She’d brought the coffee pot to the table. Very slowly, she poured the thick liquid—she made some of the strongest coffee in Montreal and drank a good ten cups a day—and Mathieu thought: I know her, she’s playing for time, I caught her off guard, she doesn’t know what to say, either I’ll get a face full of coffee or she’ll pretend to be enthusiastic about my brilliant idea . . . He felt himself on a tightrope once again and wanted to shut his eyes and let things proceed without him.

“What does he have to say about that?”

He admired her apparent calm, her brand-new self ­control, even the half-smile, so lovely, that had once turned him inside out, that she was able to keep intact at this moment of high emotion. She’d come a long way in two years.

“He’s nervous, but he thinks it’s right. He says he’s scared silly because he’s never met a four-year-old before . . . I know he’s doing it for me, because I don’t think he cares that much about kids, but what do you want, I mean he can’t ignore Sébastien, after all he’s part of my life . . . But what about you . . . how do you feel?”

“Well, surprised mostly, because you never introduced Sébastien to any of your boyfriends . . . Which means this is more serious than I realized . . . And also I don’t know what Gaston will think . . .”

Mathieu was the first to lose his cool. He shoved away his cup and it almost spilled on the refectory table gleaming with beeswax.

“It’s none of Gaston’s goddamn business, he’s not the father!”

Louise replied in the same tone. All her fine false calm had vanished in a second and her voice had gone up an octave, disintegrating into an unpleasant shrillness that she had trouble controlling.

“Maybe not, but we’re bringing him up!”

The danger was back. Not the danger of nostalgia this time, but the one still so fresh in their memories, of ­hurting one another, deeply, with that evil joy akin to bad faith. They saw it at the same time, at precisely the same moment; each could read it in the other’s eyes, with frightening clarity. They dropped their gazes to their coffee cups. A brief, ­electric silence that a single misinterpreted word or gesture could turn to catastrophe.

After two or three deep breaths, Louise spoke without looking up. Her voice was almost normal again.