The abbot smiled slightly and examined the Chief Inspector. “Do you know what his grandfather said?”
Gamache shook his head. There was a look of such sadness on the Chief Inspector’s face, it almost broke the abbot’s heart.
“The one I feed,” said Dom Philippe.
Gamache looked back at the monastery that would now stand for many generations to come. Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. He’d mistranslated it. Not Saint Gilbert among the wolves, but between them. In that place of perpetual choice.
The abbot noted the gun in Gamache’s belt and the grim expression on his face. “Would you like me to hear your confession?”
The Chief Inspector looked into the sky and felt the north wind on his upturned face. Some malady is coming upon us.
Armand Gamache thought he could just hear the sound of a plane, way far off. And then that too disappeared. And he was left with a great silence.
“Not just yet, I think, mon père.”
