I jumped slightly as he started speaking , for I was not yet used to his stealth. "Yes, I have. I just finished one pair of paniers this evening but I have several more pair to go," I replied.
"How many pairs of pocket hoops are needed?" he asked, only this time, he spoke in English.
Sensing that our lesson was about to commence, I reverted back to my mother tongue and answered, "At least twenty pairs of paniers."
He whistled softly and then asked, "How will you make so many in such a short time? Rehearsals for Don Giovani have already begun."
"Well, Jean-Baptiste agreed to make the ones Carlotta is to wear and Michel, Jacqueline and I are going to make the rest. But these are just the paniers. We have at least as many pairs of breeches to make as well. Thank God for sewing machines and managers that are willing to pay over-time. Otherwise, we'd never get these things done on time!" I exclaimed.
By the look in his eyes, I could tell that he seemed puzzled. "Over-time?" he asked with a questioning tone in his voice.
"Over-time pay. You know, extra pay for extra work," I explained.
"But are you not on salary?" Erik asked.
"Yes, and so are Jean-Baptiste and Michel but Jacqueline is on hourly wage since she's only an apprentice at the moment, and not an actual professional," I explained again, hoping that I had all of these little details about the pay system correct.
"I am curious, Roberta. How is it that you were hired on salary but that Jacqueline was not? She really has more formal training in making costumes than you," Erik asked.
"It has something to do with the apprentice system. I really don't understand it myself, but I don't think that Jacqueline is jealous of me. Since she puts in more hours, especially on weekends, she actually makes more money than I do," I replied, then I added, "Speaking of hours, I thought I'd like to cut our lesson down a bit tonight. While this isn't Pete's last evening in Paris, I promised him I would try to come home early tonight and spend some time with him. He has a full day tomorrow and he leaves Wednesday, so tonight would be the best night I will have to spend with him."
He lowered his head for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "As you wish, Roberta. But I was hoping for a whole hour lesson."
I could see a look of disappointment in his eyes as he looked up at me afer he finished speaking. I remained silent for a moment and then said, hoping to soothe his feelings, "We can make tomorrow night's lesson a little longer to make up for tonight's lesson, but I must be honest with you, Erik. You've made such progress in the last few months, in spite of the long break you had in October and November, that I think, in only a little while, you won't be needing lessons from me at all."
"That must make you very happy," he replied, but he still had a sad tone in his voice.
"Yes, it does in a way. You seem to be a quick learner, but I must admit I'm a little sad as well, because once you are completely fluent in English, I will have no way of paying you for singing lessons. When France went back to using francs instead of Eurodollars, it really caused the cost of living to soar. So much so, that every pay raise I've gotten, and I've gotten two already, has been eaten up with rent increases and now I have medical bills to pay as well, both from my trip to the doctor last October, as well as my recent hospitalization. There simply isn't any more money to spare for singing lessons," I replied, with sadness in my voice as well.
"Perhaps we could come to another arrangement then. I really do not want to give you up as a student. I have found that I enjoy teaching singing and sometimes I wonder if I should not have become a teacher rather than a singer. Listen! Instead of just giving up just yet, why not think about this some more, eh? There must be something more to teach me. What about these idiomatic expressions you use? Did Pete not say something about this the other night at the cafe?" For the first time that evening, there seemed to be a happier note in Erik's voice.
I sat silent for a moment and then said, "Perhaps you're right. I'll see if Pete could find some books on idiomatic or colloquial English back in America. He still needs to send me the rest of my books I left behind. I'll ask him when I get home tonight." Then, after looking at my watch, I said, "Oh, just look at the time! It's nearly eight o'clock. If we go on like this, you just might get your hour after all."
For the first time that evening, Erik smiled. After a moment, however, the smile left his face and he said, "There is another subject I have been wanting to ask you about. You never mentioned having a brother and sister before."
"And you never mentioned that you had been following me, either," I retorted.
"Touche, my dear," Erik said smiling as he did so. Then he became more serious and added, "You will have to forgive me for this. After the attack on you a few days ago, I started following you..." Seeing the shocked look on my face, he quickly added, "...to make sure nothing ever happened to you again. I overheard your conversation with Buquet this morning and I find I must agree with him. The streets of Paris are no longer safe at night, especially for foreigners. I must insist, that from now on, English lessons or no, that you allow me to escort you home every evening. That way, I can reasonably be assured of your safety."
I sat back in my chair for a moment, touched by his offer. Then, remembering Pete's warning, I said, "That's very kind of you to offer, but what about you? Since I could tell by your speech that you aren't a native Frenchman, surely others can tell as well. Couldn't you be attacked as well?"
Erik shook his head and said, "I think not, my dear. I have lived in France most of my life and the few people that have mentioned my accent are not likely to attack me for being a foreigner. As for others...well, the Parisians think the sun rises and sets on Paris and anyone that speaks funny must be from the provinces. Besides, there is the possiblity that you were attacked for being American and not just a foreigner. Americans are still not liked much here in France."
I sat in silence for a moment, still pondering his offer but Pete's warning still came back to me, so I said softly, more to myself than to Erik, "Maybe I wasn't attacked for being a foreigner or even an American. Maybe I was attacked for just being me."
"What do you mean by that?" Erik asked, with a puzzled tone in his voice.
"It's nothing, really," I replied quickly.
"Roberta?" Erik asked, in a stern tone of voice.
This guy can change at a drop of a hat! I thought. I remained silent for a moment but the look in Erik's eyes finally made me say, "I don't know. I think it was what I may have heard someone say just before I got hit on the head."
"What was that?" Erik asked as he leaned toward me. I could see by the look in his eyes that he seemed genuinely concerned for me.
"Something like 'that's the one'...I have no idea what the person could have meant by that," I replied.
Erik sat back in the chair for a minute and said nothing. Then, leaning toward me, he said, "I think that is all the more reason you should let me escort you home after work every night. I insist on doing this and I won't hear any more excuses from you not to let me do this! We shall start tonight," he said with a note of determination in his voice.
"But Jean-Baptiste said I should get..." I started to protest again.
Erik leaned closer to me and put his finger on my lips. "I can handle Buquet. Promise me that you will let me escort you home from now on. Promise?" he asked gently.
I could say nothing more for Erik had taken away the last of my excuses. Looking into his eyes, I could see not only a pleading look in his eyes, but also a look of concern as well. Erik, I hope you're doing this to protect me and for no other reason. Pete's right. I do like guys with blue eyes and dark hair even if yours is starting to turn gray! Pete, I hope you're wrong about this guy because if you're right...I thought to myself. Erik took his finger off my lips and I could see that he still awaited my answer. With a tone of resignation in my voice, I finally said, "All right then. I guess I have no choice but to accept your offer."
He smiled and said, "Good. Then it is agreed. I will escort you home after my lessons and, after I have completely mastered the English language, I will come at eight-thirty every night to escort you home." Taking a small pocket watch out of his pocket, he looked at it and added, "Since it is nearly eight-thirty now, we can end my lesson and I will escort you home, but I insist on a full lesson tomorrow night. I am very anxious to learn your American expressions."
He stood up and began to help me put my sewing away, since I had not bothered to do so before his lesson. After helping me put on my jacket and letting me gather my things, we left the workroom. As we did so, I asked, "How will you be taking me home?"
"By way of the steam tunnels we took when I took you to the doctor last October. I think that would be safer than the streets," Erik replied as we walked to the door leading down into the lower levels.
"Why can't we take the metro? It isn't that late. It's only eight-thirty," I protested.
He shook his head as we descended the stairs, and said with sadness, "This is not like the old days when a person could walk the streets safely any time of day or night. It is very hard to believe that the old days I am talking about were only twenty years ago! Back then, even the roughest neighborhoods were safe this time of night, but not now. Everything is different now, more crime, economy going bad..." Erik paused momentarily and then quickly added, "Yes, I think taking the steam tunnels will be much safer."
We took the same route we had taken before, stopping at the small room Erik had taken me when I was sick, in order to pick up his jacket. Taking out the small flashlight from his pocket, Erik flipped the switch of the flashlight and turned it on. Aiming the beam into the room, he stepped inside just long enough to retrieve his black jacket. Then, as he stepped out of the room, he said gently, "Let's go."
As we walked to the lake, I said softly, "That's the first time I've heard you use contractions in a few days."
While I could not see his face by now due to the darkness, I detected some hesitation in his voice as he said, "Perhaps...I...have not been very comfortable in doing so. You do not make me feel uneasy but I feel your brother has."
"Pete? Why? What did he do to frighten
you?" I asked incredulously for I always felt my brother was no more frightening
than a teddy bear
.
Erik chuckled at my question and said, "I
never said your brother frightens me, I only said he makes me feel uneasy,
as if he feels that I have designs on you."
"Do you?" I asked.
Erik chuckled again and said, "No. You are merely my student, nothing more."
Leading me to the side of the lake, Erik shone the flashlight on the surface and began to wave in back and forth until he found the boat we had taken previously. We walked over to the boat and, taking my hand, he stepped in first and then helped me in as well. He then turned around and, after aiming the beam of the flashlight toward the pylon, he leaned over and untied the boat. Then, still holding the flashlight, he aimed the beam down onto the floor of the boat and raised and lowered it until he found the pole lodged on the inside of the boat between the side and the seat I was on. After placing the flashlight next to me, he leaned over and picked up the pole and propelled us away from side of the lake we were on and towards the opposite side. He did all of this in a very quick but smooth and deliberate manner, as if he were used to doing this all of his life.
I don't know how he does it but he always manages to make me feel bad and then comfort me! So, I'm only a student of his and nothing more! You wouldn't know it by the way he kisses my hand whenever we part! And now this! He acts as if he takes the boat out all of the time! I thought to myself. Not one to like long periods of silence, I finally said, "I can barely remember the last time we were here. I've always wondered why a boat would be needed down here. I always thought the lake was shallow."
"It's not as shallow as you think. It's over three meters deep most of the time but with wet winters like this one, the level of the lake could rise to even four meters," Erik replied softly, as he propelled the boat forward.
"How does it get so deep? From ground seepage?" I asked.
"No," Erik replied, "The French government wanted to make sure there would always be a water supply for the opera house, so late in the nineteenth century, they had the lake connected to the Seine by underground pipes. In a way, that's good for Paris because there is some flood control in case the river rises. Of course to ensure flood control, early in the twentieth century, the French government built a series of canals as well that are on the outskirts of the city so that during wet years like this one, Paris won't flood like Venice."
"But what about the opera house lake. Won't it flood?" I asked
"In all the years I've worked here, I have never seen the level of the lake rise any higher than four meters. Even this year, which is the wettest I have ever seen, I don't think the level will go any higher than four meters," Erik replied.
I remained quiet for a moment and the said softly, "The lake looks so big in the dark."
"It should because it stretches nearly the entire length and width of the opera house. When Garnier designed this place, both he and the government wanted to make sure there was plenty of water in case of a fire because when the opera house was first built, it was built on what was then the outskirts of Paris and there was no sure water supply for this place. Garnier did a good job, don't you think?" Erik replied.
Somewhat nervously, I replied, "I guess so, if you like subterranean lakes."
Erik chuckled and then said, "What's the matter? Don't you like the water?"
I shook my head and replied, "Not if it's deep and dark like this lake."
"I'll have to remember that!" Erik said with a mischievious note in his voice, and then after a moment, he added, "Well, you won't have to worry any longer tonight, my dear. we've reached the other side of the lake."
Thank God! I thought as Erik brought the boat up to the pylon and tied the boat to it. Roberta, you're letting your imagination run wild again! I thought. Just then, I turned around and looked behind me and thought I saw a light on the surface of the water right in the middle of the lake. "What's that?" I whispered.
Erik looked up as he finished tying the boat and asked, "What?"
"Over ther in the middle of the lake," I whispered.
"Oh, that. Probably one of the ghosts
of the opera house," he replied mischieviously.
"What?" I whispered, hardly believing my ears.
"I'm only joking," Erik replied, and then he added, "Now don't tell me you're superstitious, Roberta! I always thought good Catholics like yourself wouldn't indulge in such petty things!"
"Erik! I saw something, I swear it!" I replied, still whispering.
He must have realized I was upset, for he replied, "Look! I'll show you there's nothing there!" Aiming the flashlight toward the lake, he waved it back and forth. He was right, of course, for I could see nothing but water. "Now, you see. Nothing out there at all. Buquet was right about you. You can be such a silly goose at times," Erik said as he turned the flashlight off so he could finish tying the boat to the pylon.
"Now you're really teasing me," I replied softly, finally regaining my voice.
Erik chuckled and said, "My dear, I have spent a total of thirteen years here at the opera house and I can assure you that there are no ghosts here, no real ones anyway. You are perfectly safe here, especially with me. Now, come. It's time I got you home." Then he took my hand and helped me out of the boat and onto the landing.
We took a slightly different route through the steam tunnels this time and as we walked, Erik told me about the sights on the surface we would have been seeing had we chosen to walk the streets of Paris. "How do you know all this?" I asked as we went along.
"My dear, I've always enjoyed walking, and now with my work and my diabetes, I find that I must walk out of necessity. Besides, I've lived in Paris a grand total of thirteen years. The first eight years, I had the chance to walk on nearly every street in Paris and during the last five years I've walked these tunnels almost as frequently as I've walked the streets so I have a pretty good idea of our location at the moment. Right now, at the next intersection we come to, we'll have to turn right. Now isn't it this better taking the streets? There are no crowded streets to contend with, the steam from the tunnels keeps this place warm and dry so there's no need for heavy coats and umbrellas. But most of all, you're safer down here than you would be up there," he said as he pointed his hand upward.
"You sound as if you actually like it down
here in the dark," I said softly as we turned the corner.
"In all honesty, I do," he replied.
We walked in silence for a while, and the I said, "I always thought diabetics couldn't see well in the dark."
"Diabetes affects people differently. For me, the full sun is harder on my eyes than the darkness. I'm just lucky, I guess. I see quite well in the dark, well enough to catch rats so I can make a living," he said.
"But doesn't the darkness make you depressed?" I asked.
"Not at all, my dear. In fact, I relish it as well as the quiet it brings. It allows me to meditate, especially on what I've read for the day. I like reading almost as well as I enjoy walking," he replied.
"Really? So do I! What are your favorite things to read?" I asked.
"Oh, the usual, I suppose...biographies, history, fantasy..." he replied softly.
"Anything else?" I asked, somewhat surprised that a man should like such things, for my father only had time to read the daily newspaper and my ex-husband's tastes in reading were for lurid crime novels and an occasional girlie magazine. I guess European men really are different! So much the better! I thought to myself.
He was silent for a moment and then said, "If you promise not to laugh at me, I'll tell you what else."
"I promise," I said, somewhat amused that he would be afraid I would ridicule him.
"I am Croatian, which means I'm a Slav, and like all Slavs, I also enjoy poetry. I'm sure that as an American, you find that strange...perhaps...even...effeminate. We're not that way. We Croatians are just hopeless romantics. In fact, we're incurable romantics, just like the Poles and the Russians," he replied.
I smiled, remembering how the late Holy Father had enjoyed both reading and writing poetry. But Erik was right about Americans. Most of us either do not take the time to read poetry or we absolutely hate poetry. Our loss! I thought to myself, and then I said, "I don't find it strange at all. I find it touching."
Erik then asked, "Well, what about you? What do you like to read?"
"Erik, ever since I arrived in Paris, I haven't even had enough time to read a newspaper, let alone any books," I replied.
"Yes, I know Buquet keeps you pretty busy at the opera house. But what about when you still lived in America? What did you read there?" he asked.
I paused a moment before answering, "Well, when I was my son's age, I read romance novels, and then when I got a little older, I switched to horror novels--you know, Stephen King-type novels and after I outgrew that phase, I went on to reading novels by Tom Clancy. He's not nearly as gruesome as Stephen King and his stuff is pure escapism--non-stop action-adventures with happy endings. Do you know of him?"
Erik chuckled and then said, "I've never read his novels. I've only seen them as movies on television. I suppose there are worse novelists than he, but tell me, don't you Americans like reading any classic writers like Shakespeare or Swift?. One of the reasons I wanted to learn English was to read works in their original language."
This time it was my turn to chuckle and then I said, "Erik, you should know I was born in 1960 and as far as my age-group is concerned, nothing existed before then!"
"I'll have to change that," he said, the note of mischief back in his voice and then he added, "Did you read anything else?"
"For a time, before I went into exile, I read political commentators like Rush Limbaugh, Robert Bork, George Will, Dan Quayle, C.J.Watts, Thomas Sowell...then, just before I left, I started reading the Bible. I probably should have been reading that all along," I answered ruefully. Even after all this time, I still miss home, I thought as we walked along silently once more. Finally, I asked, "How much longer will it take to get to the Fontaines' apartment building?"
"We're already here. You need only to climb those stairs and you will be in the furnace room of the building. My dear, I have enjoyed our little chat this evening, but remember what I said about tomorrow night--a full lesson. And now, my dear, adieu," Erik said, and the he turned and left me standing at the foot of the stairs. Fortunately, I could make the stairs out in the dim light of the steam tunnels, so I was able to ascend them more easily than I thought I might otherwise. As I entered the furnace room, I was able to make my way through it even though it was only lit by a single lightbulb in the ceiling. Have I made Erik angry again? I thought as I entered the stairway ascending to the Fontaines' apartment.
Usually Erik kisses my hand before leaving me. Am I getting too close to him for his comfort or am I expecting more out of my relationship with him than I should? He's right, though. I'm only his student, and besides, after Brad, I shouldn't even want to get involved again but Erik seems so different. Roberta! Stop it! Pete's right. You always go for the underdog and don't find out until it's too late that you shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place!
Since Pete had already gone to bed by the time I got home, I had to wait until morning before I could talk with him. Unfortunately, our schedules did not mesh and so we had to postpone our visit, so we agreed to resume our conversation the next morning. Wednesday morning, I rose at six, and after getting dressed, I went into the kitchen to make some coffee. In spite of Erik's orders for me to give up caffeine, I found it impossible to do so. However, I did manage to give up cafe au lait for I felt that milk would be worse for my voice than coffee and sugar. As I was making the coffee, I heard a noise behind me. I looked around and saw Pete leaning against the doorway. "Morning, sis," he said as he yawned.
"Well! It's up! How'd you sleep last night?" I said, as I went over to the cupboard to get a cup for myself and a bowl for Pete.
He raised his arms up and stretched and yawned again. Then, as he walked into the kitchen, he said, "Not too bad. What time did you get in last night?"
"About the usual time, around nine-thirty," I replied sleepily as I placed my cup and his bowl on the counter next to the stove.
"How'd you get back? Did you take a taxi?" Pete asked as he walked over to the table and sat down.
I hesitated a moment befor answering, for I had no wish to lie and I dreaded Pete's reaction should I have told the truth. I damned if I do and damned if I don't! That's the story of my life so far! I thought tomyself as I watched Pete sit down. "Sis?" he asked softly.
"I got home safely," I said as I poured coffee into my cup. "Oh, shoot! I forgot to warm up some milk for you. Let me get a pan out and get some milk out of the 'frig," I replied, hoping to distract him from his question.
Pete looked over to me and said, "But you haven't answered my question. I can see you got home safely, but how?" I was too busy looking for the small suacepan Mme. Fontaine alaways used to heat milk to answer him. "Now you didn't try walking home alone again last night, did you?" Pete perisited.
"No, I didn't try walking home alone last night," I answered as I found the suacepan.
As I walked over to the refrigerator to get some milk, Pete asked, "O.K., so how'd you get back last night?" I did not answer for a few minutes for I was busy pouring the milk into the saucepan and then heating it for Pete's cafe au lait. After a few minutes, I put my little finger into to saucepan to feel the temperature of the milk. Satisfied that it was hot enough, I turned off the gas burner and poured the milk into Pete's bowl. Then I added enought coffee to make the mixture a nice, light brown color. I carried his bowl and my cup over to the table and placed his bowl in front of him and place my cup at the seat opposite from him and sat down. "You're not going to tell me, are you," Pete said as he picked up his bowl and began to drink his cafe au lait.
"Pete, you're too nosy!" I replied as I drank my coffee.
Seeing that I was not going to answer him, he changed the subject and said, "I thought Erik didn't want you to drink coffee."
He doesn't but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, as slow as my singing lessons are going, it probably won't make any difference anyway," I replied with a sad note in my voice.
"Your lessons aren't going well?" Pete asked.
I shook my head and said, "My singing lessons aren't going as well as Erik's English lessons, which reminds me. After you get back home, would you mind sending me a book on American idiomatic expressions and maybe a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets or any other classic English writer?" I asked as I finished drinking my coffee.
"Since when did you like that stuff? I thought that's why you quit college--so you wouldn't have to read that stuff!" Pete exclaimed, and then after putting his bowl down on the table, he added, "I suppose it's too early to ask for a real breakfast!"
"I think Mme. Fontaine has some toast in a tin on her counter. Let me get some for you," I said as I rose from the table. The, going to the refrigerator toget a jar of preserves, I turned and looked at Pete and asked, "Do you want any butter with your toast? Mme. Fontaine has some here."
"No thanks. The doctor says I have to watch my fat intake. Do the French really like their toast cold?" Pete replied.
I smiled and said, "You're not in Kansas anymore. You'll have to eat the same stuff we do here in France."
Pete shook his head and said, "Beggars can't be choosers, I guess. No. I'll just have the jam with the toast. But back to your request, I thought you had some books at home."
I walked back to the table after closing the refrigerator door and placed the tin of toast and the jar of preserves in front of Pete. "I must still be asleep. I forgot to get you a knife and spoon--be right back," I added as I turned back to the counter to get Pete some flatware out of the drawer. Walking back to the table, I said, "I don't think I have very much from my college days. I think I have Jane Eyre, Little Women and Tom Sawyer. I don't think Erik would want to read those books."
"Tom Sawyer is my book but you're welcome to have it. I think Erik would like it better than the other two. What about my copies of The Scarlet Letter and Evangeline? Do you think he might like those?" Pete asked as he took a slice of toast out of the tine and put some preserves on it.
"He might, but you're right. I never did like literature, but now that I'm teaching English, I'm going to need more stuff," I replied as I sat down again and took a slice of toast for myself from the tin. "Have you got any more suggestions, big brother? You're the one who finished college," I said teasingly, as I bit into my toast.
"Don't get smart, sis! Let me think--what about Great Expectations, Oliver Twist and A Christmas Carol?" I nodded and he continued, "Gullivers' Travels..." Pete replied.
"Wait! Let me get some paper and we can make a list," I suggested.
"That would be a good idea," Pete replied, and then he asked, "Is there any more coffee?"
"Yes, but there's no more milk. Let me go to my room and get a sheet of paper," I said as I rose from the taable to pour more coffee. I then went to my room for a moment and returned with a sheet of paper and a pencil. "O.K., where were we?" I asked as I sat down.
Pete took the sheet of paper and the pencil and wrote down the titles and authors of which we had been speaking. After he finished writing he asked, "Is there anything else Erik likes to read? This is quite a bit of fiction!"
"He told me he likes poetry. That's why I suggested Shakespeare's Sonnets. Know of any other poets?" I asked.
"There's Yeats, Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Burns, Longfellow, Wordsworth...sis, there must be a ton of poets! Did he say which one he would like to read? This wish list is getting pretty long!" Pete replied.
I shook my head and said, "No, he just said he liked poetry. Maybe we can limit the list to just American writers," I suggested.
"That would cut our list down to half its length--works by Mark Twain, Hawthorne, Longfellow..."Pete said softly as he wrote the names of famous American authors. Then he added, "Anything else Erik likes to read?" Pete asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, he says he likes to read history and biographies," I replied.
"You're a big help!" Pete said sarcastically, "At this rate, you'll have the entire Library of Congress on this list!"
"Couldn't you just put one history book down on the list?" I asked.
"Well, I just finished reading Undaunted Courage. You can have my copy of it...that is, if Erik doesn't mind reading epics. Wait! I think Sharon might have a copy of Across Five Aprils. Tell you what, I'll talk with her and maybe between the two of us, we can swing a shipment of books. But you'll be sorry you asked! There's still enough titles on this list to fill this entire apartment building!" Pete said mischieviously.
"Oh, there is not!" I retorted, adding, "If we limit the list to one work per author...Let's see how many are on the list." I took the sheet of paper and, after scanning it, I said, "See! That only makes five books, including the last two you mentioned."
Smiling, Pete corrected me by saying, "Six, if we include two epic poems by Longfellow; seven if we include two novels by Hawthorne; eight, if we include The Adventures of Huck Finn; nine, if we include Shakespeare's Sonnetsand it will be ten if I send a collection of Longfellow's poetry."
"So, do it, big brother! You're in a
better position than I am to get all this stuff!" I said,teasingly.
Just then, Mme. Fontaine came into the kitchen
and said, "Bon matin, Roberta. Bonjour, Pete." Mme. Fontaine
then reminded me of the time as she went to the refrigerator to get more
milk for Colette's hot cocoa.
"Oh, mon dieu!" I exclaimed as I looked at my watch. Then I turned to Pete and said in French, "I'm going to be late for work. Will you be by later on to say good-bye?"
"Yeah, sis. My plane doesn't leave until four so I'll probably stop by around eleven, but only for a few minutes. I have to be at the airport four hours before I leave to go through customs," Pete replied in French as well, as he finished drinking his coffee.
"D'accord. A tout a l'heure," I said
as I rose from the table, and then turning to Mme. Fontaine, I said, "A
bien tot." I rushed out of the apartment, grabbing my jacket and
purse as I did so, hoping that I would not be too late for my singing lesson.