She left without delay, and I wrapped a steadying arm around Madame Labelle’s waist. “Where have you been? Are you well?”

“I am as well as possible, given the circumstances.” She shrugged delicately. “We took a leaf out of your wife’s book and hid in Soleil et Lune’s attic. No one bothered us there. Perhaps none knew of its importance to Lou. If they had, I suspect Morgane would’ve razed it out of spite.” When I nodded to them across the chasm, her expression crumpled. She shook her head. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. How sickening.” Those piercing blue eyes flitted up to mine, filled with regret. “Babette told me that Auguste perished by his own fire. Stupid, arrogant man.” As if realizing the tactlessness of her words, she patted my arm again. “But he—he was very—”

“He tortured you,” I said darkly.

She sighed, crestfallen. “Yes, he did.”

“He deserved worse than death.”

“Perhaps. We must content ourselves that wherever he is, he is in great pain. Perhaps with rats. Still . . .” She wobbled slightly, unsteady on her feet. My arm tightened around her. “He was your father. I am sorry for it, but I am never sorry for you.” She touched my cheek once more before glancing at Lou. “You must go. If you could walk me to the nearest bench, however, I’d be most grateful. I should like to watch the sun rise.”

I stared at her incredulously. “I can’t leave you on a bench.”

“Nonsense. Of course you can. No witch with any sense would attack us now, and those that do—well, I believe more than one Chasseur survived, and that Father Achille has quite a nice—”

“I’ll stop you there.” Though I shook my head, one corner of my mouth curled upward. Unbidden. “Father Achille is off-limits.”

It wasn’t true. She could have whoever she wanted. I would personally introduce them.

After situating her on a bench—beds of winter jasmine blooming on either side—I kissed her forehead. Though night still claimed the sky, dawn would come soon. With it, a new day. I knelt to catch my mother’s eyes. “I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

Scoffing, she busied herself with her skirt. Still, I saw her eyes. They sparkled with sudden tears. “I only expect to hear it every day from this moment onward. You shall visit at least thrice a week, and you and Louise shall name your firstborn child after me. Perhaps your second too. That sounds reasonable, does it not?”

I chuckled and tugged on her hair. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Go on, then.”