They left Istanbul on another misty dawn, but this time they took off upwards into the mist, on upwards into cloud, until they couldn’t see the land any more. The aeroplane made Max feel pressed in, somehow, and it hardly felt as though they were travelling, even though she knew that they were gobbling up the miles.

She wondered whether, somewhere below them, a train snaking across land was carrying Great-Aunt Elodie away.

When they landed back in France, Max treated them both to a taxi, and sat with her nose pressed to the window as they weaved and wound around familiar corners of Paris. They pulled up at last outside her own home. Sister Marguerite was staying in the taxi, to carry on to the convent. She kissed Max once on each cheek. “See you soon, mon lapin.”

It was the middle of the day, so her parents were out. Her older brother Pierre was at his national chess tournament, and her older sister Claudette was at her international showjumping championship. Max let herself in. From the living room, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour, the sound deadened slightly by the thick curtains and carpets.

Max went into the kitchen, where there was a welcome-home note from her mother. She made herself hot chocolate on the stove, and took it up to the attic; and she took her brown travelling case too, because it felt strange to be without it. She sat in her own red armchair. Then, to her surprise, she cried.

She had wanted to come home. And it was wonderful to be in her own attic, and feel that worn velvet again. But the world inside her head was so big, and she had forgotten how small she was expected to be here. How would she ever show her maman everything that she had seen and felt? How would she be able to fit it all into the small tidy words that they said to each other at dinner, with strictly no wriggling about while you talked? Was that the end of adventure now?

She didn’t know a name for what she felt, but it was joy and sadness all at once swirled together, and it made her heart feel like it might burst.

It wasn’t until after she had finished her hot chocolate, and watched the sky for a while, and felt a little steadier, that she discovered Sister Marguerite’s note in her case. It was taped to a small box, wrapped in brown paper. She opened it.

Welcome home!

Strange, isn’t it? Don’t worry – one good meal at home and one good night’s sleep is normally enough to readjust. Your own bed! It’s a wonderful thing, mon lapin!