“It won’t hurt you to do so for the next few weeks. Don’t worry, we don’t want to see you any more than you do us. Have Marie show you to the garden and spend the time in contemplation.” Her smile faded. “Yes, contemplate why you were at the Abbaye de la Reine.”
He gazed at her silently for a moment. “I may drop in occasionally if I’m in the neighborhood.”
He turned and left the salon.
“Wait.” Juliette suddenly remembered something and followed him into the foyer. To her surprise, she found him standing at the foot of the curving staircase, looking up.
“How is she?” he asked in a low tone.
“Not good. How do you expect her to be? She dreams and wakes up screaming. She won’t eat or—” Juliette drew a deep breath and tried to regain her control. “This man I killed, who was he?”
“A Marseilles. His name was Etienne Malpan.”
“Do you know what he looked like?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
“Dead.”
“Very amusing.”
“I find death lends a certain anonymity of appearance to everyone. Why are you suddenly so curious about his looks?”
“It was dark in the tomb and Catherine couldn’t see who attacked her. She said they had no faces and for some reason it bothers her.”
“So you’re trying to put faces to them for her?” He was silent a moment. “Etienne Malpan was fair, about forty, a big, beefy man.”
“I remember he was large. What color were his eyes?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Find out.”
“I’m to go to the graveyard and, providing they haven’t buried him yet, have them pry open his lids?”
“She needs a face, a complete face. You don’t impress me as being overly squeamish.”
François shook his head. “Do you never give up?”
“She needs a face.”
François opened the door.
“Will you do it?”
“Stopbadgeringme.”
The slam of the door echoed in the high-ceilinged hall.
“You should be more cautious. He’s a dangerous man.”
Juliette turned to see a frowning Philippe behind her in the foyer.
“I asked a few questions about Etchelet when I was trying to locate his lodgings. He’s well known among the representatives of the assembly.”
“Well known in what way?”
