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“What were you doing in the minutes on either side of midnight?”

“I was watching that stupid show on the television. Then I went outside and watched the fireworks.” She paused. “I’d never seen them before. Not in person. They were . . .” As she searched for the word, Gamache waited for the insult. “. . . very beautiful. Almost sweet. The way they lit up the village below. Not pyrotechnics, but just an old man and boy setting them off in a backyard.”

She seemed tired, but also calm. “It’s good to be reminded now and then that such things exist.”

“What things?”

“Beauty. Peace.” She held his eyes. “Goodness. But they’re fragile and can so easily disappear, unless people are willing to do what’s necessary to defend them.”

“I’m not sure that goodness is all that fragile,” said Gamache.

Off in the corner the young agent looked from one to the other of them, not sure she was following this conversation in English. Were they, the Chief Inspector and a suspect, debating goodness?

“If not fragile, it’s mercurial,” said Haniya. “Good. Evil. Cruelty and kindness. Guilt and innocence. An act can be all those things at once, depending on your perspective. It’s so easy to delude ourselves, wouldn’t you say, Chief Inspector?”

“Into believing killing one person to save millions is an act of moral courage?”

“I don’t think that’s a delusion.”

“And if you kill the wrong person?”

“If I?” She smiled again. “Once again, and please pay attention this time, I did not kill that poor woman. And who knows, it might not have been a mistake.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a possibility. Maybe she knew something, or saw something. Or maybe there’s a maniac around. I’d start with the old woman with the duck. Personally, I think the duck is the more dangerous. Did you know people actually have attack geese? Very mean.”

Beauvoir, who’d been chased out of several farmyards by geese, and at least one malicious rabbit, nodded. He too suspected Rosa might not be all there.

“Most helpful,” said Gamache, getting to his feet. “You’re staying here tonight?”

“Yes. That artist woman invited me back to her home, but I could see it was more out of guilt than sincerity.”

“She’s a good person,” said Gamache. “A good friend. I think she was sincere.”

“You also think I committed murder tonight. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your opinions seriously.”

“It was a question, not an opinion,” said Gamache as he walked her to the door.

But before reaching it, Haniya stopped and turned to face him. “You’ve told me why you think I’d want to kill Professor Robinson. Now, let me tell you why I would not.”

“I’m listening.”

“Because, as satisfying as killing her might be, I know that murdering a person doesn’t kill the idea. In fact, just the opposite. If you want an idea to flourish, the best fertilizer is the body of a martyr. I don’t want her ideas to flourish, but someone else might. Something to think about, Chief Inspector.”

“Merci,” said Gamache, who’d already considered exactly that, certainly when it came to the shooting in the gym. And maybe the attack that night.

He was impressed, though, that Madame Daoud had gotten there so quickly.

“I spent a lot of the evening watching Professor Robinson, and you want to know what I saw? I saw the fox.”

Gamache raised his brows.

“You’re surprised? How do you think I stayed alive when so many around me were killed? I watched, carefully. Through the rapes and beatings, mine and others, I watched and listened and learned how things worked. How human nature works. It’s why I don’t much like humans. Or nature, for that matter.”

“Doesn’t leave a lot else,” said Beauvoir.

“True.”