The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 23
Sophie arrived breathless outside the large wooden doors of the Salle des Etats—the room that 
housed the Mona Lisa. Before entering, she gazed reluctantly farther down the hall, twenty yards or 
so, to the spot where her grandfather's body still lay under the spotlight.
The remorse that gripped her was powerful and sudden, a deep sadness laced with guilt. The man 
had reached out to her so many times over the past ten years, and yet Sophie had remained 
immovable—leaving his letters and packages unopened in a bottom drawer and denying his efforts 
to see her. He lied to me! Kept appalling secrets! What was I supposed to do? And so she had 
blocked him out. Completely.
Now her grandfather was dead, and he was talking to her from the grave.
The Mona Lisa.

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She reached for the huge wooden doors, and pushed. The entryway yawned open. Sophie stood on 
the threshold a moment, scanning the large rectangular chamber beyond. It too was bathed in a soft 
red light. The Salle des Etats was one of this museum's rare culs-de-sac—a dead end and the only 
room off the middle of the Grand Gallery. This door, the chamber's sole point of entry, faced a 
dominating fifteen-foot Botticelli on the far wall. Beneath it, centered on the parquet floor, an 
immense octagonal viewing divan served as a welcome respite for thousands of visitors to rest their 
legs while they admired the Louvre's most valuable asset.
Even before Sophie entered, though, she knew she was missing something. A black light. She 
gazed down the hall at her grandfather under the lights in the distance, surrounded by electronic 
gear. If he had written anything in here, he almost certainly would have written it with the 
watermark stylus.
Taking a deep breath, Sophie hurried down to the well-lit crime scene. Unable to look at her 
grandfather, she focused solely on the PTS tools. Finding a small ultraviolet penlight, she slipped it 
in the pocket of her sweater and hurried back up the hallway toward the open doors of the Salle des 
Etats.
Sophie turned the corner and stepped over the threshold. Her entrance, however, was met by an 
unexpected sound of muffled footsteps racing toward her from inside the chamber. There's 
someone in here! A ghostly figure emerged suddenly from out of the reddish haze. Sophie jumped 
back.
"There you are!" Langdon's hoarse whisper cut the air as his silhouette slid to a stop in front of her.
Her relief was only momentary. "Robert, I told you to get out of here! If Fache—"
"Where were you?"
"I had to get the black light," she whispered, holding it up. "If my grandfather left me a message—"
"Sophie, listen." Langdon caught his breath as his blue eyes held her firmly. "The letters P.S.... do 
they mean anything else to you? Anything at all?"
Afraid their voices might echo down the hall, Sophie pulled him into the Salle des Etats and closed 
the enormous twin doors silently, sealing them inside. "I told you, the initials mean Princess 
Sophie."
"I know, but did you ever see them anywhere else? Did your grandfather ever use P.S. in any other 
way? As a monogram, or maybe on stationery or a personal item?"
The question startled her. How would Robert know that? Sophie had indeed seen the initials P.S. 

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once before, in a kind of monogram. It was the day before her ninth birthday. She was secretly 
combing the house, searching for hidden birthday presents. Even then, she could not bear secrets 
kept from her. What did Grand-père get for me this year? She dug through cupboards and drawers. 
Did he get me the doll I wanted? Where would he hide it?
Finding nothing in the entire house, Sophie mustered the courage to sneak into her grandfather's 
bedroom. The room was off-limits to her, but her grandfather was downstairs asleep on the couch.