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That is something pleasant to see. At least it’s a definite colour: I am glad I have red hair. It’s there in the mirror, it catches the eye, it shines out. I’m still lucky: if my forehead was adorned with one of those dull heads of hair which can’t make up their mind whether to be chestnut or fair, my face would be lost in a vague expanse, it would make me feel giddy.
‘What sort of adventures?� I ask him in surprise. ‘Why, all sorts, Monsieur. Getting on the wrong train. Stopping in an unknown town. Losing your wallet, being arrested by mistake, spending the night in prison. Monsieur, it seems to me that you could define adventure as an event which is out of the ordinary without being necessarily extraordinary. People talk of the magic of adventures. Does that expression strike you as accurate? I should like to ask you a question, Monsieur.�
