‘No, Monsieur,’ she said. She waited for him to leave before she said to me: ‘You must ask the price of fruit before they bring it to the table.’

‘Why?’

‘They will charge you a king’s ransom for it.’

Axelle brought her napkin to her mouth and pretended to wipe her lips.

Before our food arrived, a man approached wearing a smart coat with tails and a white cravat. Without saying a word, he placed a single, glazed cashew, which was nestled sweetly in a white paper cup, on the table between our wine glasses. He gazed at the nut as if it were the most beautiful object in all the world, as if it were his own child, and implored us with a long, searching look from his sad eyes to agree. I reached for the nut, but Madame put her hand over the cup and shook her head.

‘No, thank you,’ she said, her small eyes on him.

I glanced at Axelle, embarrassed, worried that Madame was ruining our day out. Axelle was glaring at Madame’s hand, which lay like a stone slab over the swaddled cashew. The man left the nut on our table and turned to the couple sitting next to us, and placed another paper cup between their wine glasses.

‘If you eat it,’ Madame whispered, ‘he won’t let us alone until we each purchase a whole bag of nuts. We mustn’t encourage the fellow.’

‘But Madame,’ said Axelle, ‘what if they’re delicious?’

‘Don’t be swindled. For these people it’s only a game. Look, he’s acting. It’s all just an act.’

‘That doesn’t mean the nuts aren’t tasty.’

‘Be my guest,’ said Madame, removing at last her hand from the paper cup. ‘If you don’t object to being manipulated.’

Axelle sulked, and did not touch the nut. I wanted to tuck behind her ear a dark curl that had fallen next to her eye. But then she straightened up, squared her chin. ‘We are all actors, some of the time. We might not even realize we’re doing it – it’s in our nature. Don’t you agree?’ She looked at me.

‘I would agree that we present different faces to the world,’ I said, ‘depending on the situation.’

‘Depending on what one needs,’ said Axelle.

‘In any situation, you will find me to be the same person,’ said Madame. ‘This is a privilege reserved for the old.’

‘You’re not so old,’ I said.

‘Ah,’ she said, looking past me. ‘Here come the eggs.’

The food was delicious. Axelle did most of the talking while we ate. Among other morsels of gossip, she told us about her directeur at the perfumery who was flagrantly running amok with a young haberdashery girl. ‘They barely try to hide it,’ she said.

‘At least it makes the day more interesting,’ said Madame, whose tongue had loosened considerably after two glasses of wine.

Axelle also spoke about her wish to move from the perfumery to a different job, one which carried more prestige.