“I know,” said Armand softly. “And my heart broke when I left you in that factory.” There was silence for a few steps before Gamache spoke again. “There really is a crack in everything.”

“Yes.”

*   *   *

By midnight Armand and Reine-Marie were sitting on the wide verandah of Emilie’s home. They could see Annie and Jean-Guy, silhouetted against the bonfire on the village green, swaying in each other’s arms to the soft music.

Clara and Myrna had joined Armand and Reine-Marie on the porch. Daniel, Roslyn and the grandchildren were asleep upstairs, and Henri was curled up by Reine-Marie’s feet.

No one spoke.

It had taken several months for Gamache to recover enough to leave the hospital. While he was there, Jean-Guy had been in rehab.

There was, of course, an inquiry into the plot to bring down the bridge and a Royal Commission had been struck to investigate the corruption.

Arnot, Francoeur, and Tessier were dead. Georges Renard was in the SHU awaiting trial, along with all the others who’d plotted and colluded. At least the ones they’d caught so far.

Isabelle Lacoste was the acting Chief Inspector of homicide, and would soon be confirmed. Jean-Guy was on part-time duty, and continued, as he would the rest of his life, to recover from his addictions.

Thérèse Brunel was the acting Chief Superintendent. They’d offered Gamache the job but he’d refused. He might recover physically, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover in other ways. And he knew Reine-Marie would not.

It was someone else’s turn now.

When it came to deciding what to do next, it had been an easy decision. They’d bought Emilie Longpré’s house on the village green in Three Pines.

Armand and Reine-Marie Gamache had come home.

He held her hand now, stroking it with his thumb, while a single fiddler played a soft familiar tune, and Armand Gamache knew he was fine where he was.

Reine-Marie held her husband’s hand and watched her daughter and son-in-law on the village green and she thought about her conversation with Jean-Guy, as they’d danced. He’d told her how much he’d miss Armand. How much the Sûreté would miss him.

“But everyone understands his decision to retire,” Jean-Guy had hurriedly reassured her. “He’s earned his rest.”

She’d laughed, and Jean-Guy had pulled back to study her.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Armand was made to do what he was doing. He might retire, but he can’t quit.”

“Really?” asked Jean-Guy, not exactly convinced. “’Cause the Chief seems pretty sure.”

“He doesn’t know it yet.”

“And you? Would you be all right if he wants to rejoin the Sûreté one day? If you said no, he’d listen to you.”

The look on her face told Jean-Guy that he wasn’t the only one to face a terrible choice.

And now Reine-Marie held her husband’s hand and looked at him as he watched Jean-Guy and Annie dance.

“What’re you thinking of, mon beau?” she asked.

“Now there is no more loneliness,” Gamache said, and met her eyes.

Go now to your dwelling place to enter into

the days of your togetherness.

When he’d handed Beauvoir back to Annie, in the middle of the first dance, Armand had seen something in Jean-Guy’s eyes. Beyond the happiness, beyond the sharp intelligence, beyond even the suffering, Armand Gamache had seen something luminous. A glint. A gleam.

And may your days be good and long upon the earth.