Ten thousand and forty-two. An impossible number. Armand doesn't believe it at first -- but, what point would there be to lie here, of all places? What advantage would it win him, that specific number? Easy enough to lie about being one thousand or more. Ten? No, it's too ridiculous, too high. Unless it's true.

And if it's true --

Armand lets go of him, abruptly. A shiver of movement and he's moved back a few steps in the grass, though he suspects the distance is as meaningless to John as it is to himself. Then he sinks, abruptly, to both knees, and bows his head. Reeling, internally.

"Parce mihi domine, nihil enim sunt dies mei," he murmurs, Marius' voice intoning the words in his mind.