Chapter Twenty Two
After three knocks, the door was opened by a petite woman with white hair pulled back in a bun. She was dressed in simple, peasant clothing; a pale, homespun brown skirt that just touched the tops of her worn boots, a grayed apron that must have been white at one time, and an equally faded white blouse with the sleeves neatly rolled up to her elbows. As her dark blue eyes looked up at the black man, her hand wrapped tighter around the dishrag she held. “Oui, peux je vous aide?” she asked, standing half way behind the door for protection.
“I wonder if I might use your fire to cook my dinner.” Driss replied in French and showed her his basket of food and half a bottle of wine. The fish had been wrapped up in brown paper, its snout stuck out just enough for her to see wha
