Matthieu kept his eyes fixed on Amarie, and a feeling of deep sympathy washed over him as he listened. He leant forward a little, and smiled warmly. His voice was quiet and gentle as he spoke.

"If you do not tell me, then how can we be sure that there is nothing I can do to help?"

Suddenly an idea struck him, and he moved his chair back, to reach into his desk drawer. He shuffled several items around, before producing a small silver hip-flask and a short glass.

"Would you care for a drink, Mademoiselle? It's just blood, of course. I kept it in my office just in case."