But he chewed his Froot Loops before he swallowed them, like a good little boy. His mother came and sat next to him, gesturing hopelessly to Gaston. He merely buried himself deeper in his newspaper. Sébastien looked at his mother, frowning.

“When you were little how many mummies and daddies did you have?”

“You know very well, Sébastien. I had one daddy and one mummy. You know them . . .”

“I know, Granny Simone and Grandpa Arthur. I bet you didn’t have much fun.”

“Of course I did . . .”

She didn’t know exactly what he was getting at, if he ­wanted to talk about her and Mathieu’s divorce, or about Mathieu’s new life with Jean-Marc; she decided not to push things; she’d answer his questions as succinctly and clearly as she could, without provoking them. Gaston folded his paper and slipped into the living room as discreetly as ­he could, after giving Louise a look of encouragement. She was tempted to call him chicken, but restrained herself. She cleared the table and put the dirty dishes in the sink. Usually Sébastien vanished as soon as breakfast was over, for fear his mother might ask him to help her. But he sat there, watching her go back and forth in the kitchen, ­obviously upset about something.

Louise thought she couldn’t leave him like that, in the middle of the questions he didn’t dare, or didn’t know how to ask. She sat down across from him, nervous but ­determined to vanquish his concerns, whatever they might be. She’d take all the time they needed and Sébastien would emerge from this conversation as well-informed as a four-year-old can be. Then again, what exactly can you tell a four-year-old?

“Is something bothering you, Sébastien? You can tell mummy about it . . .”

And the final blow came, in all innocence, the perfectly normal product of the mind of a child who is a member of a society with very definite rules and customs: “Who’s the mummy? Daddy or Jean-Mak?”

“I did my best to explain that every family doesn’t ­necessarily have a mummy and a daddy, but I don’t know if he really understood . . .”

On the other end of the line, Mathieu was a little calmer now. He’d panicked when Louise first told him about the conversation with their son, because he’d intended to have the same one during Sébastien’s next visit.

“Put him on . . . I’ll try and talk to him . . .”

“Not on the phone . . . Next time you see him you can tell him in your own words . . . But try not to make your version too different from mine . . .”

“No problem . . . We’ll decide what to tell him, and how . . . But where did he come up with a question like that . . .”

“I think it’s mainly Gaston’s brother Paulot that put it in his head . . .”