"The last house in the village," said the lady, as if that explained everything. She had one thing right: ours is the last house in the village. But there is another last house in the village if one is travelling in the opposite direction and I was about to send her there when I remembered: that house is occupied by an English couple and neither he nor she is called Lionel.
Once again I explained that I knew nobody called Lionel. As I did so a thought struck me. I asked the lady if she wanted number 13, this being the number of the parish room.
"Oui, oui," she replied enthusiastically, so I directed her past our neighbours, past the vegetable garden, to the falling-down house which was number 13, and off she trotted like a spaniel that has just been given a ball. I could have sworn I saw her tail wagging, she was so happy.
Our first impression of the nearby twon of Pouance was not good. It looked a scruffy sort of a place then but somehow it has grown on us and we now like the place despite - or maybe because of - its warts. But there are some attractive little corners like this one.