Mikhail was proud of his nephew’s talents, mistaking his hackneyed stories for sophisticated erudition. Indeed, anything that came rolling off his nephew’s silver tongue seemed new and extraordinary, even if Mikhail had heard it all before. Nevertheless, he completely failed to spot the links between Émile’s soliloquies and his interests. The owner of the business was extremely demanding, but then wasted whole hours telling vague tales, as though he were a street preacher or a wandering storyteller. Mikhail was green with jealousy.
‘Perhaps we could devote a little time to business?’ he asked, without even realising that the words had slipped out of his mouth.
Émile broke into a liberating laugh, mocked his uncle’s cupidity in front of the customers, and said he was compelled to heed his
