twoInterfering old bastard, Davout thought. But with his free hand he signed, again, .
Katrin the Fair kissed Davout’s cheek, then stood back, holding his hands, and narrowed her grey eyes. “I’m not sure I approve of this youthful body of yours,” she said. “You haven’t looked like this in—what—over a century?”
“Perhaps I seek to evoke happier times,” Davout said.
A little frown touched the corners of her mouth. “That is always dangerous,” she judged. “But I wish you every success.” She stepped back from the door, flung out an arm. “Please come in.”
ThatShe lived in a small apartment in Toulouse, with a view of the Allée Saint-Michel and the rose-red brick of the Vieux Quartier. On the whitewashed walls hung terra-cotta icons of Usil and Tiv, the Etruscan gods of the sun and moon, and a
