It was the kind of place where you’d expect a proper woman to hasten her step. Amélie had just left a dinner party. She walked toward her car, keys in her hand, sensuously breathing in the fresh air. The wind rustled the leaves with the sound of crushed silk. Her pace slowed. Her children were on vacation; Paul, her husband, at a symposium in the tropics; she was off the following day. Oh! She didn’t anticipate anything extravagant or daring! She was simply enjoying letting her mind wander. All she wanted was a respite from her obligations. The extent of her daring might perhaps be limited to not going home to bed immediately. She loved driving. She decided to drive to her parents’ home two hundred kilometers away. She’d go in stealthily, surprising her children at breakfast the following morning. The idea delighted her. But there was no reason to hurry. She had plenty of time. One had to admit this plan lacked boldness. Her vivid imagination covered up a lack of daring. Making a short stop home, she got into her jeans, and a thick mottled wool sweater, then wavered in her choice of hat.
