Los(t) Degas

I sure could go for a glass of that right about now. I'm all politicked out.

Thus, I submit to you, gentle reader, a mystery. It's not a mystery brimming with subtle complexity, nor as conspiratorial as Foucault's Pendulum, bien sûr, but hey, we are talking about Degas' pastels here, and thus, worthy of comment.

Tucked away beside a dry cleaners in a dark Paris courtyard, the firm that supplied Impressionist master Edgar Degas with the brilliant pastel colors used in some of his most famous pictures is still in business.

"La Maison du Pastel", a bare, unadorned boutique in the Marais district which appears virtually unchanged since the 1920s, is only open on Thursday afternoons and there is little from the outside to suggest its long tradition.

Until quite recently it was an almost clandestine operation run by three elderly sisters carrying on the work of their grandfather, Henri Roche, who took over the business in 1878. A worn tin plate marked "H.Roche" is still fixed to the door.

Sounds very noir, no? Secret passwords leading to a grim repository of alchemical formulae no doubt cloaked in the shadow cast by locked doors. The exorbitant price only adds to the tenebrous nature of the operation.

The end products are expensive. One small stick sells for about 12-18 euros ($17-$26), according to color and her biggest item, a box set containing all 567 colors costs 8,500 euros.

Yikes. I'll stick with acrylics, thanks. But Mademoiselle Roche, what about the secret ingredient?

But she keeps the formulas, some contained in handwritten notes from the 1920s, a secret and is even reluctant to reveal the exact location of the workshop.

Oh, mademoiselle, vous pouvez me dire. Je suis américain !
We're very trustworthy.

Dammit! La politique ! Je jette un mauvais sortilège à vous !