Chapter Twenty-FiveOn rue Simenon, about two blocks from the Desrosiers mansion, Lucas Arbogast was getting ready to serve dinner to his elderly mother. She was seated at the table, freshly bathed and dressed. On her plate, he put four slices of duck breast, cut thin the way she liked it, and carried the plate to the table along with a basket of bread. Then he stopped. The bread basket dropped to the floor in his rush to put down the plate and see to his mother, who was suddenly gasping for breath and very agitated.
“Maman!” shouted Lucas who, luckily for Madame Arbogast, was a nurse at the local hospital. The old woman anxiously got up from the table, still gasping, moving with purpose as though she had somewhere to go that second. Then for a moment she stood up straight, her eyes blinki
