The scent of Madeleine’s mother’s perfume vanished, and soon it seemed as if she had only been a dream, not a real flesh-and-blood person. Madeleine was rushed about by the governess and not allowed to see her grandfather, a very old man who lived in the attic. His name was Raoul Salomon, and he had sometimes joined the family for dinner; otherwise he was upstairs, in bed, with his books. He was nearly ninety, and anyone could tell he had been a dashing, handsome man. He was six foot three, so very tall, even though he stooped, and Madeleine had been frightened of him; he still had a mane of beautiful hair, black when he was young, snow white as he aged. He was guarded and rarely looked anyone in the eye. People had disappointed him. His expression was tragic, but as a child Madeleine had merely thought he had stomachaches, something with which she occasionally suffered, so she was well aware of the pain they could cause. Her grandfather was so very old, and all by himself, speaking to almost no one other than the maid who brought him his meals on a tarnished silver tray.

When she tried to climb the stairs to see him after her parents’ funeral, the governess had locked her in her room. A few weeks later her aunt, her father’s sister, along with her entire family, moved in. Madeleine then knew something was terribly wrong. The dogs were all given away. She was told it was best for her not to see her grandfather. She would only be annoying him and, anyway, he didn’t like children.

But she’d had a dream about him, and in her dream her grandfather was sitting beside an angel and he could speak the angel’s language, something no other mortal could do. She went to see her grandfather despite the governess’s smacks, sneaking up to the third floor when everyone else was at dinner, which was formal, so that thankfully little girls weren’t invited. She had some sugar cookies in her pocket she intended to give him as a gift, but once she’d opened the door she found she was unable to say anything. They had never spoken directly. The old man was in a chair and he stared at her as she approached. He recognized her but he didn’t quite remember her name. She introduced herself. “Ah, Masson,” the old man said thoughtfully. Madeleine’s father’s family had come from Algeria just as the old man had, but they’d arrived two hundred years earlier, and had changed their name from Hasson, a Jewish name they did not wish to have associated with them.

He took the cookies and ate them all without offering any to her. “I came from Algeria,” he told her.

She had no idea where that was, but she nodded.