Valjean is faintly surprised, but no matter. He simply walks the stairs until he finds the right floor, then traipses the corridor until he finds his room. His hold on the doctor does not waver or weaken; when he has to free a hand to use the key, he simply puts him on his feet, and holds him up with one arm.

The room inside is not precisely what he expected. He thought every space up here was a bedroom, but this is clearly some kind of office. He would have preferred to put the man on a bed, but it cannot be helped. He deposits him carefully in an armchair instead, with a cushion propping his head up so his neck may not suffer from falling into an awkward angle.

That done, he loosens Lecter's tie and removes his shoes, setting them neatly by the chair. When he rises to leave, he glances around; there are two prints of Paris on the wall, and it confirms to him what the man has said about his time spent there. But then he realises that he recognises the views; this is Paris as he knows it, not the Paris of the doctor's time. He cannot believe it would not have changed in all the intervening years.

He steps closer, and looks. One picture shows the Palais de Justice and Notre Dame. How very apt.

He shakes his head after a moment or three, and makes himself turn away. The door is silent as it closes behind him.