“Thank you, Jacques. Thank you Percival,” Saint Germain said to the two men.
“C'est tout exact,” the Arpiesian said. “La même heure demain?”
“Oui,” said Saint Germain with a little bow, and then a grunt as he moved a little too swiftly.
Both men fed him grim looks.
“Oh, go on, the both of you. I'm fine,” Saint Germain said, flicking his hand at them as though shooing flies. Brilliant smile in place, he stepped toward Zofia, who found she was once again frozen to the spot. She noticed when he smiled, he smiled with the whole face, the eyes became like two glittering black crescents.
“Miss Trickenbod, I presume,” he said and made that little bow, only it was slightly deeper to her than it had been to the men. “Welcome to my humble home. I am Count Saint Germain.” Humble home?
“Count Sa
