There's a shake of his head at that; the boy—Ian Gallagher, he repeats to himself—will need the water more than him, if the young one is to live a little longer and, if God and the heavens are real and merciful, to win his freedom.

His eyes widen slightly when the boy mentions France. "Yes." There's a faint hint of excitement in his voice; it is only the second person he has met outside his fellow Parisians who has acknowledged the country of his birth. "You are familiar with France, then? What do you know of it, in your world?"