From then on, Mama took me three times a week to communion at Notre-Dame-des-Champs. In the grey light of early morning, I liked to hear the sound of our feet on the flagged floor of the church. Sniffing the fragrance of incense, my eyes watering with the reek of candles, I found it sweet to kneel at the foot of the cross and dream vaguely of the cup of hot chocolate awaiting me when we got back home.
