He looked intently down at the page as she pushed it to him, then blinked and glanced around the table briefly before his eyes widened and he stared back at the photocopy. Yes, that was the exact same sheet of paper she had showed him minutes before, when it had been a photocopy of a piece of completely blank parchment.

"It... it has text now," he said stupidly. His mind was visibly hung up on the physical impossibility of that for a few seconds before he even tried to parse the words.

Though he had periodically stumbled his way through a few French philosophy journals in college (a lot of the most significant contemporary papers on metaphysics were published in French), he didn't actually know the language especially well. His lips moved subconsciously as he tried to work it out. A sinner... won't return, sins will not... disappear? Love... won't die, a hermit says... the blood of—

His eyes darted back up to hers. "Soldats?"