Macarons. From the snake Lup's bakehouse, [he explains abruptly as he sweeps through the doorway, his invitation granted. He sweeps further into the entryway and finds a bare spot on a sideboard to place the parcel.] But don't open them for my sake.

[Javert removes his cap, his thick hair wild and a bit mussed from his mornings ride. He rakes his claws through, a rudimentary righting of his looks, and tilts his face meaningfully toward the cat, throwing his face in shadow save for the narrow slits of his gleaming read eyes.]

We are talking business, and I should like to keep it brief. So let us cut to the heart of it, shall we? You told me you doubt cooperation efforts. Why?