaboration still festered beneath the surface of national pride, wounds that made every colonial loss feel like a fresh indignity, every diplomatic setback another step toward irrelevance.
The French clung to what remained of their colonial empire with the desperation of a drowning man clutching debris—not because the territories themselves mattered economically, but because they represented the last visible proof that France remained a global power rather than merely a European nation recovering from catastrophic defeat.
And France possessed very recent, very painful memories of dealing with the new India's methods—memories that colored every subsequent interaction with a mixture of resentment and grudging respect.
Just weeks before, in the chaotic aftermath of Indian independence, the centuries-old French establishments in India—Pondicherry, Karaikal, Yanam, Mahe, and Chandernagore—had been "integrated" into the Indian Union through a process that the French diplomatic corps could only describe as brutally efficient territorial absorption disguised as democratic expression.
The operation had demonstrated Anirban Sen's government's capacity for combining multiple pressure points into an irresistible force. There had been the sudden surge of pro-India popular movements within the territories, demonstrations and petitions that Paris suspected were heavily organized and funded from Delhi, complete with the kind of grassroots coordination that suggested professional organization rather than spontaneous sentiment.
Simultaneously, India had implemented crippling economic blockades that severed the French territories from their supply lines, transforming them from viable administrative units into isolated pockets of scarcity. The blockades had been technically legal—India controlled all land routes and could regulate commerce through its territory without explicitly violating international law—but their effect had been devastating. Within weeks, the French enclaves faced shortages of basic goods, their economies grinding toward paralysis.
Throughout this process, intense diplomatic pressure had been applied, communications from Delhi that bordered on ultimatums while maintaining the formal language of negotiation. The message had been clear even when wrapped in diplomatic courtesy: the French establishments represented geographical anomalies that the Republic of India would not tolerate indefinitely, and France could choose to recognize this reality voluntarily or have it imposed involuntarily.
Undergirding everything had been the ever-present, carefully unspoken threat of the newly assertive Indian Army simply marching in and declaring the territories liberated. The military option was never explicitly mentioned in diplomatic exchanges, but the recent integration of Junagadh and Hyderabad—both accomplished through combinations of economic pressure and overwhelming military presence—provided object lessons in what happened when recalcitrant territories attempted to maintain independence from the Indian Union.
Paris, already drowning in far larger colonial crises in Indochina and North Africa, lacking both the will and the means for a direct military confrontation over these small, scattered territories that had always been more symbolic than strategic, had been forced into a humiliating surrender. The French government had relinquished the territories with minimal grace, issuing statements about respecting the democratic will of local populations while privately seething at the diplomatic mugging they had endured.
Foreign Minister Georges Bidault, a man whose Gaullist pride was easily wounded and whose memory for slights was encyclopedic, had not forgotten the experience. The wounds to French prestige remained fresh, informing every subsequent assessment of the Indian government and its methods.
"So, Monsieur Sen begins as he means to continue," Bidault had remarked sarcastically to his senior aides upon learning of the voluntary integration of the French territories, his tone dripping with the particular bitterness that comes from recognizing superior strategy while resenting its application.
"He dispenses with the niceties of protracted negotiation. He creates facts on the ground with overwhelming momentum, then graciously allows us to ratify the inevitable. A lesson for us all, perhaps, in how the post-colonial world intends to conduct its affairs—with the same ruthless pragmatism that built our empires, now turned against us."
The comment had circulated through the Quai d'Orsay's corridors, becoming part of the institutional memory that shaped French diplomats' understanding of India's new leadership. Anirban Sen was categorized not as a Gandhi-style idealist or even a Nehru-style socialist dreamer, but as something more dangerous: a strategic realist who understood power and wielded it without the hesitation that came from Western guilt or postcolonial uncertainty.
Therefore, when Operation Tandav unfolded with such devastating speed, when Pakistan crumbled under the coordinated assault of India's reorganized military, when reports of Anirban Sen's internal consolidation of power began filtering through French intelligence channels, the reaction in Paris was less shock than grim confirmation of their existing assessment.
The intelligence reports that reached Bidault's desk painted a portrait of systematic power centralization. The sidelining of Jawaharlal Nehru—once assumed to be India's inevitable leader, now relegated to the Foreign Ministry with ceremonial duties and minimal actual authority—demonstrated Sen's willingness to override expected hierarchies when they conflicted with operational efficiency.
The subsequent assassinations, while officially attributed to Pakistani agents and genuinely mourned as national tragedies, had the convenient effect of removing several potential challengers to Sen's authority and solidifying public support for his hardline policies. French intelligence analysts, trained in the subtle art of reading political violence, noted the timing and consequences with professional interest, filing reports that stopped just short of explicit accusation but conveyed clear implications through careful arrangement of verified facts and suggestive chronology.
The portrait that emerged from these assessments was of an Indian Bismarck—a leader determined to forge a powerful, unified state through combinations of military force, diplomatic maneuvering, and ruthless internal consolidation, utterly unconcerned with established international norms or the sensitivities of former colonial powers who still imagined they shaped global affairs.
The French diplomatic corps, sophisticated enough to recognize excellence even when directed against French interests, harbored a complex mixture of resentment toward Sen's methods and grudging admiration for their effectiveness. He had outmaneuvered them comprehensively over Pondicherry, demonstrated military capacity that exceeded expectations during the Pakistan conflict, and now appeared to be consolidating a degree of internal authority that Western democracies found simultaneously impressive and unsettling.
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The Quai d'Orsay, Paris
Early February 1948 - Post-Assassinations and the Security Council Bid
The news of the assassinations of Azad,Neheru and others in Delhi and the near-fatal attack on Mahatma Gandhi, all attributed to a Pakistani intelligence operation, reached Paris with the same horrified reactions that swept through chancelleries worldwide. The murder of sitting government officials represented a fundamental breach of civilized international conduct, and the death of Gandhi and moderate leaders like Neheru, Azad—regardless of one's views on his politics—constituted an assault on a figure of undeniable moral authority.
However, even this tragedy was viewed by certain elements within the Quai d'Orsay through the calculating lens of strategic analysis, the professional distance that allowed diplomats to assess events for their political implications rather than simply reacting with emotional horror.
"A horrific event," Bidault had admitted in a private conversation with his intelligence chief, his tone carrying genuine revulsion at the violence. "But one which, from a purely political perspective, serves Monsieur Sen's narrative of justified war against a barbaric enemy almost too perfectly. It silences his internal critics—who can oppose strong measures when the alternative appears to be assassination? It provides him with an unbeatable moral justification for war on the world stage. And it consolidates public support at precisely the moment when questions might have emerged about the scope and intensity of the military response."
The intelligence chief, a career analyst who had survived both the Free French and Vichy bureaucracies through careful political agility, had nodded slowly. "The timing is remarkable. The assassinations occurred precisely when they would generate maximum political benefit for the current government. One might almost suspect orchestration if the evidence did not so clearly point to Pakistani involvement."
Bidault had given him a sharp look. "One suspects many things in this profession. One reports only what can be proven. The official position of the French government is that these were despicable acts of terrorism that fully justified India's military response. Our private analyses can note interesting patterns without making accusations that would poison diplomatic relations."
The conversation had exemplified the French approach to the India question—publicly sympathetic and supportive while privately maintaining sophisticated skepticism about the convenient alignment of tragic events with strategic objectives. This dual perspective would inform their response to India's Security Council bid.
The subsequent intelligence whispers from New York, indicating that Anirban Sen himself had arrived in the city, that he was engaging directly with British and American representatives regarding India's bid for permanent Security Council membership, were more difficult to obtain concrete details about. The trilateral meeting between the United Kingdom, United States, and India was by its nature highly classified, conducted in private venues with security protocols that excluded even allied intelligence services.
However, French diplomats were sufficiently experienced in reading the patterns of high-level diplomatic activity to piece together the general contours of what was occurring. The sudden flurry of consultations between British and American missions, the hushed conversations in UN corridors that ceased abruptly when French representatives approached, the visible tension in Ambassador Cadogan's bearing—all suggested intense negotiations with significant stakes.
The known economic leverage India held over Britain through the Sterling Balances was no secret in international financial circles. French treasury officials, who maintained their own networks within global banking systems, understood the magnitude of Britain's debt and the catastrophic consequences of India calling those obligations. The financial pressure point was obvious to anyone who studied the situation seriously.
The French intelligence service also possessed capabilities that allowed them to monitor certain communication patterns, though not content, between diplomatic missions. The volume and urgency of encrypted communications between New York, London, and Washington during the relevant period suggested crisis-level negotiations rather than routine diplomatic coordination.
From these fragments, French analysts constructed a working hypothesis: Britain was being financially squeezed into supporting India's Security Council bid, while America was being courted with offers of strategic alignment and reassurances about India's democratic trajectory. The hypothesis could not be confirmed without access to the actual negotiations, but it aligned with everything France knew about Sen's approach to diplomacy—identify leverage points, apply pressure precisely, offer acceptable exit strategies that allowed opponents to surrender with dignity intact.
France, as a permanent Security Council member possessing veto power, understood they would inevitably be approached for their support. The question was not whether but when and on what terms. Unlike Britain, France had no colossal war debt that could be weaponized against them. Unlike the United States, they were less fixated on the global anti-communist crusade as their primary foreign policy driver, being more concerned with maintaining their remaining colonial empire and preserving French influence in European affairs.
France's primary leverage derived from their veto power itself and their status as a leading European power whose opinion carried weight in international deliberations. They could not be financially coerced like Britain, nor frightened by Communist expansion like America. They would need to be persuaded that supporting India served French interests, or at minimum that opposing India would damage those interests more than supporting them.
This understanding shaped the French diplomatic posture as they awaited the inevitable meeting with India's representatives. They would listen carefully, concede nothing prematurely, and calibrate their response based on what India offered and what France could extract in exchange for support.
The French Mission to the United Nations, New York
February 1948 - Two Days Before the Vote
The French Mission occupied a building that projected an air of carefully preserved European elegance amidst the brash modernity of New York's international district. The architecture suggested permanence and cultural superiority, a physical manifestation of France's self-conception as the bearer of civilization rather than merely another nation-state competing for influence.
The interior demonstrated the same aesthetic philosophy. High ceilings with ornate plasterwork, paintings that referenced French colonial triumphs while carefully omitting colonial atrocities, furniture that spoke of Louis XIV's grandeur rather than Fourth Republic instability. The building announced that France might currently be weak, but it possessed a civilizational depth that mere military or economic power could not replicate.
Ambassador Alexandre Parodi embodied this French self-conception perfectly. At sixty-one, he represented generations of diplomatic service, carrying himself with the bearing of someone who viewed his position not as a job but as the continuation of a civilizational mission. His features were refined, his manner courteous yet subtly superior, his French-accented English a deliberate choice that asserted cultural identity even while communicating in the language of the Anglo-American order he subtly resented.
When Anirban Sen and V.K. Krishna Menon arrived, they were greeted with perfect courtesy that nevertheless maintained appropriate distance. The scent of strong coffee and Gauloises cigarettes lingered in the reception area, distinctly French markers in an otherwise international environment.
They were ushered into a tastefully appointed salon overlooking a small garden that somehow maintained European formality despite the harsh New York winter. Weak February sunlight slanted through tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like visible manifestations of history and protocol. Parodi gestured toward a Louis XV armchair with gilded wood and brocade upholstery, its elegance a pointed contrast to the utilitarian furniture of the Soviet Mission or the commercial luxury of the Waldorf Astoria.
"Prime Minister Sen, Monsieur Menon," Parodi began, his French accent lending musical quality to English words, transforming administrative language into something approaching poetry. "It is an honor to receive you. Paris has been following the recent, momentous events in your great nation with profound attention and, if I may say, considerable sympathy for the trials India has endured."
His eyes, however, betrayed the calculation beneath courteous words. They were sharp, missing nothing, carrying the weight of a nation that had itself known both imperial grandeur and occupied humiliation, that understood power's transience and pride's permanence.
Anirban settled into the offered chair with the composed authority that had become his signature, yet with a subtle nod acknowledging the Ambassador's welcome with appropriate respect. "Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, your graciousness is deeply appreciated. India, in turn, has always held France in the highest esteem—not merely as a great power in the conventional sense, but as a cradle of liberty, equality, and fraternity. These are ideals that resonate profoundly with our own aspirations for the Republic of India."
He allowed a slight, almost wistful smile to touch his features, projecting warmth without weakness. "It is in this spirit of shared values, and in recognition of the new realities shaping our world, that I have sought this personal conversation with you today."
"Indeed, Prime Minister," Parodi replied, as a discreet aide materialized with delicate porcelain cups of coffee that appeared as if summoned by aristocratic will rather than mere service protocols. "The world is undeniably in a state of profound transformation. France, as a founding member of the United Nations and a permanent member of its Security Council, is keenly aware of its responsibilities in navigating these turbulent waters."
He took a slow, considered sip, the gesture buying time for assessment while maintaining conversational rhythm. "You wish to discuss India's role in this new configuration, I presume?"
"Precisely, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," Anirban confirmed, accepting his own cup and acknowledging the ritual of hospitality with appropriate gravity. In diplomatic encounters, the preliminary courtesies mattered as much as substantive discussions, establishing tone and mutual respect that would frame everything that followed.
"India believes, with conviction born of recent, hard-won experience, that its presence as a permanent member of the Security Council is not merely a national aspiration, but a geopolitical necessity for the stable and equitable governance of Asia, and by extension, the entire international order."
Parodi placed his cup down with deliberate care, the delicate clink of porcelain against saucer somehow conveying skepticism more effectively than words. "A bold assertion, Prime Minister, though not entirely unexpected given India's new prominence on the world stage. Your nation has certainly demonstrated a formidable capacity for decisive action in recent months."
He paused, his gaze level and penetrating, before continuing with pointed precision. "A capacity, I must add, that France has observed with particular interest—not least in the context of the recent, remarkably swift administrative and political adjustments concerning the former French establishments in India. Pondicherry, Chandernagore, and the other territories—their integration into the Indian Union was accomplished with impressive efficiency."
The polite phrasing barely concealed the lingering sting of colonial loss, the wound to French pride that came from being outmaneuvered so comprehensively. Krishna Menon shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat, recognizing the challenge embedded in Parodi's observation, but Anirban's expression remained perfectly controlled, acknowledging the reference without defensiveness or apology.
"Ah, yes, the historical enclaves," Anirban said thoughtfully, his tone suggesting regret about necessity rather than triumph over weakness. "A delicate matter indeed, Ambassador, which my government attempted to resolve with the utmost respect for French cultural contributions to Indian civilization and with deference to what we believed constituted the overwhelming democratic will of the populations concerned."
He leaned forward slightly, engaging Parodi directly rather than hiding behind diplomatic abstraction. "These territories represented, if you will permit the characterization, the final gentle corrections of geographical and historical anomalies that became inevitable with the birth of a fully sovereign Indian Republic. We trust the transition has been managed in a manner that preserves the rich Franco-Indian cultural heritage that both our nations genuinely value."
"The speed of the transition was certainly remarkable, Prime Minister," Parodi replied, allowing a ghost of a dry smile to touch his lips—an expression that conveyed sophisticated understanding rather than naive acceptance of the official narrative. "It provided France with a rather vivid demonstration of Delhi's proactive approach to perceived anomalies. Your government proved quite adept at combining popular movements, economic pressure, and diplomatic intensity into an irresistible momentum."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening with the precision of a surgeon making an incision. "Which brings us, perhaps inevitably, to the current situation. The conflict with Pakistan was resolved with similar proactive efficiency. And the tragic events in Delhi—the assassination of senior government officials, the terrible wounding of Mahatma Gandhi—these have understandably generated immense international concern and have, it must be acknowledged, significantly reshaped global perceptions of India's new government and its methods."
The statement hung in the air like an accusation wrapped in sympathy, suggesting questions about timing and beneficiaries without making explicit allegations that could be formally refuted. Anirban recognized the technique—he had employed similar approaches himself when navigating sensitive topics that required acknowledgment without direct confrontation.
"Indeed, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," Anirban responded, his voice taking on a somber, measured quality that projected genuine grief while maintaining strategic control. "India has paid a terrible price for its security and its territorial integrity. The aggression we faced from Pakistan was brutal and systematic. The attack on our leaders—an assault on the very embodiment of our democratic institutions—represented an act of unspeakable barbarity that violated every norm of civilized international conduct."
He paused, allowing the weight of these events to register before continuing. "We responded as any sovereign nation must when its very existence is threatened, when its leaders are murdered, when its territorial integrity is violated. And we have subsequently demonstrated our commitment to lasting peace and regional stability by waiving monetary reparations from a defeated Pakistan, choosing instead to focus on humanitarian concerns and the construction of a stable regional order."
Anirban then directly addressed what he knew constituted a key French concern, shared broadly across Western capitals—the question of whether India's emergency measures represented temporary crisis response or permanent authoritarian consolidation.
"My government, Ambassador, remains firmly committed to ensuring that this new, strong India continues as a beacon of democratic governance. By the end of this calendar year, we will have established a fully robust, constitutionally grounded democratic administration across all our territories. The temporary measures implemented during a period of extreme national peril were precisely that—temporary deviations necessitated by existential threats, not a new permanent political doctrine or the beginning of authoritarian rule."
The assurance was delivered with absolute conviction, projecting certainty about democratic trajectory while carefully avoiding detailed commitments about exactly what "democratic administration" would entail in practice. The Emergency would be lifted, elections would be held, but the specific timeline and the degree of continued central authority remained deliberately vague.
Parodi nodded slowly, his expression suggesting that he registered the assurance while maintaining appropriate skepticism about whether official promises would translate into actual democratic restoration. "Such commitments are, of course, noted with considerable interest, Prime Minister. France, as you rightly observe, cherishes democratic principles and has considerable historical experience with the delicate balance between effective governance and the preservation of liberties."
He shifted in his seat, adopting a more formal posture that signaled transition to substantive negotiation. "Regarding the Security Council, its permanent membership represents a privilege and a responsibility of the highest order. Any alteration to its composition requires, as the Charter explicitly dictates, the most careful deliberation and the unanimous consent of all current permanent members. France would need to be thoroughly convinced that such an expansion serves not merely the legitimate aspirations of one great nation, however deserving, but the fundamental interests of global peace, international law, and the effective, equitable functioning of the Council itself."
The statement established France's bargaining position clearly. They would not be rushed, they would not be pressured, and they required convincing on substantive grounds rather than simply accepting India's self-assessment of its importance. Unlike Britain, which could be financially coerced, or America, which feared Communist expansion, France needed persuading that supporting India advanced French interests specifically.
"And that, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, is precisely the case India presents," Anirban countered smoothly, his voice regaining confident momentum as he moved from defensive justification to affirmative argument. "A Security Council that excludes a nation representing one-fifth of humanity, a nation absolutely central to the stability of the Asian continent, is a Council that has become outdated and fundamentally incomplete as a representative body."
He leaned forward, engaging Parodi with direct intensity. "India's inclusion would bring a vital, balancing perspective to Council deliberations—an independent voice, not beholden to any single power bloc, not automatic in its alignments, a voice rooted in an ancient civilization yet committed to modern democratic ideals and scientific rationality."
Anirban then subtly shifted his approach, appealing to France's carefully cultivated image of cultural grandeur and independent foreign policy vision, targeting French self-conception as a civilization rather than merely a nation-state.
"France, perhaps more than any other great power, understands the value of a genuinely multipolar world—a world enriched by diverse perspectives and civilizational voices, not dominated by a crude Anglo-American duopoly or reduced to simplistic Cold War binaries. A strong, independent India on the Security Council would be a natural partner for France in championing such a vision of international order."
He allowed his voice to warm with genuine enthusiasm, projecting partnership rather than transaction. "We could collaborate across countless fronts—fostering deeper cultural and intellectual exchange between our ancient civilizations, advocating for the rights and development trajectories of emerging nations, ensuring that voices of reason and diverse historical experience are not drowned out by the louder powers in shaping our collective future."
Anirban then hinted, though without the crude specificity of explicit offers, at potential for enhanced economic and technological partnerships—perhaps in areas of French industrial excellence, in cultural exchange, in scientific collaboration that would benefit both nations. The suggestions remained deliberately vague, allowing Parodi to imagine possibilities without committing to specific transactions that could be later disputed.
"Our shared commitment to intellectual pursuits, to artistic expression, to a certain philosophical sophistication about the complexity of human civilization—these represent bonds that transcend mere political calculation, do they not? These are the foundations upon which genuine partnership can be constructed, partnership more durable than temporary alliances based on fear or immediate advantage."
Parodi allowed himself a slight, considered smile, recognizing the sophistication of Anirban's approach. The appeal to French exceptionalism and France's desire for an independent global voice was well calibrated, touching precisely the pressure points where French pride and strategic interest aligned. The suggestion of civilizational partnership, of France and India jointly resisting Anglo-American dominance, possessed genuine appeal to a nation that deeply resented its diminished status despite maintaining cultural pretensions to continued grandeur.
However, powerful counterweights remained. The memory of how swiftly French sovereignty had been erased in India still stung. The broader concerns about a newly assertive Asian power setting precedents that might eventually affect France's remaining colonial interests—particularly in Indochina, where nationalist movements were already gaining dangerous momentum—created genuine anxiety. Supporting India's rise might inadvertently encourage other colonized peoples to demand similar treatment, similar recognition, similar respect.
"Your vision is articulated with considerable eloquence and strategic insight, Prime Minister," Parodi conceded, his tone now more reflective than defensive, suggesting genuine engagement with the arguments rather than merely diplomatic politeness. "The multipolar world you describe possesses certain attractions for French foreign policy thinking. We have never been entirely comfortable with the bipolar framework that appears to be crystallizing between Washington and Moscow."
He paused, choosing his next words with particular care. "France will, naturally, give your proposals the most serious and thorough consideration they deserve. We will need to consult closely with our European partners and our traditional allies. Our decision, when it arrives, will be guided by our unwavering commitment to the principles enshrined in the United Nations Charter and our assessment of what best serves the long-term stability of the international order."
Parodi then added a final observation, delivered with the particular wistfulness of someone representing a civilization that remembered when it had dictated terms rather than negotiating them. "One hopes, Prime Minister, that the new India, in its understandable and legitimate pursuit of strength and its rightful place in international councils, will also remember the value of what we in French call douceur—a certain gentleness, a certain grace in its dealings with the wider world. Power exercised with elegance and restraint ultimately proves more durable than power wielded with crude force alone."
Anirban understood the nuanced message immediately. The French would not be easily persuaded. Their support would remain contingent on India demonstrating not merely power and determination, but also commitment to responsible global citizenship and respect for international norms—norms that, from the French perspective, India had recently bent if not broken entirely in achieving its territorial and political objectives.
The reference to douceur carried particular weight. It suggested that France viewed India's methods—the swift absorption of Pondicherry, the crushing military response to Pakistan, the emergency consolidation of internal authority—as lacking the refinement that separated great powers from mere strong powers. France was hinting that crude effectiveness needed tempering with diplomatic sophistication if India wanted to be accepted as an equal rather than merely feared as a rising threat.
"France understands and deeply values douceur, Ambassador," Anirban replied, his expression projecting earnest sincerity while his mind calculated the implications of Parodi's concern. "As you so eloquently note, it is precisely to secure a lasting peace—an international order in which such gentleness and cultural sophistication can flourish—that we have been compelled to take firm, if admittedly difficult, actions during this extraordinary period of transition."
He rose from his chair, signaling the meeting's conclusion while maintaining engagement through body language and expression. "We remain confident that, upon deeper reflection and consultation, France will recognize that a strong, democratic, and sovereign India represents not a threat to the established order, but rather a vital new pillar for its enduring stability. India seeks partnership, not dominance. We seek recognition of realities, not revolutionary transformation of fundamental principles."
Anirban extended his hand, the gesture combining respect with quiet confidence. "We look forward to continued dialogue and a deepening of the Franco-Indian partnership that history and shared civilizational values make natural."
Parodi rose to accept the handshake, his grip firm but measured, conveying engagement without commitment.
"As do we, Prime Minister. France values its relationship with India and recognizes the importance of your nation's role in shaping Asia's future. Our deliberations will be guided by careful consideration of all factors involved."
The meeting concluded with polite but distinctly non-committal assurances, both parties understanding that substantive decision would require further consultation, further assessment, further maneuvering. Parodi escorted them to the Mission's entrance, maintaining perfect courtesy while offering no hint of which way France would ultimately vote.