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put a name to. It was as if, with that one glance, she had seen deep inside me and been both amused and delighted with what she had seen. And though I was positive we had never met before, something about her was familiar.
    Louvia and the girl continued to converse volubly. Finally Louvia turned to me. “This young woman speaks excellent French. She claims to have lived in Montreal and Paris. She’s working here this weekend for the Letourneaus, who’ve gone to visit relatives in Canada. She doesn’t know a thing about the old sisters or their magic potion. She wants to know why you keep looking at her.”
    â€œI was going to have you ask her the same thing,” I said. “Ask her what’s so funny, while you’re at it.”
    The girl, who wore a white, lacy apron over a dark blue dress that brought out the brighter blue of her eyes, looked at me and laughed out loud. Behind dark lashes her lovely eyes were constantly laughing.
    Louvia went over to the display case and ordered a raspberry tart. The girl put the tart on a white plate and poured a cup of coffee.
    â€œI’ve instructed her to show you the old stone baking oven out back,” Louvia told me. “Watch her carefully. She has a look in those saucy blue eyes that I don’t at all care for.”
    Hoping that the laughing bakery girl didn’t understand any English, I followed her outside and around behind the patisserie. She walked as lightly as a dancer. Once she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes dancing. In the back yard sat the disused stone oven, its brick chimney overrun with morning glories. The girl said something in French. Her teeth were as white as the frosting on the wedding cake inside.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand much French.”
    â€œThat’s quite evident,” the girl said to me in perfect English, laughing. “This, at any rate, is the fabled baking oven your grandmother wanted you to see. As you can plainly observe, it’s no longer in use. Rather like her, I should imagine. Is she always this disagreeable?”
    â€œShe isn’t my grandmother and she isn’t really disagreeable,” I said, still recovering from my surprise. “That’s just her way.”
    The girl looked me straight in the eyes, with her oval face very close to mine. “Her way is to be disagreeable then. Why are you making excuses for her? If she isn’t your grandmother, what is she?”
    â€œShe’s a friend.”
    â€œIndeed? I have heard of such friendships.”
    At close range, the girl’s eyes seemed a slightly darker aqua color. And while they were perpetually laughing, like her voice, her wide-set blue eyes seemed serious as well.
    â€œWhy do you keep staring at me like that?” she said.
    â€œI think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” I said, astonishing myself.
    She blew out her breath between compressed lips, like a person blowing out a candle. “That and a quarter will purchase you a cup of hot coffee in the patisserie, nothing else. Have you seen enough of this wonder of an oven? I have a great deal of work to do inside. University tuition to pay back. Travel money to save. I’m not slaving here for my health, you know.”
    â€œWhere are you going on your travels?”
    â€œThat’s for me to know. Has anyone ever told you you ask a great many questions?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact, Louvia has. The friend I came here with.”
    â€œLouvia! I knew she was a gypsy. We have to get back inside before she robs the shop blind.”
    The girl made no move to leave. Her face, framed by hair as jet black as her small polished shoes, was inches from mine. Her breath smelled like cloves, like the sweet Williams growing nearby. Her frilled white apron nearly brushed my legs. “Look,” she said, tilting her head toward the shop. “The curtain’s