After lunch, he wanted to stroll through the streets, but he found them depressing. There were hardly any cars, it was extraordinarily silent, and great red flags with swastikas were flying everywhere. In front of a cheese shop, some women were waiting to be served. This was the first war he'd seen. Everyone was gloomy. Charlie hastened towards the Métro, the only transport working. He would visit a bar where he was often a regular at lunchtime or in the evening. What havens of peace bars like this were! They were extremely expensive, and their clientele consisted of wealthy men, past middle age, who hadn't been affected by either the mobilisation or the war. Charlie was alone for a while, but at about six thirty all the old regulars arrived, safe and sound and in tip-top form, accompanied by charming and beautifully made-up ladies, who called out from beneath their adorable little hats, "But it's him, it's Charlie, isn't it?… Well, now, not too worn out, are you? Come back to Paris?"

" Paris is dreadful, don't you think?"

And almost immediately, as if they were meeting again after the most peaceful, the most ordinary of summers, they began the kind of conversation Charlie called "Fragile-Don't Touch" conversation: lively and light-hearted small-talk, ranging over any number of subjects but dwelling on none in particular. Among other things, he learned that certain young men had been killed or taken prisoner.

"Oh, it can't be! Just imagine… I hadn't the slightest idea, it's awful! Those poor boys!" he said.

The husband of one of the ladies was a prisoner in Germany.

"He writes to me regularly. He isn't too bad, but it's the boredom, you see… I hope to be able to get him out soon."

The more he talked and the more he heard, Charlie found his spirits rising and he recovered the good mood that had been momentarily dampened by the sight of the Paris streets. But what succeeded in cheering him up completely was the hat worn by a woman who had just come in. All the women were well dressed but with a certain pretence of simplicity, as if to say, "We couldn't really dress up, just imagine! First of all, we have no money and, second, it wouldn't be quite right… I'll get some more wear out of my old dresses…" But this woman showed off her hat in a daring, courageous and brazenly happy way. It was a new little hat, hardly bigger than a cocktail napkin, made of two sable skins, with a russet veil over her golden hair. As soon as he saw it, Charlie felt totally reassured.

It was getting late. Since Charlie wanted to stop at home before going out to dinner, it was time he went… but he didn't want to leave his friends.

"Why don't we all have dinner together?" someone suggested.

"That's an excellent idea," Charlie said warmly. And he proposed the little restaurant where he'd had such a good lunch, for he was like a cat by nature, quickly becoming attached to places where he'd been well treated. "I'll have to take the Métro again! It's such a ghastly place, it's making my life miserable," he said.

"I was able to get some petrol and a pass, but I can't offer to drive you back because I promised to wait for Nadine," said the woman in the new hat.

"How did you do that? It's amazing you could manage that!"

"Ah well, there it is," she said, smiling.

"Listen, then, let's meet in about an hour, an hour and a quarter."

"Do you want me to come and collect you?"

"No, thanks, you're very kind; it's only two minutes from my place."

"Be careful, it's pitch black out. They're very strict about that."

She was right, it's really dark, Charlie thought as he emerged from the warm, bright club into the unlit street. It was also raining. Autumn evenings like this were one of the things he used to like so much about Paris, but now you could see fires burning in the distance, and everything was as black and sinister as the inside of a well. Fortunately, the entrance to the Métro was nearby.

At home, Charlie found Madame Logre sweeping the floor in a preoccupied, gloomy sort of way. At least the drawing room was finished. Charlie had the urge to put his favourite Sèvres statuette on the shiny Chippendale table-a Venus at the Looking Glass. He took it out of the packing case, removed the tissue paper it was wrapped in, looked at it lovingly and was taking it over to the table when the doorbell rang.

"Go and see who it is, Madame Logre."

Madame Logre went out and then came back, saying, "Monsieur, I told the concierge at number six that Monsieur needed someone and she's sent this woman who's looking for work."

Seeing Charlie hesitate, she added, "She's a very nice person who used to be a chambermaid for the Countess Barrai du Jeu. She got married and didn't want to work any more, but her husband is a prisoner of war and she needs to earn a living. Monsieur could just see her and then decide!"

"All right, bring her in," said Langelet, putting the statuette on a table.

The woman made a good impression on him. She seemed modest and calm, obviously wishing to please but without being subservient. He could see at once she had been well trained and had worked in fine homes. She was a big woman. Mentally, Charlie reproached her for this-he liked his maids to be thin and a bit austere-but she looked about thirty-five or forty, the perfect age for a servant, when they've stopped working too quickly but are still fit and strong enough to provide good service. She had a broad face, vast shoulders and her clothing was simple but appropriate (the dress, coat and hat definitely hand-me-downs from a former employer).

"What's your name?" Charlie asked, favourably impressed.

"Hortense Gaillard, Monsieur."

"All right. And you're looking for work?"

"Well, you see, Monsieur, I left the Countess Barrai du Jeu two years ago to get married. I didn't think I'd have to go back into service, but my husband was conscripted and then taken prisoner, and Monsieur will understand that I have to earn a living. My brother is unemployed and I'm looking after him, his sick wife and a small child."

"I understand. I was thinking of hiring a couple…"

"I know, Monsieur, but maybe I could do instead? I was the head chambermaid for the Countess, but before that I worked for the Countess's mother as a cook. I could do the cooking and the cleaning."

"Yes, that's possible," Charlie murmured, thinking that such a combination would be very advantageous financially.

Naturally, there was also the matter of serving meals. He did sometimes have dinner guests, but then he wasn't expecting too many this winter.

"Do you know how to iron men's clothing? I'm very particular about that, you understand."

"I was the one who ironed the Count's shirts."

"And what about your cooking? I often eat out. I require simple but carefully prepared food."

"Would Monsieur like to see my references?"

She reached into an imitation pigskin handbag and handed them to him. He read them one after the other; they spoke of her in the warmest terms: hard-working, extremely well trained, scrupulously honest, very good at cooking and even making pastries.

"Even pastries? Very good. I think, Hortense, that we can come to an arrangement. Were you with the Countess Barrai du Jeu for long?"

"Five years, Monsieur."

"And is the good lady in Paris? I prefer personal recommendations, you understand."

"I understand completely, Monsieur. Yes, the Countess is in Paris. Would Monsieur like her phone number? It's Auteuil 3814."

"Thank you. Write it down, would you, Madame Logre? And what about wages? How much were you hoping to earn?"

Hortense asked for six hundred francs. He offered four hundred and fifty. Hortense thought for a moment. Her shrewd little dark eyes had seen into the soul of this arrogant, well-fed man. And work was scarce.