He moved his fingers and, from one of the shelves in the room, there came flying a smooth wooden bookmark, its tip carved with an intricate pattern of hexagons and circles intertwined. Valerion opened the book again and placed it between the pages, then closed it and set it on the table in front of him, slightly to his left. He leaned back in his armchair, an air of contentedness on his face. As if prickled, he sat up again: "Ah -- would you like to have breakfast?".

"Oh, yes, please -- thank you".

"Bread and jam?", Valerion asked, his eyes narrowed in a smile.

"Actually", Adrien said, "could I -- could I ask for scrambled eggs, today?".

"Of course. Tired of the sour cherry jam?".

"Oh -- no, no, no -- that's not it", Adrien said, shaking his head so energetically that he almost whipped his own cheeks with his hair. "It's just -- well -- I just finished writing a letter to my mother, and -- I -- I was just thinking about -- about Giselle, my favorite hen", he said, looking down at the side of the letter where he had written his home address.