Laughter and voices erupted from the depths of The Cormorant’s tavern. It was a crowded event. The main room of the inn was crammed with villagers and vacationers alike as they celebrated the recovery of one of the vacationers, Maurice Ducos, and Mont Saint Filan’s magistrate, Merle Galliard.
Haidée sat at a small table next to a window facing the main street of the village. A solitary white candle and a basket of bread rolls decorated the bare wooden table. The marten was lodged happily among the rolls with only its tail sticking out of the basket. She put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. She looked out the window and noticed a few snowflakes drifting down from the sky.
“Well, I managed to wrestle a hot chocolate from Monsieur Fasset.”
She turned to see Renaud standing by her table with two mugs in his hands. She still wasn’t quite used to seeing him without his spectacles. Without them as a shield, his eyes seemed more intense and expressive. At the moment, he simply appeared amused. The corners of his mouth were turned up as he watched her.
“That sounds like quite a feat,” she replied. “The innkeeper seems extremely busy with the crowd this afternoon.”
“The man was scowling at me, if you can believe that,” said Renaud as he placed the mug of hot chocolate in front of her and then took the seat across from her. “Fasset should be as happy as a pig in a mud puddle if you ask me. With all these patrons, his profits are going to be soaring.”
Haidée held the mug in her hands and felt the warmth seep into her fingers. Tentatively, she sipped the hot sweet liquid. Delicious and oh so different from the poppy wine. Perhaps this was a new thing she could get addicted to. “Not everyone cares only for their profits.”
“No.” Renaud took a sip of his own drink. “Some people have other obsessions other than money.”
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Hot cider.”
“I’ve never tried The Cormorant’s cider.” Her lips almost imperceptibly tightened. “Monsieur Davenport once recommended the Green Café’s cider, but it was terrible.”
“Everyone has bad taste in something.” He put down his mug and looked over at the crowd in the inn. “They all look happy.”
Haidée looked as well and felt a little like an outsider. Except she didn’t feel that she was alone. “They’re glad that Messieurs Ducos and Galliard have awoken from their comas. The village doctor says he doesn’t know exactly what had exactly awakened them, but he said something about not questioning the mysterious workings of nature.”
“Perhaps he instinctively knows that if he were to question, the answers he would get back wouldn’t be exactly pretty.” Renaud turned to look at her. “He probably suspects though since we did go get him to examine Father DeLorme’s body.”
Haidée remembered a charred lump on the wet grass when she and Renaud had raced outside to see what had happened to the priest. A second later, she forcibly pushed the gruesome scene out of her head. “Probably.”
“Everard tells me that the next full moon is in two weeks. The tide will be out. We can go back to the mainland.”
“I’m glad. The director of the theatre I work at told me that a friend of his enjoyed vacationing on Mont Saint Filan. This place only disturbs me—even with DeLorme gone.”
“I understand.” He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “I’ll be heading straight to Paris to report to my superiors.”
She stared at their intertwining fingers. “I’ll be going to Paris as well. The theatre I work at is there. I’m going to talk with the director. I’ve decided to quit. Maybe I’ll continue my career elsewhere. Paris is getting too stifling.”
“Elsewhere?”
She turned her gaze to his face. “I was thinking about Vienna,” she said lightly. “I think it will be a challenge.”
“Were you thinking of following me?”
She shook her head. “I’m going where I want to go.”
He raised their joined hands to his mouth. When his lips brushed the back of her hand, her skin tingled. He smiled. “Then I’ll make it worth your while.”