The atmosphere for the rest of the meal was good-humoured. Mathieu gradually relaxed, even started to ­confide in Jeanne, who was gently and tactfully grilling him. I was glad to see that things were turning out so well; that my friends, whose opinion matters so much to me, seemed to like Mathieu a lot. Because I’d have known right away if they were rejecting him, I’d have sensed it from any excessive (and therefore false) interest, any ill-concealed irony in their glances, any overdone courtesy. They weren’t polite with Mathieu; that meant a lot. Of course I’d been through plenty of those first meetings where everybody spies on the new recruit while pretending not to; I’d been one of those who sat in judgment myself when one of the women brought us her new flame, the poor girl terrified and white as a sheet.

Families like ours, born of each member’s visceral need, that are almost too close, smooth and hard as rocks, with nothing officially holding them together, but sufficient unto themselves, are formidable to any foreign body that tries to penetrate them. I’d seen so many girls come up against a stubborn refusal, so many guys unceremoniously sent packing, that for some time now I’d been reluctant to introduce any casual friends to the rest of the family. I preferred to disappear for a few days, follow my adventure to the end, then reappear at an official supper, the prodigal child, the black sheep whose return is eagerly celebrated, his brief fling forgiven, but whose definitive flight would be taken very badly. I’d have been happy to wait a few weeks, then, before “producing” Mathieu, but circumstances had ­decided otherwise.

Over coffee, too strong but delicious, Jeanne, Mélène and Mathieu were deep in a conversation in which I already sensed a reassuring complicity. Mathieu was talking about the uncertainties of the actor’s trade and the other two, although they’d cordially hated Luc, were listening with ­surprising attentiveness. Why had they found Luc so ­disagreeable and why did they find Mathieu so nice? Bad vibes or bad faith? I decided not to analyze, but take advantage of it, and so I listened in on what they were saying.

Jeanne was leaning against the back of Mathieu’s chair, her head on her fist.

“You mean as soon as you get an acting job you’ll have to quit Eaton’s?”

“Well, it’s not that simple . . . First of all, there aren’t all that many acting jobs these days . . .”

“With looks like yours it shouldn’t be too hard . . .”

“It doesn’t always work that way . . . There’s more than looks involved . . . and anyway Montreal has no shortage of good-looking actors . . .”

Mélène, whose bluntness still surprises me, it’s so brusque sometimes, asked him point blank: “Have you got any talent?”