I did my best to explain, while she looked at me with her huge dark eyes. She asked what my book was, and I showed it to her. She told me that French was her second language, Berber being the first, but she sounded pretty near perfect to me. We got chatting, and quickly determined that her English was slightly worse than my French the conversation, which initially had mixed both languages, settled down to being completely francophone.
She was small, dark and very pretty in a North African way. She smiled and thanked me, I smiled back. She asked me, in French, if I'd mind helping her put it up on the rack, and I did so. I was alone in the compartment it was one of those old-fashioned carriages which still had compartments.Īt the fifth or sixth stop, the door opened, and a young woman entered carrying a lot of heavy luggage. I hadn't picked the book because I was visiting Grenoble, it just worked out that way. I was taking the train from Geneva to Grenoble, one of the most beautiful routes in the world, and I was reading Le Rouge et le Noir for the second time.
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