He stepped to her side, hoping to catch a glimpse of her eyes. "I thought you said that papa gave you everything."

"I lied."

He filled her glass with more brandy, which she drank in silence, a silence that seemed to be drawing them closer again. In the background were distant bells tolling midnight, the last song from the corner cafe.

"I don't know if we'll ever find a place to eat now," he said.

She smiled. "I wanted to see you, Nicky. That's honestly the only reason that I came. I just wanted to see you again."

"And then what? Then it's back to Dunbar, or back to Spangler, or back to—"

"Please don't, not now. I'm lost again. Can't you see that? I'm really lost this time." Then clutching his arm and pulling him closer, "And you're the only one who can find me."

He kissed her, saw that she was crying and kissed her again. At first she responded like a child, oddly shy and mumbling something about the cat. Then he felt her lips parting, her heart actually beating next to his.

She undressed in the darkness, then stepped into the light from the window, and he saw that she was smiling. He ran his hand along that still perfect curve of her back. It wasn't raining, but the wind through loose shingles sounded a lot like running water.

And of course, there were two or three minutes when he wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her to leave him alone. But then it passed, and he only regretted not having changed the bedsheets.

She stayed fourteen days, from the week before Christmas through the first of the year. Paris was cold with an early storm, but they rarely left his room. The mornings were particularly beautiful, the windows glazed with white frost. Dawn, however, came slowly, struggling with the wind.

As for specific memories, they would always remember Christmas Eve. Gray had been raised Church of England while Zelle had more or less abandoned a structured faith years ago, but just the same they decided to attend the midnight mass at Saint-Bernard. Although less extravagant than Notre Dame's, the services had always been very beautiful here, and from that night are two impressions in pencil of local children kneeling to receive the Sacrament.

They celebrated simply, with meat pie, stewed apples, and vanilla cream, on a low table. Nor were the gifts extravagant, mainly just trinkets purchased in neighborhood shops. Zelle, however, did receive an unusually haunting lithograph of that forest at Fontainebleau.