He shook hands with the young woman, kissed Émile on both cheeks and sat down feeling both very much at home and extremely emotional. Mademoiselle Donet seemed slightly thinner and slightly paler. She must have cried her little heart out. This time she was a bit awkward in her manner towards him as if she had realized something she had been unable to absorb on that first occasion when she was still taking in the enormity of what had happened. She was extremely attentive to his needs and humble in her approach, as if trying to pay back in devotion and service towards him some of the generosity he was showing her. They took a long time over lunch and discussed the business which had brought him there. She did not want so much money. It was too much, far too much. She earned enough to keep herself; all she wanted was that Émile might have something to look forward to when he reached his majority. César, however, stuck to his guns and even added a present for herself as a token of mourning. As he finished his coffee, she asked, ‘Do you smoke?’

‘Yes, I’ve got my pipe here …,’ he began.

He patted his pockets. Damnation. He had left it at home! He was just about to bemoan the fact when she produced one belonging to his father which she had kept tucked away in a cupboard. He took it from her and recognized it. Sniffing it and with emotion in his voice, declaring it to be one of the best, he filled and lit it. Then he put Émile on his knee and played ride-a-cock-horse with him while she cleared the table, stacking the dirty dishes in the sideboard to wash later after he had gone.

At about three, when he rose regretfully, he hated the idea of leaving.

‘Well, Mamz’elle Donet,’ he said, ‘I’ll wish you a very good afternoon. I’m delighted to have made your acquaintance like this.’

She remained standing in front of him, blushing and near to tears. As she looked at him she thought of his father.

‘Are we not to see each other again then?’ she asked.

He replied simply: ‘We can, Mam’zelle, if that’s what you’d like.’

‘It most certainly is, Monsieur César. Shall we say next Thursday, if that’s convenient for you?’

‘Indeed it is, Mam’zelle Donet.’

‘You’ll come for lunch, of course?’

‘Well, if you’re offering I wouldn’t say no.’

‘Very well, Monsieur César. Thursday next it is, at twelve o’clock, like today.’

‘Twelve o’clock on Thursday then, Mam’zelle Donet!’

NEW YEAR’S GIFT1