17The last funeral Molly had gone to was the one for Joséphine Desrosiers the previous fall. It had been raining a little, and there had only been a handful of mourners present (if you could even call them that, Joséphine not being known for her warmth and generosity.) The Gault ceremony was shaping up to be an entirely different thing; as Molly and Ben walked down rue des Chênes to the small village cemetery, they could see a long line of cars parked, reaching almost all the way to the village. A crowd stood by the iron gate and another throng was inside. It looked as though every single resident of Castillac was in attendance.
“I don’t see Pierre, do you?” Ben murmured, taking Molly’s hand.
Molly squeezed his hand and shook her head. “The whole world is here! She must have been very po
