“Indeed, Monsieur le Comte?” Silas Hawkins raised thick, graying brows toward our end of the table. “Have you found a new partner for investment, then? I understood that your own resources were…depleted, shall we say? Following the sad destruction of the Patagonia.” He took a cheese savoury from the plate and popped it delicately into his mouth.
The Comte’s jaw muscles bulged, and a sudden chill descended on our end of the table. From Mr. Hawkins’s sidelong glance at me, and the tiny smile that lurked about his buisily chewing mouth, it was clear that he knew all about my role in the destruction of the unfortunate Patagonia.
Diana Gabaldon, Dragonfly in Amber (Chapter 18 – Rape in Paris)