St. Jacques smiled, with a pitiful attempt at mirth.
“No. On the other hand, something came into collision with me.”
“What was that?”
For his only answer, he brushed aside his hair and let the storm sweep pitilessly against the scar beneath. Nancy caught her breath sharply.
“M. St. Jacques! Do you mean that it is going to be serious?”
“So serious that I must give up all work.”
“Who says so?” she demanded.
“Your father.”
“My father?” Nancy’s accent dropped to utter hopelessness. “For how long?”
“Until I am better.”