Armand Gamache cupped his large hands toward her. An offering. Jean-Guy Beauvoir noticed the tremble in the Chief’s right hand. Very slight. This too was new, since the factory. Madame Dyson dropped her tiny hand from her breast into Gamache’s hands and he closed them, holding hers like a sparrow. He said nothing then. And neither did she. They sat in silence, and would sit there for as long as it took. Beauvoir looked at Monsieur Dyson. His rage had turned to confusion. A man of action in his younger days now imprisoned in an easy chair. Unable to save his daughter. Unable to comfort his
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