“It’s rosin. It makes the bow grip the strings better.”

It looked as though she was giving the bow a long, slow stroke.

I stood up because I had pins and needles in my legs. I looked at all the books, lined up alphabetically in the bookcase. I noticed immediately that there were a lot of books about eyes, which was strange: Anatomy of the Optic Nerve, Pathology of the Human Eye, Learning about Blindness, and so on. And others with titles so complicated that they might as well have been books about wizardry.

“That’s strange,” I said, “all these books about eyes. How come you’re interested in that?”

“It’s for my project.”

“What project?”

“You know, I suggested to the form teacher that I should give a presentation to the class about Helen Keller’s life story, based on the book she wrote.”

“So, what’s that got to do with eyes?”

“Well, Helen Keller was an American girl who lost her sight when she was eighteen months old. She became very knowledgeable and very well-known, thanks to her teacher who did everything she could to help her… That’s what it’s about – in a nutshell – obviously. If you want, I could lend you the book.”

“No thanks, I’ve got enough to do with The Three Musketeers. Later, perhaps, when I’ve finished it … in ten years’ time. By the way, something that’s been bothering me… Do you know if it’s true that Alexandre Dumas was mostly interested in, you know, stuffing his face and chasing girls?”

“I think it is true.”

I was a bit disappointed. I’d rather hoped that Haisam was wrong. But the Honourable Egyptian is never wrong.

“So you need all these books for your presentation?”

“I like to have all the facts when I take on a task.”

“Mind you, it’s not surprising you’re interested in eyes and blind people…”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because a lot of blind people are also very talented musicians. You’ve got something in common with them.”

She said nothing and her face clouded right over. I had the impression I’d made a real blunder. Although to be honest that’s not an unusual feeling for me.

The house was quiet, and occasionally you could hear the wood creaking.

“Are you all on your own here? Where are your parents?”

“They’ll come home later. I’m often on my own. My parents are art experts and auctioneers, so they go away a lot.”

“What are auction ears?”

“You know: going … going … gone!”

She hit the table with an invisible hammer. I’d seen that in films.