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THE RAIN FELL IN FINE DROPS ON THE STONE SIDEWALK, ADDING A DISCREET MELANCHOLY TO THE ALREADY GREY MORNING. ANAÏS TIGHTENED THE TAILS OF HER WORN COAT AROUND HER AND TAKEN A DEEP BREATH. IN FRONT OF HER, THE WROUGHT IRON GATE OF THE SUMPTUOUS MONTREUIL RESIDENCE STANDS, IMPOSING AND SILENT. A WAVE OF APRREHENSION RISES THROUGH HER. THIS WAS THE LAST CHANCE AFTER MONTHS OF REFUSAL. SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO MAKE MISTAKES. HER GRANDMOTHER, AGNÈS, WAS COUNTING ON HER. ANAÏS TAKES ONE LAST LOOK AT THE CRUMPLED PIECE OF PAPER WITH THE ADDRESS WRITTEN ON IT AND PUSHES THE INTERCOM BUTTON. A MONOCORDEOUS AND SLIGHTLY ANNOYED VOICE ANSWERED: — YES? — IT’S ANAÏS... I’M COMING FOR THE JOB OF HOUSEKEEPER. A SILENCE FOLLOWED, THEN THE METALLIC GROWING OF ENGINES ACCOMPANIED THE OPENING OF THE GATE. ANAÏS TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND ENTERS THE PROPERTY. THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED UNDER HER TIRED SHOES AS SHE HESITANTLY MOVED FORWARD, HER HEART BEATING. THE DRIVEWAY WAS LINED WITH PERFECTLY TRIMMED HEDGES AND STONE STATUES WHOSE SILHOUETTES SEEMED TO STARE AT HER WITH EMPTY GATES. A LIGHT MIST ADDED A GHOSTLY ATMOSPHERE TO THE WHOLE. IN FRONT OF THE LARGE MARBLE STEPS, A WOMAN WITH HAIR PUT IN A BUN AND AN IMPECCABLE GREY SUIT WAS WAITING FOR HER, HER ARMS CROSSED. HER LIPS WERE PINCHED AND HER EYES PIERCED ANAÏS WITH A COLDNESS THAT MADE HER SHUDDER. “YOU ARE ANAÏS, ARE YOU?” SHE SAID WITH ICY POLITENESS. I AM MADAME LECOEUR, THE HOUSE KEEPER.” FOLLOW ME.