Chassaigne motioned him to silence with a gesture of his forefinger. He turned to the young woman.
“You are asleep, are you not?”
She did not reply.
“You hear me?”
“Yes.”
Her lips moved, but beyond that she did not stir.
“In that sleep you remember things which you had otherwise forgotten.” He turned to Vincent, whispered: “What is her name?”
“Hélène Courvoisier.”
Chassaigne bent over her, picked up her wrist with the three moles.
“Do you remember Hélène Courvoisier?”