GUILLAUME SLOUCHED UP TO her. “Let’s go.” Marguerite could not say how this slouching he did down the Rue Palmier was different from what he had performed in the countryside, but it was. There, he had been a shrewd peasant, a man with fields and, most probably, a local feud or two. Now he was a city man, knowledgeably sly in a way that had to do with narrow alleys and cafés on the boulevards. He took her arm, something he had not done in the countryside. Thinking about it, she realized this, too, was a difference between the city man and the country man. It did not disturb her that Guillaume LeBreton should change in this subtle way. She did not know all of what he was. Probably she did not want to know. But he was also the man who had made love to her an hour ago. It was that man she would say good-bye to. “That’s where they’d put somebody to watch for us. See?” Guillaume slowed. Adrian glanced into the passageway between houses, narrow and not too clean. “Obvious. No art to that.”
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