” He coughed gently. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt.
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