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foundation you and Professor Leblanc are planning to set up.”
    â€œI think that blow to your head shook a few screws loose, child,” Kate replied, absentmindedly putting the crystal eggs into her jacket pocket.
    In weeks to come, the writer would have reason to revise her opinion of her grandson.
    Kate had the crystal eggs in her possession for two weeks, completely forgetting about them until she moved her jacket from a chair and one of the stones fell on her foot, crushing her toes. By that time her grandson, Alexander, was back at his parents’ home in California. The writer limped around several days with bruised toes and the eggs in her pocket, sometimes unconsciously playing with them. One morning she went to get a cup of coffee at a shop on her block and left one of the “diamonds” on the table. The owner, an Italian she had known for more than twenty years, caught up with her at the next corner.
    â€œKate! You left this glass ball!” he shouted, tossing it to her over the heads of the other pedestrians.
    She caught it and kept walking, with the thought that it was time to do something about those eggs. With no plan in mind, she headed for the street in midtown that was lined with jewelers’ shops, where she found herself before the door of a store owned by an old love of hers, Isaac Rosenblat. Forty years before, they had beenclose to getting married, but Joseph Cold had come along and seduced Kate by playing his flute for her. Kate was sure that the flute was magic. Within a short time Joseph Cold had become one of the most famous musicians in the world. “The same flute my foolish grandson left somewhere in the Amazon,” Kate thought, furious. She had given Alexander’s ear a good twist when he lost his grandfather’s magnificent instrument.
    Isaac Rosenblat was a pillar of the Jewish community, rich, respected, and the father of six children. He was one of those easygoing people who fulfill their responsibilities with no fuss and whose soul is at peace, but when he saw Kate Cold walk into his shop he felt himself sinking into a morass of memories. In one instant he was again the shy young man who had loved this woman with the desperation of first love. In those days Kate had been a girl with porcelain skin and an untamed red mane; now she had more wrinkles than a parchment, and the gray hair she cut with scissors was standing up like straw in a broom.
    â€œKate! You haven’t changed, my girl, I’d pick you out in any crowd,” he murmured with heartfelt emotion.
    â€œDon’t lie, you shameless old sweet-talker,” she replied, feeling flattered despite herself and dropping her knapsack, which thudded to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
    â€œYou’ve come to tell me that you made a mistake and to ask me to forgive you for having left me with a broken heart, isn’t that it?” the jeweler joked.
    â€œYou’re right, I made a mistake, Isaac. I wasn’t cut out for wedded bliss. My marriage to Joseph lasted only a short time, but at least we had a son, John. Now I have three grandchildren.”
    â€œI knew that Joseph had died, I’m truly sorry. I was always jealous of him, and I never forgave him for taking my sweetheart away from me, but I bought all his records anyway. I have the complete collection of his concerts. He was a genius.”
    The jeweler offered Kate a seat on a dark leather sofa, and made himself comfortable at her side. “So you’re a widow now?” he added, studying her affectionately.
    â€œDon’t get any ideas, I haven’t come looking for sympathy. Or to buy jewelry. Jewels aren’t my style,” Kate replied.
    â€œI can see that,” Isaac Rosenblat noted, casting a sideways glance at her wrinkled trousers and combat boots, and the travel backpack she set on the floor.
    â€œI want to show you these glass pieces,” she said, taking the eggs from her jacket.
    The