Francois Dagineau plodded down the carpeted steps of the two-story chalet, somewhat nettled that someone would be coming to his door at so late an hour. Most of the politicals had the good sense to call beforehand, as did all of his neighbors in Montauban. He would have heard the crunch of gravel if someone had driven to the front porch, which indicated that someone had either walked or had been dropped off at the gate. The light patter of rain against the windows apparently did not stop his visitor from venturing this far into the countryside at such an hour, well past nine PM.
He opened the door and stood astonished at the sight of the tired young woman, her beautiful features dampened by the rain, strands of her hair curling around her cheeks. She wore a dark hat and coat from which th
