A tacit but iron-bound procedure covered all evening meals at Les Amis Des Vieux Maîtres. Mme. Yoshoto got up from her desk promptly at five-thirty and went upstairs to prepare dinner, and M. Yoshoto and I followed—fell into single file, as it were—at six sharp. There were no side trips, however essential or hygienic. That evening, however, with Sister Irma’s envelope warm against my chest, I had never felt more relaxed.
