Chapter Seventeen: Becoming Familiar

Two Months Prior…

February, 1740

After a couple more weeks of meetings, both sets of parents had observed Babette and Nicolas enough to notice the glances and secret smiles they would exchange in the parlor or at dinner. They even caught Nicolas whispering something under his breath near Babette's ear, and she had to keep from letting her laughter be heard. Apparently, their children now had their own inside jokes!

The matriarchs, Clarisse and Augustine, were delighted by this turn in events. They all agreed that continuing their parental supervision was now only hindering the young ones' relationship, so at Babette's request, her parents allowed her to visit La Bazolle unaccompanied.

Snow lightly fell as Babette watched from the cover of her carriage. Glancing at the empty seat across from her, she couldn't recall when she had last sat in it alone.

Wrapping her cloak around her like a blanket, she stretched her legs and kicked her feet up onto the seat like she had always tried to do since she was seven-years-old. Though it was brief, she felt she had to revel in something she could never do while her parents were in the car.

She smirked, satisfied, as she relaxed against the corner of the carriage.

Once they rounded the drive of La Bazolle, Babette quickly stepped out into the cold.

"Madame and monsieur will have a carriage for you tonight?" her middle-aged coachman checked from his perch, nodding at the grand estate.

"Oui, they will arrange a ride home," she politely informed. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Firmin!"

Firmin grinned, his laugh lines prominent. "You as well, miss! But I suppose I don't have to tell you that."

She smiled back, shaking her head at his teasing. "Only if you do not mean it."

Chuckling, Firmin shook the reins and the horses high-stepped back down the drive.

Before she even raised her fist to knock, one of the doors had opened to allow her in.

"Bienvenue, Mlle de Chantemerle," the majordomo, Renaud, greeted with a grin. "I am overjoyed that you could join us on such short notice."

"I am only glad you could accommodate me without much warning," Babette humbly countered as she handed him her cloak.

"Naturally, ma chère mademoiselle! We could hardly ever refuse a request to have you among us, especially…" he suggested, but at how Babette cocked an eyebrow, he slyly shrugged it off. "Well, no matter. Messieurs et madame are in le petit salon." Renaud gestured off the foyer with a slight bow.

Trying to hide a smile, Babette murmured a thanks before she took to the wide hall off of the foyer towards the open doors on the right as Renaud followed.

In the salon, the cold, white light of the snow from the frosted windows framed the warm glow of the hearth, and blurred the silhouettes of the de Créquy as the three of them stood to greet her.

"Ah, Babette! So wonderful that you could join us!" Augustine exclaimed with a radiant smile as Babette entered the room. "Please, sit down over here by the fire," she went on with enthusiasm. "I'm sure you're a bit chilled from the drive here. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, madame, but thank you," Babette acknowledged with an incline of her head.

At her response, Renaud closed the salon doors, and she went to the armchair on the left of Nicolas and across from Augustine and Étienne on the chaise. When she was passing Nicolas, they exchanged small, discreet smiles.

As she sat down, the rest of them followed. Augustine kept her back straight and alert while her husband went back to the position he had probably been in before: relaxed against the back of the chaise with a foot crossed over his knee.

He took a sip of his brandy as Augustine inquired, "How is the weather faring? Has the snow picked up from this morning?"

"Non. It is still a gentle snowfall," Babette cordially replied. "I was watching them cling to the windows on the carriage. I always try to find snowflakes that look alike."

"That's a bit of an impossibility, isn't it?" Nicolas asked with a wry grin.

"C'est vrai," Babette admitted with a shrug. "But when you are driving alone… well, perhaps this is only true for me, but I must find something to pass the time."

"Oh no, you're not alone, dear," Augustine assured with a wave of her hand. "I must do the same the majority of the time as I never seem to have others in the carriage that are much of conversationalists," she explained tiredly as she eyed the two men.

Nicolas' dimples appeared as his father spread his hands, feigning offense. "I beg your pardon, dearest wife of mine, but I never have had much to say about who could possibly be Mme de Blanchefort's wigmaker."

An image of an ostentatious old widow who insisted her wig was her own hair, yet it would begin to slide off of her head during hot, summer days without her noticing, came to everyone's mind. They all had to laugh.

Augustine tried to round up her giggles to be sympathetic. "The poor woman does not even have her husband to vouch for her or… even let her know the wig was not placed properly. No one says a word!"

"We've told you to let her know yourself, if you were so concerned," Étienne reminded rationally.

His wife looked appalled. "And embarrass her? That would be so insensitive! It is clear she is self-conscious enough, wearing a wig that large in the first place."

"So the cycle begins," Nicolas noted with a shake of his head.

"And she still wonders why we're not much for conversation," Étienne directed to Babette with exasperation.

Augustine rolled her eyes as the boys chuckled. "Remember well, Babette. During days like these, I wish I had a daughter to ally with me."

Babette wore a bright smile. "While I am around, I will make sure you do not stand alone."

Mme de Créquy released a few laughs. "I am very much obliged to you, ma chère."

Étienne smirked as he said, "Then I'm afraid you will have to be here on a daily basis, Babette, to keep the odds even."

"I think you forget, père, that I am not always aligned with your opinions," Nicolas politely reminded. "I agree with Maman on occasion."

"And I revel in those moments!" Augustine proclaimed with glee. "I only wish they occurred more often."

Not a second after that was said, Renaud appeared at the door. "Dinner is served, mistress."

"Marvelous!" Augustine said as they all stood. "I do hope you came hungry, Babette."

"Conveniently so, madame," Babette assured with a grin.

Renaud opened the door as Augustine led the way out with Étienne close behind. As Babette came level with Nicolas, he extended his arm for her. "If I may, mademoiselle, escort you to dinner," he insisted with a slightly overdone inflection that made Babette let out a giggle or two.

"Oui, monsieur, and as always, the pleasure is all mine," she responded in a similar manner before they followed after his parents.

In their private dining room stood an ebony table that sat six. A small, intricately carved fireplace centered the wall behind where Babette was seated, and a lit silver chandelier hung above them.

Augustine and Étienne placed themselves at the heads of the table while Babette and Nicolas sat across from each other between his parents. A meal of stuffed pheasant with cranberry sauce, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread were brought out for each of them.

The gentlemen seemed content to halt discussion as they ate, but Babette could tell Augustine was racking her brains for a topic of conversation to prompt everyone.

At the continued silence, Babette was about to become resigned to her meal, but Augustine then voiced a bit hesitantly, "Babette… I suppose I shouldn't be the one to pry but—"

"Then don't, Augustine," Étienne warned with narrowed eyes.

"Well, I believe that this is something we should discuss sooner rather than later," Mme de Créquy reasoned with an air of entitlement, and Babette felt the pheasant begin to curdle in her stomach.

Augustine turned more directly to Babette and inquired, "Your parents had informed us of your time away from home—"

"Mother, please," Nicolas insisted with an unexpected amount of authority.

"Hush, dear. I promise this is not an interrogation," she assured him, then looked to Babette and said more gently, "This is only my curiosity getting the best of me, chère, you are not under trial."

Her words were meant to comfort, but Babette felt little of it. She nodded and mustered, "I understand. Please," she gestured for her to proceed.

Augustine smiled at her consent. "Merci, chérie. Well… I have to say I have always been curious as to the goings-on and inner workings of a nunnery."

Babette tried to hide a sigh of relief, though she knew she was not out of the woods yet. She thought rapidly on a plausible back story as she asked politely, "What in particular do you wish to know, madame?"

"Oh, um… perhaps the routines of them," Augustine worded with thought. "The day-to-day sort of things, if you would not mind humoring me."

Babette mirrored Augustine's grin with a sincere smile. "Of course not, madame." She glanced away as her mind whirred as she gathered all she knew about convents, carefully orchestrating her work of part-fiction, part-truth.

"Well…" she began with false confidence. "We would all gather for prayer in the morning, at sunrise, noon… and evening at sunset. In between those times in the chapel, those with more seniority either continued their prayer in their rooms or studied scripture in the library."

"A library?" Augustine repeated, very intrigued. "I did not know nunneries had libraries. I had heard that was more of a monastery necessity."

"Yes, of course," Babette agreed, feeling as though her stays had suddenly tightened themselves. "From what I know, you are not wrong, but the convent's library was very small, exclusively scripture and holy readings, since—though some of them could read—not all of the nuns were taught."

"Indeed!" Augustine remarked. "It is fascinating that though social class no longer has meaning there, it still carries its influence."

Babette could only affirm with a nod, but the countess resumed with interest, "And as a temporary resident, what was required of your stay?"

Feeling a little more prepared for this question, Babette replied, "Since I was one of the younger residents, and since I did not take any holy vows, I spent most of the time cleaning the convent: dusting, polishing, waxing floors, anything that they asked to be cleaned. I would even help in the kitchen with dishes and such."

"Oh, my dear! You must have felt like a fish out of water!" Augustine sympathized. By then, the men had become interested enough in the conversation to pause in eating.

"That was true, at first," Babette confirmed, just noticing the attention. She tried to maintain her dignity though her cheeks were flushing. "But I became accustomed to what was expected. I admit, the… transition from that lifestyle back to this one has been… more difficult than I assumed it would be."

"I can only imagine," Augustine murmured, her eyebrows knit in concentration before she straightened in her seat again. "I would have to say… that you deserve respect all the more for how well you've adjusted coming to and from such circumstances."

Babette gave her a meek smile. "Thank you, madame."

As the countess' eyes fell away to her plate, Babette did the same, afraid to make any more eye contact with the rest of the table.

After a moment of silence, Augustine took a deep breath and declared, though her plate was only half-eaten, "Well! I think this is the perfect time to call for something a little sweeter, don't you think?"

She nodded to the servant standing at attendance before he swept into the kitchen. He returned with slices of apple tart for each of them as Mme de Créquy carried on about how refreshing it was to have fruit in the winter.

Steadily becoming more relieved that the previous subject had been dropped, Babette dared to look across at Nicolas, but his eyes only went between his mother and his plate. With a tiny glance at Étienne, she found a little reassurance from the respectful smile he directed her way.

Once dessert was finished and cleared away, they went to return to the salon for evening tea. Upon entering it, all of them noticed the windows were encrusted with frost and snow. Though it was dark, clumps of flakes could still be seen blurring past the glass.

"My, my," Augustine tutted, hurrying forward for a closer look. She paused as she inspected the outside before informing, "It is quite a flurry out there."

Babette's insides receded. "Perhaps the storm will stop or at least have slowed within the next hour," she willed.

"That's possible," Augustine said with an attempt to be positive, "but there might not be road to drive on by then."

"No, there won't," Étienne corrected from the other window. "It appears we are all snowed in for the night."

At Babette's blanching face, Augustine assured, "This is of no concern, chérie. We will provide you a room for the night, it's no trouble."

Babette hesitated in her response. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, naturally, my dear! I wouldn't dream of allowing anyone to brave a storm like this one. And your parents, I'm sure, will understand after just a glance out of their windows."

On that, Augustine shut the curtains to falter the cold from breaching the room while Étienne followed suit.

Babette went to exchange looks with Nicolas, but he had already turned his head.

Uncertainty began to cloud her thoughts, and persisted throughout the next hour with Augustine leading the conversation. Étienne encouraged what he could, and Babette added to it when necessary, but Nicolas, though he appeared to be listening, remained silent. The former maid found herself watching the mantel clock as her discomfort persisted.

I cannot wait to take this damn dress off, she thought bitterly.

Finally, it was a few minutes past nine before Augustine announced that it was time to turn in. They all stood as one, and Nicolas went to kiss his mother goodnight on the cheek before he nodded to the other two. His eyes were apologetic to Babette, but she only caught a glimpse of it before he swiftly departed.

Renaud entered a second later to fetch the tea tray, but was ordered by Augustine, "Renaud, could you please lead Mlle de Chantemerle to the northeast guest room?"

After a small bow to his mistress, he gestured to Babette. "Right this way, mademoiselle."

Rather eager for privacy, Babette didn't hesitate in following him. After grabbing a candelabrum from just outside the salon, Renaud led her up the stairs and to the left. The halls were familiar to her from weeks before, but she was too entrenched in her thoughts to attempt to recognize anything.

As they came to a fork, a movement did catch her eye. At the end of the hall, she saw Nicolas shut his bedroom door.

She pursed her lips. This visit had not been what she had expected.

Renaud walked in the opposite direction, and after a final look at Nicolas' doors, Babette kept pace with him. He opened one of the double doors and stepped aside for her to enter.

On first glance, the guest room reminded her of her own room at home. There was a four-poster bed, along with a wardrobe, vanity, a fireplace, and even a small balcony. The only difference was that the style of the furniture and décor were grander and had more intricate craftsmanship.

Augustine certainly has fine tastes, she remarked.

While she was taking in the room, Renaud lit the candles on the nightstand and vanity. "I will return very shortly with a nightgown for you," he said graciously. "Will there be anything else you need for a good night's sleep? Tea, more pillows… warm milk?"

Babette had to laugh. "Non merci, Renaud, but I appreciate your offer."

"Of course, mademoiselle," he replied with a bow and smirk before he left the room.

Eyeing the balcony, Babette approached its doors and moved the layer of sheer curtains aside. The chill creeped through the fogged glass, but it actually felt soothing on her hot skin. Wiping at one of the panes with her sleeve, what could be made of the balcony was coated in several inches of snow, and counting.

A sigh clouded her view again, and she resigned to pulling the sheer as well as the velvet curtains closed. The sight of the piling snow drifts was only making her anxious.

It seemed melodramatic to feel trapped, especially under such wonderful hospitality, but Babette couldn't explain how she felt in any other way. At least at home, she could drop formalities. But here, she had to maintain them until the moment she set foot on her threshold again.

That dinner had also exhausted her, as lying always did. She of course should have been more prepared to be inquired about her time away from home. How could she expect Nicolas' parents to not want to learn more about his betrothed? All the same, she preferred not to think about her past, imaginary or otherwise. She felt even worse about having to lie; she admired Étienne and Augustine very much, which had been far beyond her expectations before she had met them.

Babette was leaning on the bed when Renaud returned. He had swiftly laid a nightgown on the end of the bed, bowed good night, and left her before she had properly retracted herself from her reverie.

Finally—hopefully—her privacy was secure until morning. She hastily changed out of her dress and heavy petticoats, leaving her chemise on for warmth before slipping on the négligée. It was made of silk, fell to her ankles, and had long winged sleeves—like her mother's.

Gratefully climbing under the covers, she turned to blow out the candle on her nightstand, but Babette found she could not release her breath. Sighing into her pillow, she realized there was something still niggling at the back of her mind.

Nicolas.

He had been the precise reason she had visited, yet she had hardly spoken to him this entire evening. Something had also clearly bothered him at dinner and had affected his mood for all the time after. Was it about how she had replied to his mother? She couldn't recall anything offensive or crass in how or what she had said.

Ma foi, I will not be able to sleep for a second, Babette renounced with a groan. I have to speak with him.

Reminders of propriety scolded her, but she refused to listen. This was more important than what the social construct stated.

Ripping off the sheets, she rolled out of bed, grabbed the candle, and hurried to the door, beginning to delight in this venture already. Carefully turning the handle, she cracked the door open to glance down the hall. The lamps had been put out, but from watching it for a minute as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could not detect any movement but the flurry from the window by Nicolas' bedroom.

Letting the candle lead her way, Babette tiptoed into the hallway. Still no movement arose.

Her heart was beating rapidly, and she smirked at the sensation. It was so refreshing to be breaking the rules again.

Staying on her toes, she danced to the fork in the hall and halted at the corner to peek around it. With nothing to be alarmed of there, she resumed her path until she was at her destination.

She lifted a knuckle to knock, but hesitated. Only those allowed to see each other in their night clothes were married couples. What if Nicolas thought this was rude and improper of her to be coming to him so late and dressed that way?

She shook the thought from her mind. I am covered from head to toe, she reasoned. If anything, Nicolas would be surprised… pleasantly surprised. Babette had learned that he was as unconventional a thinker as she was. He followed the rules because he thought it was best, not because he truly believed in them.

Having convinced herself, Babette firmly knocked on the door. After a moment, there wasn't an answer, so she tried once more to be safe.

Still, he didn't answer. As the silence grew, so did her doubt. Pouting her lips, she began eyeing her own door down the hall.

Then she heard a clicking before her and faced it to see the knob turning. The door stalled, but was soon opened wide. As she had predicted, Nicolas was caught off-guard.

"Babette?" he whispered with widened eyes. "Is everything all right, is something wrong?"

"No, no, everything is fine," she calmed, smiling at his concern. "Do you have a moment to spare?"

Nicolas' eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Oh!" he uttered, purely surprised by this request, but he recovered quickly as he dryly joked, "Well, it would seem you have caught me at a convenient time." He stepped aside for her to enter. "Please."

"Merci." As she crossed the entryway, she saw that he had a few candles lit around his chambers, along with a blazing fireplace.

She stopped in the center of the room. "Are you as sleepless as I am?" she observed with a sideways glance in his direction.

Having followed, Nicolas shoved his hands into the pockets of his dressing robe and shrugged. "I suppose. I was reading to try and tire myself."

"Something boring, or something interesting?"

Nicolas grimaced in thought. "Something dramatic, perhaps on the verge of cliché."

"So… a little bit of both?"

They grinned at each other as he chuckled. "Oui, oui…"

As they both averted their eyes, there was a minute where the only noise was the crackling fire before Nicolas cleared his throat. "Would… you like to sit down?"

"If you do not mind me staying for more than a moment," she offered, not wanting him to feel obligated.

"No, of course not," he assured. His dimples were more pronounced from the firelight.

He allowed her to precede him to the chaise by the fire first. She took a seat on one end, but he went to the armchair furthest away from her.

"Are you still afraid I will bite?" Babette asked, trying not to giggle as she set her candle on the side table next to her.

Nicolas tilted his head in a deadpan stare. Her giggle was released anyway.

With a smiling pout, she entreated, "Please do not make me shout across the room." She patted the middle of the chaise as she curled her legs under her. "I promise it is just as comfortable next to me."

After an exaggerated sigh, he warned, "If it isn't, I do not think I will be able to trust you again." He begrudgingly stood up and came to sit in the middle of the chaise while Babette rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Babette leaned back against the armrest as Nicolas faced her, leaning an elbow on the chaise's back and his temple on his fist.

He patiently waited for her to speak. "So… to what do I owe this late night visit?"

Her smile slipping away, she shrugged feebly. "How are you?"

Nicolas grinned, approving her answer's simplicity. "I have been better," he replied softly.

"So I have noticed," Babette remarked, lifting an analyzing eyebrow.

He sighed, eyeing her intuitively. "And you are here to ask why."

"An astute observation, monsieur," she applauded with a small smirk.

As an excuse to avert his eyes, he nervously ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "I… I'm embarrassed."

Babette inclined her head in confusion, her brow knitting. "Why would you be embarrassed?"

"My mother," he brusquely responded, shaking his head in annoyance. "I told her—I insisted—that she should not attempt to pry into your past, that it would make you uncomfortable if she did, but… clearly, she did not listen."

Babette wasn't sure whether to be surprised or touched by this information. "You were upset with your mother?" she checked.

"I'm so sorry about dinner," Nicolas beseeched with that same apologetic look he had given her earlier before he faced the fire. "I thought if I spoke another word, it would be one against her… I will have to remind her later. Hopefully next time, she will not let her curiosity get the best of her."

Babette's jaw had been dangling at this explanation before she could utter, "Nicolas, I thought I had upset you somehow!"

He watched her with bewilderment. "Why on earth would I be upset with you? You did nothing wrong!"

She shrugged again, looking to her fingers playing with the fabric of her négligée on her lap to hide her blush. "I could not make eye contact with you after your mother had asked about… the convent."

Sighing, Nicolas explained, "I was too mortified to risk meeting your eyes. I felt guilty enough as it was." His expression full of concern, he said, "I am sorry that is what I made you think!"

"Nicolas," she impressed reassuringly, covering his hand with her own. "You have no reason to apologize. Your mother did not offend me in the slightest. It is only…" She retracted her hand as she murmured, "I have never discussed the convent before, so I was unsure how to even put my time there into words."

He paused thoughtfully before he insisted, "Nevertheless, she should have come to the conclusion that it was a sensitive subject by the way you reacted." When she opened her mouth to speak, looking alarmed, he hurried to say, "Not that it was entirely obvious, Babette, truly! You took her questions with grace."

Taken aback by his compliment, her worry had to fade before she could say gratefully, "Thank you."

Nicolas scrutinized her with curiosity. "For a moment, you looked surprised."

Babette watched the fire curl around its logs, hoping the glow hid the flushing of her cheeks. "Well… I have always assumed my feelings could practically be read as though they were written across my forehead."

"Really?" he blurted, but amended, "Not that I mean to argue with you, but… you seem to have such self-control."

She faced him, astonished. "Do I?" Withholding an unladylike snort, she muttered, "I am considered to be much the opposite."

He smiled at her expression. "I cannot tell if you are amazed or disappointed."

Smirking back, she shrugged. "Perhaps both."

"I understand," he said, reclining more into the chaise's back. "All the fun comes from being impulsive."

Intrigued, Babette leaned a little closer. "Would you happen to know firsthand?"

"Of course!" he answered without hesitation. "I have made plenty of rash decisions in my life."

Shaking her head, she murmured with sincere wonder, "I cannot imagine! You seem much too thoughtful to be capable."

With a bit of mischief in his gaze, he said, "You would be surprised, Babette."

They locked eyes for a longer moment than usual, which Babette would have been content to revel in if the thought of that evening's dinner conversation hadn't resurfaced in her mind.

She glanced away in guilt as she brushed a hand through her loose curls. Nicolas knew nothing about her past, yet he was willing to never learn, to never pry if the cost was her discomfort.

But her past… was her.

Babette would not be the woman she was without her rebellious years. Her time at le Château du Lac—or "convent"—had made her realize how much she had grown from them.

That was important to mention, wasn't it?

Then again…

Nicolas has not mentioned anything telling outside of his family, Babette reasoned. Perhaps there could be something beyond what he displays.

She bit her lip before she began, "Though you may be content to never inquire into my past affairs… I am afraid now I cannot be so satisfied."

Nicolas raised an amused eyebrow. "Cannot or will not?"

With an ambiguous shrug, she added, "You may decide for yourself. I am known to be too curious for my own good."

"So…" he asked with a teasing grin. "A little bit of both?"

They both chuckled before Nicolas admitted, "I suppose I have been discreet when it comes to my past transgressions."

"Transgressions?" Babette exclaimed with playful shock. "You do not mean… Non! I do not believe it."

Nicolas rolled his eyes, but by the way he was smiling, he looked like he was trying not to laugh. "What else did you think I meant by 'rash decisions?'"

"But I didn't think you meant—!" Babette gripped her mouth in mock horror as the thought took hold. "Could it be you got into—dare I speak it, trouble? A man of your impeccable reputation?"

Unmoved by her gasps of awe, he grumbled, "Are you finished?"

She dropped her hand to reveal her coquettish smile. "You said you were easy to tease. I was putting that to the test." Her expression became sympathetic though her smirk remained. "You poor man! You were not exaggerating."

Nicolas laughed. "Well, I suppose that is where that story begins." He rose himself more into his seat as he gazed towards the hearth, considering how to start as Babette looked on with a quiet eagerness.

"When I was very young, about seven or eight years of age… I began to take notice of what was beyond my little bubble of bliss; having myself dressed by others, fed by others, driven by others, all of whom I simply expected to be there, and had never really given much thought to."

He rolled his eyes at his naïveté. "It's a shame it took me so long but… One morning, I went to practice riding, and our stable master, Monsieur Achille, reminded me afterwards to be sure to water my horse. I grabbed a bucket, took it to the water pump little ways outside of the stables, held the bucket up to the faucet, and pumped the lever." He blinked as though he was seeing it again. "Little did I expect to have a toad hop out of it! I screamed, the bucket went flying, and I found myself sprawled on the ground with water dripping down my front."

Lifting a finger as though at a noise, he continued, "Then I heard someone laughing behind me. I turned, and I saw a scrawny blonde boy on the ground behind a haystack, clutching his stomach and laughing so much he could hardly catch his breath." He shook his head at the memory and went on. "I called out to him, though I was still shocked at what had happened. He looked at me and shut his mouth instantly, stood up and ran away with a devious little smile still on his face."

Leaning forward, he emphasized in hushed tones, "And that was when I realized that I had seen him before. He was the boy who helped serve our meals!" He shrugged. "I did not know what to make of this prank he had pulled because… I had never been pranked before," he said with a humble smile. "So I did not say anything about it to anyone. And… he noticed, and was grateful."

"Because you did not tell anyone about his prank?" Babette inquired with interest, entertained by his storytelling methods.

"Precisely," Nicolas confirmed. "And… from then on, we were inseparable." He sighed through his nose, reflecting, "My first and closest friend was also my first and most incessant teaser."

Babette smiled as she asked, "What is his name?"

With a too familiar kind of charm, Nicolas recited, "Jean-Luc Lumière."