He was just another skivvy for the most part, the lowest of the order, and the visions he had of becoming a real pâtissier, of spinning glorious confections like Monsieur Carême, seemed further away than ever.He had seen Mademoiselle Clermont only once since his first day. He had been hurrying back to the kitchens after his break when the door of the office had burst open. She had dashed out, her head lowered, and had collided with him before he could step aside. For the space of a breath, his hands had rested upon her arms, hers upon his chest. Her face was drawn and pale, tears reddening her lower lids. He had frowned in concern, opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but before he could speak she had shaken her head and pulled away.He had watched her duck through the private door that led to the apartments above. The warmth that had flooded the space between their bodies stayed with him long after she had disappeared from view.Gui wondered whether she was still at odds with her father.
