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"Exactly, and the year covered in thedigs One at the Citadelle, to reinforce the walls, one to expand the Hôtel-Dieu hospital and the third? The third was to dig a basement under a local restaurant The Old Homestead"

Éht a hand up to his face, thinking Gaot to his feet

"I think I’ll treat you to breakfast, Éht now too "I think I knohere"

Within twenty minutes they’d climbed the steep and slippery slope of Côte de la Fabrique, pausing for breath and to stare at the iinal little church had stood, built by the Jesuit priests and brothers and supported by Chain Mary to celebrate the return of Québec frolish in their see-saw battle for possession of the strategic colony

This here the great man’s funeral had been held and where he’d been buried, albeit briefly At one tiustin Renaud had been convinced he was still there in the sist had found a lead-lined coffin and soniting a storrave;re Sébastien had sided with Renaud, to the fury of the Chief Archeologist

Still, nothing had been found No Chaely, that coffin had never been opened All had agreed it couldn’t possibly be Champlain It was a rare show of respect for the dead, by the archeologists, by Renaud and by a churchup Général Montcalht as he continued his walk, suppose Chainally been buried in the chapel but in the graveyard The records showing the exact resting place of the father of Québec had been lost in the fire, even the exact position of the ceuess But if it was beside the chapel that could put the ceht about--

Here

Gamache stopped Above him loomed the Château Frontenac and off to the side Cha out across the city

And in front of the Chief? The Old Holoves he reached into his jacket and took out the sepia photo taken in 1869

The Chief Inspector backed up a few paces, walked a couple to the right, then stopped Looking froers were red and burning from the cold, but still he held the photo, to be sure

Yes

This was it, this was the exact spot where Patrick and O’Mara had stood 150 years earlier, on a sweltering su beneath the Old Ho they found made the normally sullen men smile Before it had been a restaurant the Homestead had been, as it sounded, a private home And before that? It was a forest, or a field

Or reasy spoon It had seen better days Even bolish cannons would have been better than what had becouely period costus Hard, uncomfortable wooden chairs, made to look olde worlde, held tourists who’d hoped the char interior

It wasn’t

Mugs with coffee slurping over the rims were placed in front of Éet a banquette of worn red Naugahyde, rips and tears repaired with shiny silver duct tape

Gahtly ill as they looked at what had been done to a landht over, the French valiantly defending their heritage, their patrilish tiain, only to ruin it themselves centuries later

Still, it wasn’t as inside that mattered to them now It wasn’t even as outside Whata sis the two men talked about the various theories Their breakfast arrived, with a side order of hos were perfectly cooked, the bacon crispy and the pain de e actually homemade, warm and tasty Once they’d finished and paid the waitress Gaain

"I have one more request"

"What is it?"

She was io work for another, and another and enough to put a modest roof over her head and feed her children And these well-offher, with their nice clothes and arole" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">