He looked around and Beauvoir was struck by how very hard the man was trying to be threatening, and how very unsuccessful it was. He just seemed petulant.

“Whoever did it will face the full weight of the law,” said Mary Fraser.

She managed to be somewhat more threatening, though perhaps not in the way she intended. It was as though they’d disappointed a favorite aunt.

Jean-Guy wondered if they’d be recalled to Ottawa and some real agents sent down. He hoped not. He quite liked these two.

“Bonjour,” said Armand Gamache, walking over to the table and taking off his jacket. “Bit of fog this morning. The fire’s nice.”

He held out his large hands, momentarily, toward the hearth.

“Patron,” said Gabri, coming in from the kitchen. “I thought I heard you. Café?”

“S’il vous plaît,” said Gamache, and looked at the people already at the table.

Beauvoir and Lacoste had gotten to their feet to greet him. He smiled at them, then shook the elderly scientist’s hand.

“Professor,” he said with a smile.

Gamache turned to the other two.

“May I introduce you?” said Lacoste. “Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme are down from Ottawa. They’re with CSIS. This is Armand Gamache.”

Delorme had risen and took Gamache’s hand, while Mary Fraser remained seated, staring at the newcomer.

Trying, thought Jean-Guy, to place him. He knew that look. Here was a familiar face, a familiar name. But in an unfamiliar setting.

And then she had it. “Of course. Gamache. Of the Sûreté.”

It sounded much like Renfrew, of the Mounties.

“Late of the Sûreté,” he said, taking the empty chair beside her. “My former colleagues are being kind to include me. My wife and I have retired to the village.”

Beauvoir marveled at Gamache’s ability to make himself sound insignificant. But he could also see the wheels turning in Mary Fraser’s mind. For a moment she looked less matronly and far shrewder. And then it was gone.

“It must be upsetting to have all this commotion just when you thought you’d left it behind,” said Mary Fraser.

“Well, I can pop in and out of the case. It’s different when it’s not your responsibility.”

Gabri came out with eggs Benedict for Sean Delorme, and for Mary Fraser, crêpes stuffed with apple confit and drizzled with syrup. On the side were thick strips of maple-smoked bacon.

“A very good choice,” said Armand, leaning toward her conspiratorially.

Mary Fraser all but blushed, and then to cover her reaction she pointed to the papers by Lacoste’s hand.

“Are those about Project Babylon?”

“A little. Mostly they’re about Gerald Bull.” Lacoste held them up. “Redacted, so most of the information on Project Babylon has been removed.”

“Where did you get them?” asked Rosenblatt, taking a sheet and scanning it.

“Archives.”

“How did you get them?” he asked. “I’ve been trying for years.”