Marius returned from his customary early morning walk to find his son at their dining table eating breakfast. Hanging his hat on the back of the door, he went over to the boy, ruffling his blond curly hair affectionately. Fabien was the apple of his eye, a handsome lad with a broad forehead, cheeky smile and inquisitive gaze.
“Good morning, my boy.”
“Good morning, Father.”
“Hey, Alice,” he called through to the kitchen, where his wife was busy preparing vegetables at the stone sink. The poorer houses of the town had a single downstairs room — theirs boasted two.
“Did you have a pleasant walk?”
“I did. It’s a fine, crisp day.” He sat down beside Fabien to join him in their meal of milk and fresh bread the baker’s helper had just delivered.
“It’s just the weather to run through the woo
