She had me wait in the parlour while she finished adding some final touches to her dress. She’d put on a record, so I wouldn't feel alone. It turned out to be Mahler, who always made me feel terribly lonely. I walked around the room, looking for clues. She kept an empty birdcage with a small mirror inside. I decided to mention it later, if the evening should come to that. She came out soon enough, wearing a black scarf in the middle of summer, catching me with the A-Z of existentialism. “T’es mélancolique – c’est très beau!”