Upstairs, in the classroom, Chef Larry was togged out in chef’s whites, with a high toque on his head. The class was already under way. He was breaking eggs into a pot and whisking them furiously. “We’re making profiteroles,” he told Lucy and Bill, “beginning with pâte à choux.”

“Sounds fabulous,” said Lucy, tying on her apron.

“It’s just a fancy name for cream puffs,” said Sue scornfully. “I bet you’ve made them a million times.”

“Pâte à choux is not complicated,” admitted Chef Larry. “That is its beauty. But I am going to teach you my fabulous chocolate sauce—with a secret ingredient.”

“Can’t wait,” muttered Sue, who was justifiably proud of her own chocolate sauce recipe, which had just a hint of coffee.

“And today we will have a coffee break—very American, right?—and eat our profiteroles and tarte tatin,” said Chef Larry, spooning the pâte à choux into a pastry bag. “The bag is not necessary,” he said. “You can just spoon the pâte à choux into little balls for baking, but I like to make swans,” he said, demonstrating with a flourish.

“Swans!” muttered Sue, rolling her eyes. “What a cliché!”

“I think they’re cute,” said Pam.

“And I can’t wait to have another piece of that tart,” added Bill.

“All that pastry will spoil your lunch,” advised Lucy, who was a firm believer in three square meals a day and no snacks.

“I’ll have salad,” promised Bill.

But after eating generous helpings of tarte tatin, plus the profiteroles, which were absolutely delicious, containing a luscious brandy-flavored cream filling and topped with the amazing chocolate sauce Chef Larry had sprinkled with his secret ingredient, a special sea salt called fleur de sel, nobody was eager to face a large lunch.

The friends were debating the issue, standing in the tiny vestibule and watching the heavy rain that was pouring down outside, when two young men approached, engaged in a lively conversation. They were both wearing baseball caps pulled low on their heads, and like most men in France, they had scarves wrapped around their necks and had turned up their coat collars against the rain. They were carrying briefcases and packages, as well as umbrellas, so there wasn’t a free hand between them with which to operate the security keypad. Realizing they were locked out and were getting pelted with rain while they fumbled with their stuff, Pam opened the door for them. The two ducked inside and passed the group without making eye contact and went straight for the stairs.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” hissed Bob, watching the two bound up the stairs. “What’s the sense of a security system if you just let people in?”

“It was the polite thing to do,” said Pam defensively.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, the French aren’t really big on politeness,” huffed Bob. “They didn’t even say thank you.”