I thought of the Advent house, and of the two little figures with their pipe-cleaner hands joined beneath the Christmas tree.

Then there’s Madame Luzeron, who has started to call in more frequently, and who plays with Rosette while she sips her mocha. She too is looking more relaxed; and today she was wearing a bright red twinset under her black winter coat, and she actually got down on to her knees as she and Rosette rolled a wooden dog solemnly to and fro across the tiles—

Then Jean-Louis and Paupaul joined the game, and Richard and Mathurin on their way to pétanque; and Madame Pinot, who would never have come in six months ago, but who Zozie calls by her first name (Hermine) and who casually asks for my usual . . .

As the busy afternoon sped on, I was touched to see so many customers bringing in presents for Rosette. I’d forgotten that they must see her with Zozie, while I am in the back making chocolates, but even so, it was unexpected, reminding me of all the friends we have gained since Zozie joined us a month ago.

There was the wooden dog from Madame Luzeron; a painted green egg-cup from Alice; a stuffed rabbit from Nico; a jigsaw from Richard and Mathurin; a drawing of a monkey from Jean-Louis and Paupaul. Even Madame Pinot dropped round with a yellow hairband for Rosette – and to put in an order for violet creams, for which she has an enthusiasm bordering on greed. Then Laurent Pinson came in as usual, to steal the sugar and to inform me with gleeful despondency that business was terrible everywhere, and that he’d just seen a Muslim woman in a full veil walking down the Rue des Trois Frères; and as he went out he dropped a package on the table, which, when opened, was found to contain a pink plastic charm-bracelet that probably came with a teen magazine, but that Rosette loves uncritically, and refuses to remove, even at bathtime.

And then, just as we were about to close, the odd woman who was here yesterday came round again, bought another box of truffles and left a present for Rosette. That surprised me first of all – she isn’t a regular of ours, and even Zozie doesn’t know her name – but when we opened the gift-wrapping, our surprise was greater still. Inside there was a box containing a baby doll, not large but clearly antique, with a soft body and a porcelain face framed in a bonnet lined with fur. Rosette loves it, of course, but I couldn’t accept such a lavish gift from a stranger, and I packed the doll into its box, meaning to give it back to the woman when – and if – she returns.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Zozie. ‘It probably belonged to her kids, or something. Look at Madame Luzeron and her dolls’ house furniture.’