“I hope I can see you again soon,” Denise whispered. Then she got in her car and drove away.We texted later that night and for the next couple of ...ays. Denise told me that she was trying to sell some old furniture that her son had outgrown and a man was coming to look at it the next evening. She said she was a little nervous because her son was camping with his college buddies so she would be home alone. I told her that I would be happy to be there when the potential buyer showed up, assuming. I suppose I was too deep into my own grief to notice, but I find it curious that I never thought about it until now. I almost feel guilty for not doing something to help, but that is an absurd thought! How could I, a child of nine years, have been of any possible help? The Comte was a grown man. He did not need my help. It was the Comte, who helped me by not sending me to an orphanage and allowing me to live in the chateau. How odd it is that I should feel this way ... I have never felt a. More

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