THIRTY-THREE‘Madame Longpré.’ Gamache rose and bowed to the slight woman in front of him.
‘Monsieur Gamache.’ She nodded slightly and accepted the chair he held for her.
‘What can I get you?’
‘An espresso, s’il vous plaît.’
The two of them settled into the bistro, their table slightly to one side of the fireplace. It was ten o’clock the next morning and flurries were falling. It was one of those not uncommon but still extraordinary meteorological phenomena that happened in Quebec in the winter: it was snowing and sunny at the same time. Gamache glanced out the window and marveled. Crystals and prisms, delicate and fragile, floated by and lay soft on Three Pines. Pink and blue and green sparkled from the trees and the clothing of villagers strolling through it.
Their coffees arrived.
