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He chatted with her the whole time. Singing a little. Resting his large hand on her back and neck and head as she smiled up at him.

Such a cheerful child.

He thought of Abigail Robinson and tried to suppress his rage. And the fleeting thought of what would have happened had he not reacted quite so quickly.

When he’d put Idola in her crib, Armand kissed Honoré, who was once again sleeping with his toboggan. Then he went next door to his granddaughters.

Florence had made a tent of her bedding and was under it with a flashlight, reading The Little Prince.

She looked guilty when her papa interrupted, but he gave her a wintergreen mint and reassured her he wouldn’t tell.

Once downstairs, he found Daniel at the door with the dogs.

“Walk?” Daniel asked.

“Me or the dogs?”

“Both. If you promise not to run away, I won’t put you on a leash.”

Armand laughed. The first one in what seemed a very long time. Father and son strolled around the deserted village green, heads bowed, bobbing slightly and in unison with each step. They chatted. They paused, to find Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper in the Northern Hemisphere sky. They threw snowballs for Henri to catch, while old Fred and little Gracie looked on and seemed to say, Silly dog.

Daniel finally asked, “Can you talk about it, Dad?”

In the dark, Armand nodded. “It’s probably good to talk.”

And so he did. And when he finished, Daniel had questions, which Armand answered fully. More fully than he’d answered the reporters. He knew Daniel would keep this private.

Though there was one thing Armand didn’t tell him.

Jean-Guy had returned by then and was sitting with everyone else in the living room. When Daniel and Armand returned, they found the television on.

“We were going to watch the news. Do you mind, Armand?” Reine-Marie asked.

“Non. I need to see how it’s reported.” He poured a weak scotch and joined them.

Watching all this with shrewd eyes, Annie knew something was wrong. Her father hadn’t spoken to her husband. Could barely look at him. And vice versa.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” she whispered to Jean-Guy as they sat together on the sofa.

But he just shook his head.

The events at the Université de l’Estrie led the news.

“Are you kidding,” whispered Stephen, as the reporter described Professor Robinson’s thesis, her growing popularity, and the increasingly violent confrontations.

There was footage, taken from phones in the hall. It was, of course, shaky, but it gave the sense of what had happened.

The firecrackers going off.

Then the screams, the shouts. The beginning of panic. They could hear Armand’s voice, calling for calm. And then the shots.

Reine-Marie inhaled sharply, a sort of gasp. The others looked at Armand. Except Jean-Guy, who was staring straight ahead.

Abigail Robinson was interviewed. She refused to discuss the contents of her lecture, saying what mattered now was that everyone was safe.

It was, Gamache thought as he held Reine-Marie’s hand, typically masterful. She came across as caring, thoughtful. Deeply distressed and profoundly empathetic.

It could have been worse.