"It's good to see that she has a wonderful partner such as you. She'll pull though it, I'm sure of it." She leaned back in her chair, nibbling on a pice of cake at the end of her fork. "It sure sounds like your life was pretty exciting. My son plays a lot of video games and he tells me all about them: I've just started playing on his old copy of Pokémon Diamond," said Marianne, pointing at an old Nintendo DS resting on a nearby coffee table. "Congratulations on sweeping several gyms!"

Marianne leaned forward to take another bite of cake. "I suppose that I can tell you a bit about my life. I was born all the way back in 1929 in Paris. My father worked as a baker: he had his own little shop and worked tirelessly to support his family. In 1939, he went to war for the second time in his life as a member of the Forces françaises libres. He miraculously survived the war and returned to his little bakery after the end of the war. I went on to become a journalist, married my husband Albert, moved to Canada with him, and started a family. After he died in 2001, I saw an ad in the newspaper for an organization that corrected texts and such. I was intrigued, signed up for it, and found myself here." She folded her hands on her lap. "It's been a good past few years. Except for the fanbrats who soil the work of Sir Conan Doyle-- especially with the fanfics based on the BBC's televised series of Sherlock. The things they do to the poor man..."


At Rina's exclamation, Gaspard whirled around. He saw Tacitus' note and shrugged. "I don't know about that, ma'am. He's actually got a point there."

Tacitus nodded sagely.

- - -

((Minor age mistake a few posts ago. Marianne is 86, not 84 years old.))