Perhaps this is what she’s trying to recapture – a time when things were simpler. In Lansquenet, Anouk ran wild; played down by the river all day long; talked incessantly to Pantoufle; led pirate games and crocodile games and was always in disgrace at school.

But that was a very different world. Barring the river-gypsies – disreputable, perhaps, even sometimes dishonest, but certainly not dangerous – there were no strangers in Lansquenet. No one bothered to lock their door; even the dogs were familiar.

‘I don’t like wearing a dress,’ she said.

Beside me I could sense Thierry’s unvoiced disapproval. In Thierry’s world, girls wear dresses – in fact, over the past six months he has bought several for both Anouk and Rosette, in the hope that I will take the hint.

Thierry was watching me, tight-mouthed. ‘You know, I’m not really hungry,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we just go for a walk and grab something to eat from a café on the way? There’s the Parc de la Turlure, or there’s—’

‘But I booked,’ said Thierry.

I couldn’t help laughing at his expression. Everything in Thierry’s world has to be done according to plan. There are rules for everything; schedules to be met; guidelines to be followed. A lunch table, booked, cannot be un-booked, and even though we both know that he is happiest in a place like Le P’tit Pinson, today he has chosen La Maison Rose, for which Anouk must wear a dress. That’s the way he is, of course – rock-solid, predictable, in control – but sometimes I wish he wasn’t quite as inflexible; that he could find room for a little spontaneity—

‘You’re not wearing your ring,’ he said.

Instinctively I looked down at my hands. ‘It’s the chocolate,’ I said. ‘It gets on everything.’

‘You and your chocolate,’ said Thierry.

It was not one of our most successful outings. Perhaps it was the sullen weather, or the crowds, or Anouk’s lack of appetite, or Rosette’s continuing refusal to use a spoon. Thierry’s mouth tightened as he watched Rosette hand-arranging her peas into a spiral pattern on her plate.

‘Manners, Rosette,’ he said at last.

Rosette ignored him, all her attention fixed on the pattern.

‘Rosette,’ he said in a sharper tone.

Still she ignored him, although a woman at an adjoining table looked round at his tone of voice.

‘It’s all right, Thierry. You know what she’s like. Just leave her alone, and—’

Thierry made a sound of exasperation. ‘My God, what is she, nearly four years old?’ He turned to me, his eyes alight. ‘It isn’t normal, Yanne,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to face up to it. She needs help. I mean, look at her.’ He glared at Rosette, who was eating her peas one by one, using her fingers, and with a look of intense concentration.