François was busy cleaning tack as I harnessed the Percherons.“I did not think an English milord would be able to plough a field as well as you do....��He said.I explained I was a farmer’s son and had learned to plough at eight years old.He nodded. “Aye, you have to start young. Matilde’s father, Abel Gance, was our ploughman, and he was a good one. He and I, and Mimi and Chloe’s father, Jean Renoir, were conscripted together. Abel was killed at our first battle—Austerlitz.”“What about Jean, I. He was no different."Yes, Detective," I answered grasping his hand and giving him a firm shake.He smiled, "You know how young you look?" I am that young," I retorted with a grin of my own. "You had some questions for me?"He nodded. "Yes, I was hoping to get your account of what happened."I should have guessed that he wouldn't actually ask me anything first. He wanted to know my rendition of events and would compare that to what others had said.I leaned against the desk thinking hard. How could. More

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