They whispered: She is the niece?

She is Antoine's new wife three months, I think. But of course, he's adopted, you know.

I didn't know. I thought he was actually related.

Hell, no. He's not a Larreau; his name is Poirier. That monster adopted him when he was twelve… conscience, I suppose… inasmuch as he killed the boy's parents. A struggle for power within the syndicate, as I understand it, and the lad's mother happened to be in the car when the bomb went off.

My God! Are you certain, Chapput? That's a dreadful thing to say unless you're certain…

Certain? Who's certain about anything these days, M. Minstre? I'm simply a reporter.

She is devastating, a female voice commented jealously.

Sexy, I believe is the modern term, my dear, replied her male companion.

They say she comes from the Gaspe… that horrid place, spoke another female. Unbelievable… such a lovely creature…

Breathtaking. But why doesn't he have his own daughter act as hostess, seeing she is home from college? It doesn't seem right, does it?

Annette? Don't be silly. They don't get on, you know… an estrangement of some sort between them… at least, that's what I hear. Probably over her mother… she's in an institution… has been for years.

I've heard, but I know little… Tell me, is M. Larreau as vile and evil a man as they say? tittered the first female voice.

Ask Chapput. He's the reporter, came a male retort.

Don't ask me anything. I need my job. Just look around you and consider yourself one of the chosen… the czar has commanded your company.

Look! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput? What to say to him.

My God! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput?

Tonight, she's lovely; tomorrow, well… one hesitates to guess…