"Um... Prouvaire?"
He turned to me with a small smile. "Jehan," he corrected. "Do you need another?"
"I—yes. I need... I'm going to meet her. I know the address. I'm going to speak... to speak to her."
"Ah," Prouvaire said amiably. He pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket and passed it to me. "Just memorize it. Use a line here or there, and it won't be a problem."
"Thanks," I said, already scanning the poetry. It was beautiful. "She'll love it. She loved the letters you wrote on love."
"I'm here to help. Good luck, Marius."
