t of antiques seemed
to drift in the air.... There were two small beds in particular, that I
couldn't take my eyes off. I pictured the beds, almost as small as two
cots, early in the morning when they are hidden under their great
fringed curtains. Three o'clock chimes; the time when all old people
wake up:

--Are you asleep, Mamette?

--No, my dear.

--Isn't Maurice a fine boy?

--Oh, yes, a fine boy?

And I imagined a whole conversation in that vein, inspired by just
looking at the old folks' two little beds, laying side by side....

Meanwhile, quite a drama was taking place in front of the wardrobe at
the other side of the room. There was a jar of cherries in brandy in
the top drawer--waiting for Maurice for ten years--and which they now
wanted me to have. Despite Mamette's pleas, the old fellow had insisted
on getting the cherries down himself, and stood on a chair to try to
reach them, to his wife's great horror.... Picture the scene: the old
man trembling and hoisting himself up, the little blues clinging to his
chair, Mamette puffing and blowing behind him, her arms outstretched. I
caught a light scent of bergamot wafting from the open wardrobe with
its large piles of discoloured linen.... It was a charming sight.

At last, after much struggling, the much vaunted jar was fetched from
the drawer together with a dented old silver tumbler, which belonged to
Maurice as a child. It was filled to the brim for me; although it was
Maurice who loved cherries so much! While serving me, the old chap
spoke into my ear with the air of someone who knew about gourmet things:

--You are very lucky, to be able to have these!... My wife made them
herself ... you are about to taste something very good.

Unfortunately, while making them she had forgotten to add any sugar.
What do you expect, you get absent-minded when you get old? The
cherries were truly awful, my poor Mamette.... But it didn't stop me
from eating them to very the last one, without batting an eyelid.

* * * * *

The meal finished, I stood up ready to take my leave. They really would
have liked me to stay longer to chat about their precious grandson, but
the day was drawing to a close, I was a long way from home, and it was
time to go.

The old man stood up with me:

--Mamette, my coat!... I want to accompany him to the square.

Naturally, Mamette was quietly worried that it was a bit too cold now
for him to go out, but she didn'