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By Root 1228 0

drew her towards one of the windows. It was the 11.20 through train to Le Havre, which was just leaving. Down below, the station approaches and the cutting leading out to the Batignolles tunnel were covered in a vast carpet of snow, with the railway lines fanning out across it like the dark branches of a tree. The engines and carriages standing on the sidings appeared as white lumps, as if they were curled up asleep beneath an ermine blanket. Between the spotless white covering of snow on the glass roof of the two great train sheds and the lace-trimmed girders of the Pont de l’Europe, the houses directly opposite in the Rue de Rome stood out, despite the fact that it was dark, as dirty yellow smears in a vast expanse of white. The train for Le Havre came out of the station, silhouetted darkly against the snow, creeping slowly forward, the light from its headlamp cutting through the night. She watched it disappear under the bridge, its three tail lamps casting a blood-red stain on the snow behind it. She turned back into the room. A shiver ran through her. Was she really alone? She thought she had felt someone breathe on her neck, a hand touching her clumsily through her clothes. She looked around the room a second time, wide-eyed. There was no one.

What was Jacques up to? Why was he taking so long? Another ten minutes went by. Then she heard a faint scratching sound, like fingernails scraping wood. Her heart missed a beat. Suddenly realizing what it was, she ran to open the door. It was Jacques, with a cake and a bottle of Malaga.3

Shaking with laughter, she threw her arms impulsively round his neck.

‘You angel!’ she said. ‘You remembered to bring some food!’

Jacques hurriedly warned her not to talk so loud.

‘Sh! Sh!’ he said.

She lowered her voice, thinking that the concierge might have followed him up the stairs. No, he had been lucky. Just as he was about to ring, the door had opened for a lady and her daughter, just leaving the Dauvergnes’ no doubt. So he had been able to slip upstairs without anyone noticing.4 However, one of the doors across the landing had been left ajar, and he had seen the lady from the newspaper kiosk finishing some washing in a bowl.

‘We mustn’t make any noise,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to talk quietly.’

Her answer was to take him in her arms, hug him closely and silently cover his face with kisses. She loved it when things were all mysterious and she had to speak in low whispers.

‘Don’t worry!’ she said. ‘We’ll be as quiet as two little mice!’

She laid the table as silently as she could - two plates, two glasses, two knives - pausing to stop herself laughing when she put something down too quickly and made a noise.

Jacques sat happily watching her.

‘I thought you might be hungry,’ he whispered.

‘I’m starving,’ she said. ‘The food at Rouen was awful!’

‘Shall I go and see if I can find us a chicken?’ he suggested.

‘No,’ she answered, ‘you might not be able to get back in! The cake will be plenty.’

They sat down, side by side; they were almost sitting on the same chair. They shared the cake between them, huddling close to each other as they ate it. Séverine said she had never felt so thirsty and drank two glasses of Malaga, one after the other, which quickly brought the colour to her cheeks. Behind them, the stove was glowing red; they could feel its warmth. He began to kiss her neck, passionately. She placed her hand on his lips.

‘Sh!’ she whispered. ‘They will hear us.’

She gestured to him to listen. Once more from below came the sound of people dancing, accompanied by someone playing the piano. The Dauvergne sisters were obviously having a party. They heard the newspaper woman from the room next door emptying her bowl of soapy water down the sink on the landing. She went back and closed her door. Downstairs, the dancing stopped for a moment. Outside beneath the window, the sounds were muffled by the snow; all that could be heard was the faint rumble of a departing train and the half-hearted toot-toot of its whistle, like someone crying.

‘A train for Auteuil,’ he murmured. ‘Ten