Jacques and Jacqueline, Georges and Frederic were the salvation of television cameramen searching for emotion at the golden flame of the Statue of Liberty on the first anniversary of Princess Diana's death.
In what the tabloid France-Soir called "the second humiliation of Diana" (after her mistreatment by Prince Charles), there was no official commemoration in the city of her death, only an amateur poetry reading last night.
Worse yet, the constant flow of 200 to 300 tourists at the Place de l'Alma was for the most part just that - dispassionate tourists, squeezing in a quick look between the Eiffel Tower and Montmartre. The cameramen joked that they would have to use tear gas to get the pictures they wanted.
The replica of the New York monument was not intended to mark the place of Diana's death, but it has become an ad hoc memorial to her and Dodi al-Fayed.
The overpowering scent of hundreds of lilies and roses, baking in the sun inside their transparent plastic covers, rises from its tombstone-grey granite base. Photographs of Diana are stuck to the flame, which is covered with graffiti homage and plot reminders ("It was not an accident!").
"She did a lot for mankind," insists Jacques (65), a retired doorman from the Paris town hall who clutches a biography of the princess. She walked past him on an official visit a few years ago, and he was smitten.
Jacques introduces me to Frederic (33), a coiffeur who twice did the princess's hair, once in Monaco and once at the Ritz.
"He was on television twice last night," Jacques says, while Fred eric smiles. "They even showed him crying."
A little diamond heart on a gold chain hangs from Frederic's neck. "She couldn't bear being called `your highness'," he recalls. "She said: `Call me Diana'."
Along with Jacqueline, a retired children's-school cook, Jacques and Frederic are the professional mourners of the Place de l'Alma. While the journalists and tourists listen, they debate whether the Queen had Diana and Dodi murdered, whether the princess was pregnant.
With his crooked teeth, stringy grey hair and scotch-taped spectacles George - 66 and known to all as Jo Jo - arrives to dominate the conversation. He is the self-appointed custodian of the flame.
"I live at the Gare SaintLazare," he says. "But I've come here every day for months. As soon as I wake up in the morning, it's as if something pulls me."
The crowd parts as a florist's deliveryman arrives carrying a 1,500franc (£179) arrangement of red roses. Four photographers follow with auto-drives whirring. The roses have been sent by a Mr Detullio at the Chaillot Hotel.
Jo Jo rearranges the heap of flowers to make a space for the roses. He throws out old wilted bouquets and provides pens, paper and scotch tape for visitors who want to leave messages to Diana.
"Nobody pays me," he says. "I can't explain it - some things are beyond explanation."
