petty, and when he took a chair beside the fire, there was nothing for me to do but join him, my chill skin absorbing the welcome warmth, whether I wanted it or not.
“I take it your sister failed to tell you that she was coming into Salies to collect her bicycle,” I said with some distant dignity.
“You take it correctly. But then, she is not in the habit of accounting to me for her actions. But for more than an hour I have been searching everywhere for her. Consideration for others is not one of Katya’s attributes.”
“We took some refreshment at a caf on the square. The weather turned threatening, so I offered to carry her and her machine home. There was nothing more to it than—”
“My dear fellow, I require no explanation of Katya’s behavior. And if I did, I should ask for it from her. My sister’s character and breeding are such that her actions are not dependent on the moral rectitude of her company. Good heavens! Did you imagine for a moment that I thought—” He burst into a laugh that was rather insulting. “No, no, Montjean. I am sure there is nothing but casual friendship between you. After all…” He waved his glass towards me, but was kind enough not to complete the thought. “No, Katya’s been kept too much to herself by circumstances, and hers is too open and generous a personality to enjoy being alone. However, we live—I need hardly remind you—in a small-minded and narrow community where reputations can fall victim to rumor on the slightest foundation.”
“In fact, I did fail to consider the evil of local gossip. That was thoughtless of me. But, after all? A glass of citron press and half an hour’s conversation in the public square? What could they make of that?”
“Everything. As my family has come, to its sorrow, to know, having been victims of savage gossip often enough. Therefore…” He finished off his brandy and took my empty glass with his to the side table. “…I feel justified in demanding that you do something to retrieve Katya’s reputation.”
“Yes, of course. Anything. But… what?”
“The honorable thing, of course.”
“And that is?” I asked with open astonishment.
He measured out the brandy with more precision than was necessary, taking his time before turning to me and saying, “I want you to call on her at her home, as a young man should. Be seen with her in the company of her family. I hope I do not ask too much?” He smiled, and I was struck by how, particularly in profile, he was the very image of Katya. There was something reassuring in this. And something disconcerting as well.
“I should, of course, be delighted to call on Mlle Treville.”
He shrugged. “That goes without saying. But I must require that you join me in an innocent little subterfuge.”
I rose to receive my glass and used the opportunity to cross to the other side of the hearth to complete my drying out. “What little subterfuge is that?”
“It concerns my father. It is imperative—absolutely imperative—that my father never get the impression that you are visiting Katya as a young man visits a young woman. Is that understood?”
“But why not?”
He ignored the question, leaving me to understand that his insistence was reason enough. “During supper last night, my father noticed that I was one-armed—really quite a feat of observation for him, lost as he is in his world of medieval village life. We shall introduce you at supper as my doctor, and your visits here will be for the ostensible purpose of attending to my injury—assisting Father Time, as it were.”
“Am I to take supper with you then?”
He grinned. “My dear fellow, we could hardly send you out into the rain, now could we?”
“And yet you seemed perfectly capable of that not ten minutes ago.”
“I have always admired social flexibility in others, and I seek to develop that quality in myself.”
“Flexibility? Capriciousness, more like. May I tell you something quite
“I take it your sister failed to tell you that she was coming into Salies to collect her bicycle,” I said with some distant dignity.
“You take it correctly. But then, she is not in the habit of accounting to me for her actions. But for more than an hour I have been searching everywhere for her. Consideration for others is not one of Katya’s attributes.”
“We took some refreshment at a caf on the square. The weather turned threatening, so I offered to carry her and her machine home. There was nothing more to it than—”
“My dear fellow, I require no explanation of Katya’s behavior. And if I did, I should ask for it from her. My sister’s character and breeding are such that her actions are not dependent on the moral rectitude of her company. Good heavens! Did you imagine for a moment that I thought—” He burst into a laugh that was rather insulting. “No, no, Montjean. I am sure there is nothing but casual friendship between you. After all…” He waved his glass towards me, but was kind enough not to complete the thought. “No, Katya’s been kept too much to herself by circumstances, and hers is too open and generous a personality to enjoy being alone. However, we live—I need hardly remind you—in a small-minded and narrow community where reputations can fall victim to rumor on the slightest foundation.”
“In fact, I did fail to consider the evil of local gossip. That was thoughtless of me. But, after all? A glass of citron press and half an hour’s conversation in the public square? What could they make of that?”
“Everything. As my family has come, to its sorrow, to know, having been victims of savage gossip often enough. Therefore…” He finished off his brandy and took my empty glass with his to the side table. “…I feel justified in demanding that you do something to retrieve Katya’s reputation.”
“Yes, of course. Anything. But… what?”
“The honorable thing, of course.”
“And that is?” I asked with open astonishment.
He measured out the brandy with more precision than was necessary, taking his time before turning to me and saying, “I want you to call on her at her home, as a young man should. Be seen with her in the company of her family. I hope I do not ask too much?” He smiled, and I was struck by how, particularly in profile, he was the very image of Katya. There was something reassuring in this. And something disconcerting as well.
“I should, of course, be delighted to call on Mlle Treville.”
He shrugged. “That goes without saying. But I must require that you join me in an innocent little subterfuge.”
I rose to receive my glass and used the opportunity to cross to the other side of the hearth to complete my drying out. “What little subterfuge is that?”
“It concerns my father. It is imperative—absolutely imperative—that my father never get the impression that you are visiting Katya as a young man visits a young woman. Is that understood?”
“But why not?”
He ignored the question, leaving me to understand that his insistence was reason enough. “During supper last night, my father noticed that I was one-armed—really quite a feat of observation for him, lost as he is in his world of medieval village life. We shall introduce you at supper as my doctor, and your visits here will be for the ostensible purpose of attending to my injury—assisting Father Time, as it were.”
“Am I to take supper with you then?”
He grinned. “My dear fellow, we could hardly send you out into the rain, now could we?”
“And yet you seemed perfectly capable of that not ten minutes ago.”
“I have always admired social flexibility in others, and I seek to develop that quality in myself.”
“Flexibility? Capriciousness, more like. May I tell you something quite
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