Lucy is up before dawn to finish M. Paul's fête gift: a watchguard of beads and silk, doubled, closed with a gold clasp from her own necklace, laid in a shell box of nacarat crowned with blue stones, initials on the lid. His fête is not Madame Beck's. The pupils bring small things. He refuses expensive plate and jewellery. He wants feeling, not display.
Zélie St Pierre arrives in silk, hair dressed, perfume chosen. It is said she has her eye on the professor. Lucy watches Paul study Zélie with a look that seems able to find a lie in a fold of cloth. The Thursday is tense before anyone has made a speech.
In class he turns on the Englishwomen. He spares neither mind, morals, manners, nor looks: tall stature, long necks, thin arms, dress, education, scepticism, pride, pretentious virtue. Lucy strikes her desk and cries out for England, history, and heroes, and against France, fiction, and fops. The class is stunned. Paul smiles into his handkerchief. He thinks he has his quarrel.
Later she finds him at her desk, not unkind, and the morning's anger melts. He says he often visits that desk and does not care if he is caught. She does not dislike Professor Emanuel. The gift and the insult have to live in the same day, and neither cancels the other. The box is part of the gift's manners. Nacarat shell, blue stones, initials: small, bright, and not the jewellery he would scorn. Lucy has taken the clasp from her own necklace, so the present costs something she wears. Zélie's silk is the other language of the day, and Paul's scouring look at her is the language he trusts more than perfume. His attack on Englishwomen is specific enough to be personal: bodies, dress, schooling, virtue. Lucy's shout is specific in return. The class hears madness. He hears a hit, and hides the smile. Hours later, at the desk he admits he searches, the anger has nowhere left to stand. She breathes. He turns. They are not friends by treaty. They are two people who have insulted and given in the same day and have not parted.