The reflection on Zorglub's darkened desktop monitor confirmed what he heard behind him. It was the girl. Pacome's "granddaughter," Spirou's firstborn. Souris, he believed she went by? The second one, the boy, must've been sleeping in a crib nearby and the old count napping in the same room. Which was exactly where the girl was supposed to be as well.

"You're not authorized to be here," he stated, turning himself around enough to see her.  "Your grandfather will be quite displeased if he catches you in here." He motioned her to "shoo." Surely that'd help the deaf girl take the hint.

"But--"

It came out sounding odd, perhaps a little stilted, to the much older man, but it appeared she caught enough for her to not just understand him, but protest.

"But what?"

Souris began signing, then stopped. Smart move; he didn't know much anyway. She paused, wondering what to do. Head faced the monitor. Then she touched her face. The process repeated a couple times.

More dialogue. "You're grandpa's friend."

He slowly nodded his head. "Yes... You'd be correct. I even share residence with him."

She squealed, then clapped her hands. "Like Uncle Fanta and Daddy!"

"Well, yes. I suppose so. But how is this relative to you and me?"

"Mister Zorglub," Souris asked, very much struggling at his name, "...Why is Daddy mean to you?"

He knew exactly what she was referring to. For as long as she'd been alive he hadn't been allowed in the same room as her unattended. What Pacome or Spirou thought he'd plot to do with her, he hadn't a clue. Teach her Zorglingo? The concept of the great Zorglub taking advantage of a child was particularly preposterous, as did turning her into one of his Zorgmen if he began another plot for world domination. Such an unneeded insult if his friend (and especially--especially Spirou) thought it a possibility. But the disdain inside the redhead's brown eyes showed whenever he faced him, as did Pacome's disappointment as he asked him to go into another room if Souris was in, say, the very parlor they were both in now. To be treated like a monster when he hadn't showed any such behavior (at least lately) was a guaranteed ego blow.

That being said, it was good that she could recognize her parents weren't perfect deities by that age. That knowledge could've highly benefited him then.

"Zorglub, as wonderful as he is, is not a man without flaws." After a confused stare (who knows what she caught from any of his speech anyway?), he clarified: "I've done some bad things."

"Bad?"

He nodded.

"Time out for you?"

His stress mounted. Any moment now Spirou Junior could wake up wailing like a teeny banshee, or Pacome could stir and realize Souris wasn't napping too.

He toyed with his tie. "Essentially, yes."

"Okay." She then turned around. He began a sigh of relief that hitched as she turned back around, looking like she forgot something. "You look sad."

"Hmm?"

"Sad. All the time."

"The amazing Zorglub! Sad?" He stretched out from the computer chair with a laugh. "Quite the contrary, little girl-child! Zorglub laughs in the face of all opposition he encounters! Nothing, no obstacle, no road block, will ever conquer his spirit!" More forced laughter drove from his mouth. He found himself laughing into the ceiling, before realizing and facing the somewhat bewildered child with hands inside her black sweatpant pockets.

The floorboards above creaked. Unless Spirou and Fantasio entered the home through that room with a ladder, the noise's source was clear.

He swallowed. "Grandpa's awake..."

Something made contact with his shoes. The redhead bent down to grab it, while gloved hands tugged on her blue hairbow.

"You should leave now." He calmly said, attempting to disguise his own anxiety at the creaks closer to the hallway.

Her hand still lowered.

"I'll pick it up."

No need to. Souris grabbed the crunched computer paper and handed it to him. She signed something with a smile and crept away to the kitchen, judging by her smaller steps compared to the old Count's.

"There you are!" Pacome said outside. Zorglub mostly hid his body with the wall as he watched Souris and him communicate mostly through signing. There were no glances behind to detect his presence, no gasps or yells of disappointment (at least, not those of meeting up with him). After they left upstairs, Souris with an apple in hand, Zorglub's back rested on the wall. He uncrumbled the paper, crudely smoothed it between his palms, and finally took a look.

"Smile," it said in black crayon. Below was a portrait of him, one as obviously from a six year old girl as the writing and the smiley face next to his head. As the paper, folded into a quartered square, found its way into his pocket, he realized that as in the drawing there was indeed a smile on his face.