With the shutters open, the house was bathed in evening light. There was something simple and unpretentious – or, in Franck’s eyes, dubious – about the vivid colours of the furnishings, which glowed in the warm light. Looking at the blue shutters and bright-red curtains, he could not tell if the decor was intentional or simply the result of the place’s history and successive owners. There was not much by way of equipment: a big table, four chairs, a gas cooker and a wood-burning stove. The basics were there, nothing more. The ground floor was made up of one large room, then a smaller room on the left, and a bathroom at the end. A wooden staircase led upstairs. They opened the shutters up there as well to reveal a huge bedroom, with four windows that looked out in all directions. Lise was delighted. Every time she pushed back the shutters in a room, she would rediscover the sea of hills outside, a view that enchanted her. She was comforted by the authenticity of the stone walls, the solid wood floor and the exposed beams.

Despite his discomfort, Franck was relieved. At least it wasn’t a scam. At least they hadn’t been taken for a ride. There was a house at the end of the advert. Lise, too, was relieved to find that her phone had no signal. She had been glancing at it ever since they set out on the track and had never had even a hint of signal, unlike on the road before the ascent. In the last few kilometres she had only had one bar, and eventually none; the little fan shape at the top of her screen was empty. But she was careful not to mention it to Franck. It seemed just as natural and wonderful to her as the sun going down in front of them, setting the slightest reflection in the bedroom alight: every lamp, every window, every mirror or piece of glass sparkled. It felt as though the sun were paying them its respects, greeting the newcomers.