"As have I, Sybil. Even more than I had expected." Her Christian name felt strangely informal on his tongue, but right, somehow, as though they had always been meant to meet. As if this were merely a re-acquaintance, after years and years apart.

Not that Henri Combeferre believed in such things.

When they paused outside the building's nondescript door, Combeferre dipped his head in a small bow, hands clasped behind his back. "Au revoir, mademoiselle."