Chapter Thirty-One
Madame Mangin’s face showed the marks of a difficult life. She had the body language of a beaten donkey. For this visit, she had spruced herself up as well as she could and wore a coat with rabbit fur. Her pale skin contrasted with the black circles beneath her watery, light-blue eyes. Denis greeted her with professional politeness to put her at her ease, but got the impression that she was tottering on the brink of a breakdown. Years of grief had exhausted her resources. He noticed that her shoulders were hunched. Life had probably taught her to expect a blow any second. He offered her a cup of tea, and tried not to monitor her fiddling hands. Madame Mangin curbed her impatience. Her rheumy eyes peered with a mixture of fear and hope at Michel as he asked her some gene
