Francis didn’t mind, since his work was news and social critique, things meant to inform or spark a small debate in a tavern among friends. They weren’t artistic works, like Julien’s, that people would cherish for years to come.

“It’s a shame Julien had to leave the station so quickly,” Solène went on, “I would have liked you to introduce us.”

“I imagine he was too busy to stop, considering how eager he seemed to reunite with his family.”

And yes, Julien had spent the last half hour of the trip in an unrelenting monologue about his relatives in Chambéry, talking about who they were and the wonderful relationship he had with them. But as for being too busy to spend five minutes on Francis and his friends—well, that wasn’t entirely true.
In fact, Francis was convinced that, had they not been interrupted at the station, Julien would have taken his time with their farewell. And perhaps—even though he wasn’t too sure about this—he might even have added a word or two more.

But that, of course, never happened.

He couldn’t, because no matter how much they both might have wanted to give this little interlude during the holidays a proper closure, the moment they set foot off the train, a small group of children threw themselves at Julien. Children who, without a doubt, were his nieces and nephews, who must have somehow found out that the railway was back in service and had therefore decided to come welcome their beloved uncle.

And so, with three kids clinging to his arms and legs, dragging him toward where other adults were already waiting on the other side of the platform, it was understandable that Julien could do nothing but offer a brief apology and hurry off, with little chance of anything more.

Francis didn’t take it badly, truly. What did it matter how abrupt the parting had been? After two days in which they had barely separated even to go to the bathroom, being freed of his traveling companion in such a simple way should have been nothing short of a relief. Although…

“Perhaps you’ll still have opportunities to see him,” Francis thought aloud, as though it were Solène who needed that reassurance. “He’s not going to leave the village.”

“Of course I’ll see him, I know where his family lives.” And, noticing the accusatory look cast at her, as if she were inclined to spy on others, she hurried to remind him: “Small village, remember? Here everyone knows everyone.”

“Right, how could I forget? I suppose I’ll need to come back here more often, too used as I am to the city.”

“That must be it, so many years in the city,” Solène smiled. Clearly, she didn’t believe a word of his excuse—and for good reason, since she and Francis had met in Paris. They knew each other’s character too well, aware that the setting had little to do with the faces they put on in society. “You’ve changed terribly since the last time I saw you.”

“It can’t have been that much of a change, it hasn’t been so long since we last met.”

Three or four months, perhaps? Since the wedding, after which she and Théo had moved to his home village. Before that, Solène had worked as a proofreader for Le Gaulois, which was how she and Francis knew each other so well.

“It’s been a dramatic change,” declared Solène, and if she was exaggerating, it was plainly on purpose. “Look at you. You make a friend in the short trip from Paris to here, a friend you care enough about to want to introduce to me, you’re less quick than usual to contradict me, and on top of that—you’ve adopted a kitten!”

“I didn’t adopt it, I brought it so you could keep it! I don’t know how many times I have to explain it before everyone understands.”

And why had he only protested about that in particular? Francis realized it as soon as the words left his mouth, horrified to find himself with no defense against the rest.

“He’s got a little ribbon and a bell tied around his neck…”

“That wasn’t my doing; the inn staff spoiled him too much. Remember how I told you I’d been gone all day? Well, when I came back, he was already like that—stuffed full of sardines they’d fed him and with that ridiculous ornament around his neck.”

“Sure, but from the moment you got him like that until you reached Chambéry the next day, you had plenty of hours alone with him to take off the collar, if it bothered you so much.”

“I was going to,” Francis assured her—and it wasn’t a lie.

Yes, he had considered it right away, as soon as he got Lucifer, a reflex upon seeing him like that. But first, he hadn’t wanted to offend the inn staff, who had been so kind to take care of him. And then there was Julien…

Because it was obvious Julien would want to keep the ribbon! Francis wasn’t going to argue about such a thing; his distaste for cutesy pet accessories didn’t go that far. So his plan had been to wait until Julien was distracted before freeing Lucifer from that nuisance.

Only the right moment never came. Or rather, Francis decided not to seize it: shortly before going to bed, while finally making it past page fifteen of that volume of Voltaire, he noticed Julien had fallen asleep in a nearby armchair, with the cat in his arms.

And although it would have been the easiest thing in the world to take Lucifer back at that instant, Francis didn’t want to. Julien and the kitten, who had also dozed off after countless caresses, looked far too peaceful to disturb.

It was still early to go to bed, so Francis stayed where he was, and after a final glance at that domestic little scene before him, he returned to his reading as if nothing had happened. There would be time later to wake Julien and suggest he get into bed before his back started to ache.

That is, if Julien didn’t wake on his own. Which he eventually did, after more than half an hour of quiet snoring. And by then, the matter of the cat was already forgotten.

Was Francis softening?

“You’ve named him Lucifer,” Solène observed.

“It’s a very nice name.”

Hadn’t he already had this argument? Though, he was sure Julien hadn’t followed it up with what came next:

“The important thing isn’t how it sounds, but that you’ve already given it to him.”

“I knew all that insistence on picking a name had to be a trap!”

“Don’t get me wrong, if you don’t want to take him with you to the city, he can stay here. I don’t mind, since he won’t be lacking for shelter or company,” said Solène, alluding to the impressive pack of seven dogs and three cats that already populated her home. “I just mentioned it because Lucifer seems rather attached to you.”

“That’s not…”

Francis would have liked to deny it, to say that at most it was because the cat remembered who had rescued him from the tree and had therefore bonded with the first person who offered him safety. Which happened to be him in this case, but it could have been anyone. And yet, he didn’t feel he had the energy to get into that debate.

One thing was clear from watching Lucifer: after all these days of being surrounded by strangers and carried from place to place, he always came back to rest near Francis.

“I’ll think about keeping him,” he muttered at last—this being the first time he had actually considered such a thing. “But I don’t promise anything.”

That was enough for Solène, who had no problem letting the subject drop and moving on to safer topics for Francis: namely, work at the newspaper, the latest news from the front, and basically whatever stories had become fashionable, whether in the capital or in the small town of Chambéry.

For a while, forgetting Julien, forgetting what would become of Lucifer, and forgetting everything that had happened in recent days, Francis felt himself relax again. And, for a while, to become his old self once more.

Maybe Solène was right, and the trip had affected him more than he cared to admit.