Théo Castel was an old acquaintance of Francis’s, from his childhood in Chambéry. This was noteworthy not only because he happened to be the only friend he had kept from that town since he could remember, but also because, back in the day, Théo had spent a few years studying at the same university in Paris.

He never finished his studies, eventually choosing to return to that part of the country to set up his own farming business, but they had never lost contact. And what’s more, it was thanks to Francis working at Le Gaulois that Théo met the woman who was now his wife.

A woman who, incidentally, now ran her own shop and seemed far more satisfied with everything she had achieved so far than she ever had at her previous job, where she had often been overshadowed by the demands of bosses who did not think too highly of her for any reason other than her gender.

Francis was glad his friends were doing so well. And although at first he hesitated to accept the invitation to spend the holidays with them, fearing he might intrude on what would be their first Christmas as a family, he soon realized that his worries had been completely unfounded.

The Castel household, besides being full of animals, also seemed destined for a constant coming and going of close relatives who had decided to visit the couple. Some, like Francis, had been invited to spend a couple of days at the farm. Others—the majority—were those who dropped by for the usual afternoon coffee. They themselves extended their own invitations so that Solène, Théo, and even Francis, since he was around, would visit them at their homes as well.

Most of Théo’s close relatives lived in that very town, so going from one end of the street to the other cost nothing.

Because of all this bustle, Francis was able to relax, knowing that not all attention was focused on him. And that, to a greater or lesser degree, there always seemed to be something new to do each day or a new person to talk to.

Francis lacked the gift of social ease, but his friends’ relatives had proven kind enough not to make too much of this. And thus, the days flew by in a blur of social gatherings and meals he himself helped prepare.

By the time Francis needed a break from the commotion of the previous days, only a couple of days remained before New Year’s.

That very morning he had gotten up early to help Théo feed the animals, with the bad luck that at least three hens had pecked him, a turkey had run at him threateningly, and at some point Francis had stepped in horse dung.

In any case, he had had enough of feathered creatures and other four-legged beings, so he asked permission to withdraw and take a well-deserved walk alone through the town. A walk which, incidentally, Théo had been expecting.

“I thought you’d resort to that on the very first day you arrived,” he remarked once Francis made his intentions clear. “I’m even surprised you’re asking for permission—I thought you’d end up slipping away without a word.”

And indeed, that had been his intention, though Francis denied it out of courtesy. But the last few days had been so busy—and the Castel family so pleasant without being intrusive (since they never seemed bothered when Francis preferred listening over talking, or when he needed to retreat to the other end of the house for a break)—that it simply hadn’t occurred to him until now that he might need to go out alone.

Now that he had finally done so, and with it being the last days of December, everything seemed to have quieted down. Both the snowstorms and the Christmas preparations.

The streets were still covered with a thin layer of snow and, although traces of the recent celebrations in the square and nearby houses were still visible, the flow of people had decreased considerably, allowing Chambéry to slowly return to normal.

Surely the streets would fill with merrymaking again on the night of the thirty-first, but until then, Francis planned to enjoy the prevailing calm.

He walked for about fifteen minutes without a particular destination, until he finally stopped not far from the school. Perhaps it was nostalgia from walking along those sidewalks that made him look in that direction. Or, more likely still, there was simply nothing else to look at once he headed into those neighborhoods. In any case, when he looked toward the building’s gardens, Francis stumbled upon an unexpected sight.

Perhaps he should have kept walking and pretended not to have seen anything, thus maintaining that stubborn lie he had told his friends—that he didn’t miss a certain someone at all. However, now that he had him in front of him again, he couldn’t resist intervening:

“Strange time of year to plan a robbery, don’t you think?”

Julien, though he wasn’t standing on anything unstable, nearly fell backward from the shock.

“W-what are you doing here?” he asked, with that mixture of astonishment and nervousness that had also turned him red in a matter of seconds. “You should be with your friends, celebrating with good wine and singing carols by the piano.”

“Do I look like one of those people?” Francis asked, sounding almost amused.

If this was how Julien tried to pretend, after being caught feeling around the walls of a public building, he was doing a terrible job.

“Yes and no,” he replied, trying to make sense of his own confusion. “The carols part seems unlikely, the drinking not so much. I can absolutely picture you retreating with your glass of champagne the moment you saw people gathering by the piano with the gloomy intention of performing two or three songs.”

“I won’t deny I felt like doing that… And maybe I even managed it once or twice, though it’s not as if there were many places to run. It was either listen to everyone butcher the carols, or go elsewhere in the house to keep the animals company.”

Or join the choir, Francis thought, for the truth was that neither Théo nor the others would have let him slip away during an ongoing celebration. But he wasn’t about to admit he had ended up joining the singing. Much less that he had enjoyed it.

“I knew I was right!” Julien beamed with pure satisfaction, as if he had already forgotten the compromising situation in which he’d been caught.

“Yes, yes, can we skip the compliments on your immeasurable deductive abilities and focus on what matters?”

“You mean the fact that you just complimented me?”

“I mean,” Francis continued, now his turn to blush—both of them aware that what he had said was dripping with sarcasm, yet neither wishing to dwell on it—“your attempt at… illicit activity, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Oh, I wasn’t doing anything illicit. I was bonding with the wall, since it’s been so long since I last saw it.” And to prove it, Julien gave the wall a couple of friendly pats. “I almost shed a tear, that’s how nostalgic I got.”

“You don’t say.”

“Besides, you should know I’m telling the truth: if I wanted to steal something, there’s a window barely two meters from here I could use. But I don’t—do you know why?”

“Do you want me to leave so you and the wall can have some privacy and kiss in peace?”

“No, that’s not necessary, though it's a very considerate offer on your part,” Julien hurried to say and, though still flustered, he finally set upon explaining the real reason he was there. “Actually, I was looking for something I left here myself ages ago.”

“Out here?”

That was strange, but this time Julien seemed to be telling the truth. Francis stepped closer, now watching from a shorter distance as Julien continued searching, once again feeling along the wall as if trying to locate a weak spot in its structure.

“I never remember the exact place,” Julien muttered, annoyed. “My sister says I should bring chalk or something to mark it, but I always forget.”

“I doubt chalk would do much in this humidity.”

Perhaps on a wall it might last a little longer, but with rain and snow it seemed nearly impossible that a chalk mark would survive intact until Julien’s next visit to Chambéry—no matter how long it took him to return.

“You’d think that after so many years I’d have the spot memorized… But no! And I don’t stop by every time I’m here either. Ah, look, here it is! This is it.” After confirming it, and removing a loose brick from the wall, Julien carefully pulled out a small wooden figurine. “It almost looks like I placed it here yesterday.”

“What’s that?” Curiosity betrayed Francis at this point, and he stepped closer to get a good look at the object. Julien, delighted by this interest, offered him the figurine without hesitation.

“This, in case it’s not obvious to you, is a heron.”

“Well, it looks like a bear,” Francis muttered, without any real malice. And objectively speaking, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Unlike that craftsman they had run into in Saint-Genix, it was obvious from a mile away that Julien did not have the same skill for carving anything. He had tried, clearly, but if you didn’t already know the animal was supposed to be a heron, it would be very easy to mistake it for something else entirely.

“It is a heron,” Julien insisted, as if he wanted to convince the world that everyone else’s eyesight was the problem, and not his own lack of skill in this art. “What happened is that I couldn’t make the legs as thin as they should be without risking breaking it, that’s why it might look like… something with such thick limbs.”

“Well, now that you mention it, it does seem to have a beak,” Francis observed, using a bit of imagination, since he suddenly realized he didn’t want to sound discouraging. “I must have confused it with a tail.”

“You see? I have more talent than you thought. It was just a matter of perspective.”

“What was that thing doing in there? Don’t tell me you see it as such a perfect work of art that you didn’t consider yourself worthy of keeping it among your own possessions.”

“That sounded harsh… and arrogant. And maybe it should have sounded reproachable to me, but the truth is I wish I had enough self-esteem to claim that was true,” Julien mused before pointing out, “In reality, I put it there when I was a kid because I intended to… uh… I was going to give it to someone, but I never got the chance.”

“Were you trying to court some girl, perhaps? Because if so, you should know your methods don’t impress me.”

Not that they had to impress him, obviously. But that’s what Francis blurted out, since it was the first explanation that came to mind for hiding such a figurine in such an ill-chosen place.

“No, actually… It’s kind of embarrassing, do you really want to know?”

“Come on, don’t play mysterious with me; you brought it up, so the proper thing is to finish the story. What kind of journalist would you be otherwise?”

Okay, this wasn’t having the intended effect. Francis meant to annoy Julien a little, the same way he used to do in their letters back then. Instead of sparking Julien’s competitive spirit, it only made him smile even more, leaving behind any hint of embarrassment he had shown moments earlier.

“You’re right, I’d lose all my credibility as a journalist if I didn’t give you the full report. You see… This figurine was a gift for someone—I’m not sure who—in thanks for helping me once. Back then I liked carving these little figures in my free time, and I thought it was something nice I could offer.”

“How can you not know who it was for? Does that even make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense!” Julien emphasized. “It’s just that I only knew this person by sight. I didn’t know his name, or anything. And the time he helped me was also the only time I ever really noticed him. So I had no way of looking for him either.”

“And since he helped you near here, you decided to hide the figurine in the wall in case he ever showed up again?”

“It was a brilliant plan—this way I wouldn’t forget I had a debt to repay. If only the fellow had deigned to show up again… It’s terrible that he didn’t read my mind to know I was waiting for him.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Francis said. If he had been in Julien’s place, even if he’d been grateful, he wouldn’t have prepared a gift for a stranger who helped him in a one-off event—and much less would he have kept that object for years in order to give it someday. The gesture was sweet, sure, but far too idealistic to be practical. “What did this individual do to deserve such special treatment?”