I wasn’t too sure whether he was joking or whether he was actually expecting a reply, but he looked as though something was coming to the boil inside him. It didn’t look good: I thought he was about to blow up.

“Don’t be angry, I was joking, obviously I was joking.”

“Well, it was a joke in very poor taste. Here, have some Turkish delight.”

He mulled it over for a few seconds and then broke his silence.

“Good grief!”

And on that note Haisam and I went back to join our classmates. As we waited in line, I gave a little wave to Marie and then, as usual, when we went inside I took my seat next to hers. While the teacher was doing the register, she whispered to me, “Did you do the maths exercise?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t too hard?”

“Yes, but I did what I could.”

“Let’s see.”

I hesitated, but the temptation was too strong, and I slipped her the copy I’d made of Haisam’s work.

“Well done! You’ve made amazing progress. Soon you won’t need me any more.”

“Don’t say that, just as I’m really starting to need you.”

I went as red as a tomato, first because I’d given her the copy of Haisam’s work and second because of what I’d said. And now it was I who wanted to withdraw from the world like a wounded animal. I swivelled round and saw my honourable friend at the back of the class, smiling affectionately despite all the “invisible sides” and “more or lesses” that filled my life. And I thought he looked like the snowman in the playground.

At the end of break, the school loudspeaker blared out that Marie and I were required in Lucky Luke’s office. When we were both outside the door, I knocked. Lucky Luke opened it and told us to sit down. He didn’t seem at all angry. It was quite a while since he and I had had any setbacks. Alexandre Dumas had brought us closer, and we were enjoying a sort of honeymoon.

“We’ve got a problem!” he said straight away.

“A problem with us?” asked Marie.

Personally, I was trying to say as little as possible, because you never know.

“Yes, a problem with you, but it’s not your fault. Or at least not your fault, young lady. Victor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First I want you to swear something to me…”

“Yes, what?”

“That you had nothing to do with the two snowmen in the playground.”

“In that case, I can swear on whatever you like … on the memory of Alexandre Dumas, say, or even on the music of Johann Sebastian Bach… You can’t ask for more than that! And anyway I couldn’t have had anything to do with the snowmen because I was with Haisam and his father replaying Curaçao 1962.”