"It was common in Paris, Madame. There are hobos -" She likes this word - "everywhere."

She's saying nothing of the Marquis. She's not read it, of course, but she's heard whispers, rumours, especially in La Madelonnettes Prison. And she doesn't want to delve any deeper into that.

"A green thing with spikes?" She scans the horizon - and spots a vague, blackish smudge. Cactus or tribute?

"Madame?"