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The following morning, Ben was up before Molly, drinking coffee and staring out the French doors to the meadow behind the house. Eventually he loaded up the woodstove to warm up the room, pulled out his notebook, and read through the last few days’ scribblings.
“Morning,” said a groggy Molly, still in pajamas and robe, stumbling for the French press that still had a cup it in, reasonably warm.
“Bonjour,” said Ben, but did not look up.
Molly had a pretty good idea what that meant, but she was only half awake and decided to let it go for the moment. “So,” she said, with something of a false note of cheerfulness in her voice, “as long as it’s still crazy cold out there, I propose we spend the morning looking at those Petit videos you unearthed. I know you’ve already seen them, but you
