Amortentia Dolorosa

Hébert Archambault had no doubts as to the authenticity of the book in his possession, as he sat down at the green-draped table to await the two Englishmen. He was not certain that he was willing to sell the book, if they wished to purchase it, but certainly, he would permit them to research it and read it, if they could.

Currently, the grimoire was still in its airtight glass case, within his safe, on the vault floor, and there, it would stay, until after the meal. He had with him an envelope of photographs of what he saw to be the most important aspects, and those he would show at dinner.

Upon arrival at Le Goutellette Crimson, Lucky tipped the doorman, and got discreet directions to the room where they would be meeting their party. Upon entering the private room, Lucius bowed slightly, and offered his hand to the man already sitting at the table. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Archambault. Permettez-moi de me présenter. Je suis Lucius Malfoy, le neveu de Julien Morreaud, et ceci est mon compagnon, Rabastan Lestrange."

Rabastan bowed elegantly, never taking his eyes off the man's face. It was rude, but faintly rude was his business. "Monsieur Archambault," he greeted the Frenchman, determined to remain standing until after Lucius sat.

He was here as Lucky's assistant. It wasn't really his place to speak very much, just to take up space, look faintly imposing, and make Lucky look more important. If things went poorly, then it would become his business, and he would do his job. He still wondered why an expedition like this required an assassin over a historian, though. Rodolphus would have been the more obvious choice.

"M. Malfoy, M. Lestrange, bienvenue! Asseyez-vous. Je crois que nous avons beaucoup à discuter, ce soir, mais d'abord, un verre de vin." Hébert shook Lucius's hand heartily, bowed to Rabastan, and gestured at the chairs surrounding the table. "J'espère que vous n'avez pas d'aversion à Bordeaux. J'ai quelque chose d'une faiblesse de sa création."

He reached over his shoulder and waved to the waiter who was nearly one with the corner in which he stood. "Une autre bouteille de 1967, si tu veux être si bon."

"Bien sûr. Il faut profiter de la vie comme elle vient," Lucky said, taking a seat facing Monsieur Archambault.

Gesturing to Babs to do likewise, he spoke again. "Je crains que M. Lestrange ne parle pas français, alors j'ai peut-être parfois besoin de parler avec lui en anglais. Mais comme je suis le plus versés dans Spellcraft historiques, ce ne devrait pas être un problème."

Waiting a few seconds after Lucius had seated himself, Rabastan did the same. He caught the part about a glass of wine, but most of the rest of the conversation, so far, had been gibberish. He might have to smell out some blood sorceries, but his job, tonight, was mostly to eat, drink, and be notably less than merry.

What had Lucky called that dish? Steak tartare, he thought it was. At least the food would be good. He was pretty sure he could manage to order dinner without too many mishaps.

"Qui est acceptable. Je ne parle pas bien l'anglais, mais je peux le comprendre." Hébert smiled thoughtfully at Rabastan, uncertain what to make of the man's regal dress and stiff demeanour, in light of the frivolous nature of most of the culture of Versailles, especially among visitors. The man seemed ill-at-ease and suspicious, and the colour of his hair seemed unsettlingly red, especially against the brown and gold of his robes.

Lucius, on the other hand, seemed a perfect English businessman. Perhaps a bit of Paris stuck to him, and he certainly spoke French well, but he was still an antiquities buyer. Hébert would need to make certain he neither drank too much nor agreed without hearing, as one sometimes did, in idle conversation.

"My English is not good," he apologised to Rabastan, before continuing to speak to Lucius.

"Je vous ai apporté ces photographies, de sorte que vous mai les examiner, pendant que nous attendons pour le dîner. Ceux-ci devraient vérifier, dans une certaine mesure, la langue et de la construction de l'ouvrage." He handed the envelope to Lucius. "Bien sûr, vous ne pouvez pas porter un jugement sur la seule base de ces images, mais je pense qu'il est sage de vous donner une idée, d'abord, pour déterminer si ces négociations doivent procéder, à tous."

Lucius took the envelope. "La plus sensée, ce qui porte photos pour un Asessment initiale". He took the photos out of the envelope, and began studying them intensely.

"Comme vous pouvez le voir, le livre est lié dans ce qui était autrefois un cuir marron souple. Les bords ont subi quelques dommages, bien entendu, au cours des quelques dernières centaines d'années. C'est-à-être envisagée, compte tenu de sa sortie bruts en provenance de ce pays." Hébert shrugged and sighed derisively. "Le parti nazi a rarement été aussi prudent avec ses objets d'art comme elle aurait dû être. Ces trésors qui a été ruiné par des mains muggle négligents..."

He tapped the photo of the gold lock that held the book closed. "Seuls les elfes de maison ont ouvert le livre. Nous pouvons être certains qu'ils seraient à l'abri de ses malédictions ... le reste d'entre nous sont plus contestables. Les images de l'intérieur ont été prises par eux."

"Comme vous pouvez le voir, il est écrit principalement en hongrois, mais il ya aussi des pages en grec. Du quelques photos dont nous disposons, il apparaît que les pages grecques sont des recettes ou des instructions de quelque sorte, destiné à être lu par d'autres magiciens." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Le livre est plus de deux cents pages. Nous avons vu que peut-être trente d'entre eux. Le livre scellé et réutilisable, elle-même verrouillée, en tenant à peu près le orteils à l'un de nos elfes de maison."

"Et, bien sûr, nous avons vérifié son écriture contre les journaux dans les Archives nationales de Hongrie. Ce livre appartenait à la comtesse."