For lunch, Lise wanted to move the table into the shade of the big walnut tree on the left. Franck reminded her that you shouldn’t sit under a walnut tree: his grandmother always said it was unlucky, as the leaves gave off a poisonous gas. But Lise retorted that that was nonsense, an old wives’ tale put about by farm owners to stop their employees taking siestas under the walnut trees. In fact, the shade of the tree was perfect, dense and cool and good for them in every way. For just a moment, they both thought back to their distant backgrounds, grandparents born in the countryside who, luckily for them, had left behind their rural roots for the city. They settled under the tree without further delay, and the dog joined them, though it remained a little way away. Lise was right that it was nice here, and they were happy. All three of them.