“It’s the invitation to the audition. Luckily, last week Mum said she’d stuck it on the fridge. My days, Victor, do you really think we’re going to make it? Frankly if you can lead me out of this labyrinth, it’ll be you who’s the real maestro.”

“They might track us down before the audition, of course,” I said, “but at least we’ll have tried our best!”

I arranged the tins in an old crate while Marie felt her way along the walls to get an idea of the space and where she could store things. I got the dictionary out of my rucksack and put Dad’s little camping stove on top of it. Marie shook the creases out of an elegant dress and then hung it on a coat hanger, which she attached to an old nail sticking out from the wall.

“Are you going dancing?” I asked.

“It’s for the audition, you numbskull!”

I honestly think we were happy. There was silence all around us, just the mysterious life of the forest and the gentle rustle of the wind.

“I wonder if they’ve noticed we’re missing, at school?” she asked.

I looked at my watch.

“Yes, of course. But Lucky Luke will be too busy with his reading to do anything about it straight away. No one will be told before this evening. We’re safe at least until tomorrow.”

In the afternoon I watched as Marie took out her cello and applied rosin to the bow in long gentle strokes. The glinting lights in her hair lit up the cabin. I tried to hold on to the sight of it, because I felt the time had come for me to lay down some memories: they’re far more important for someone like me than anything artistic. As I looked at the instrument I seemed to see my father’s face between the strings. One day, he too would be nothing more than a colossal memory. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent the sting of time passing. I settled down on a bunk, leaning my chin on my right hand. Marie began to play a piece by Johann Sebastian that I’d already heard before at her house. The bow slithered and weaved over the strings, like a long snake. Now and then it stopped suddenly and the sound of birds calling in the forest filled the silence.

“This passage, do you prefer it if I play it like this?” asked Marie.

I listened.

“Or like this?”

I couldn’t tell the difference.

“I just want to know how you’d like to hear it on Friday, that’s all.”

“The second way then.”

“You’re right. I agree.”

I felt flattered.