By the time Julien woke up the next morning, there was no trace of Francis in the room.

This, in itself, shouldn’t have been surprising: considering how nervous Francis had been the night before, like a rabbit cornered by a hunter, it would’ve been odd if he hadn’t fled earlier.

Had he gone to the train, leaving Julien to his fate? No, that couldn’t be it. Julien thought it might fit Francis’ character—after witnessing firsthand how sharp-tongued and moody he could be, much like he came across in his newspaper columns. But then there was what happened before they fell asleep last night.

Julien was sure he hadn’t imagined it: for a brief moment, Francis set aside his reservations and admitted that Julien’s poetry wasn’t all that bad. Whether he said it because he genuinely meant it or because he regretted his earlier harshness and wanted to make amends didn’t matter much to Julien. He was simply pleased by the gesture, grateful that Francis had taken the initiative to make peace.

In truth, after years of trading barbs with Francis, Julien wouldn’t believe him even if he directly and unequivocally confessed to liking his writing.

But Julien had promised himself that others’ opinions wouldn’t affect him—not even those of someone he genuinely admired professionally. So, setting those intrusive thoughts aside, he decided to get out of bed and start his day.

Julien doubted that Francis would have left without notifying him if the train journey had resumed. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was already past nine in the morning. Regardless of where his involuntary roommate had gone, if there had been any updates about the journey, the hotel staff had clear instructions to inform him immediately. Since they hadn’t, it could only mean there was no news.

Relaxed by this thought, Julien washed up and dressed without any hurry.

He hadn’t planned much for his morning beyond getting a well-deserved breakfast. That’s why, when he finally descended to the reception area, he wasn’t expecting to find Francis engaged in what seemed to have become his favorite activity since their arrival in Saint-Genix-sur-Guiers: arguing with the person behind the front desk.

“They promised the journey would resume as soon as the sun rose!” Francis was saying, his frustration palpable even from several meters away. “How is it that now you’re telling me it won’t be possible to move forward until the afternoon?”

“And that’s optimistic,” said the hotel owner with unnerving calm, “because, if you’ll let me predict—based on my years of experience dealing with these mountain storms—I’d wager no one will be able to board the train until tomorrow.”

“What’s going on?” Julien asked, stepping in at that moment—not only because several guests and staff had stopped to watch a potential scene he wanted to avoid but also because he was curious himself.

“What’s going on,” Francis replied, looking at him as if expecting him to join in on the interrogation, “is that once again, they’ve decided to throw obstacles in the way of our journey.”

“Who?”

“God? A witch? Maybe an angry neighbor who dabbles in the occult?” suggested Mrs. Tellier. “I wouldn’t know, but I certainly don’t have the weather on my payroll.”

“It’s true there was quite a blizzard last night,” Julien remarked, recalling his relief at having reached the village before the snow started to fall.

Sheltered in the building for the remainder of the night, no one inside suffered much from the storm. Still, it was true that the wind had howled against the shutters all night, and every time Julien looked out the window, the snow seemed to be falling harder.

“And now the tracks are still blocked,” Francis said with annoyance.

“Nothing could be done yesterday. The good news is that the snowfall has stopped, so work on clearing the tracks can resume. It may take longer than expected because of the additional snow accumulation, but it’ll get done.”

“And until then?”

“Until then, you can continue enjoying your accommodations,” Mrs. Tellier said with a public-friendly smile.

In hindsight, having so many stranded passengers in Saint-Genix was great for business. Even though the railway company had arranged for their lodging, the tourists still had to pay for their beds and meals.

Francis seemed to realize this, as he quickly sought an alternative.

“Isn’t there a car for hire?”

“Oh, certainly, there are several people willing to offer their carriages. The problem is that if the tracks are blocked by snow, the roads aren’t likely to be much better.”

“No, of course not.”

“Francis, why don’t we take the day to explore the village?” Julien suggested, taking him by the arm and gently pulling him a couple of steps away from the front desk. “I heard there’s a Christmas market in the square. We could take a look.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Tellier chimed in. “Today’s the perfect day for it. The festivities are in full swing, and the whole village is preparing for the Yule log burning. If you go to the market, I can recommend some stalls.”

Francis hesitated for a moment, looking first at Julien and then at her before turning back to Julien and saying, “I think... I think I’d better go speak to someone from the railway company.”

“They’ll tell you the same thing I just did,” the owner assured him. “A railway representative said they’d come at noon to update our guests if the train couldn’t be restarted in the morning. So, if you want to go check now, by all means. But you’d only hear the same news earlier.”

“Then I’ll wait there and push them to work faster.”

“Sounds like a fantastic plan for Christmas Eve,” Julien said with a touch of irony, though without any real intent to dissuade him. “But what if they ask you to leave?”

“I’ll find a third option.”

“The only one I can think of is walking the hundred-plus kilometers to Chambéry. And with all this snow—and the possibility of another storm—I don’t see that working out.”

“Obviously, that’s not an option. I’m not crazy. I know when to give up.”

Julien doubted that very much. But who knew? Perhaps Francis had a compelling reason to reach Chambéry without delay.

“I’m going to stroll through the market anyway,” Julien decided. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t need you.”

And with that, the exchange came to an end.

Francis left the hotel with a determined stride, as if fearing that at any moment someone might grab him by the lapels of his coat and pull him back, preventing him from going anywhere. He left so quickly that Julien didn’t even have the chance to suggest they at least have breakfast together before heading off to their respective tasks.

But it didn’t matter. Julien didn’t need company, and he certainly wasn’t offended by how hastily the other man had bolted. After all, looking back, wasn’t Francis a bit more accommodating compared to the previous day?

Earlier, when Julien took him by the arm to pull him away from the conflict, Francis allowed it. That alone would have seemed impossible at first, considering how jittery he had been the previous afternoon on the train. And then there was the night spent in the shared room—at one point, Julien had been sure he’d end up sleeping on the floor!

This was the thing: Francis presented himself as a merciless individual, but the reality was that he seemed to dislike confrontation even more than Julien did.

It was an unexpected observation, one Julien might have liked to explore further, if not for his desire to avoid being too intrusive and risk Francis shutting down any chance of future social interaction. No, better to let things be and allow Francis to approach him on his own terms—if he ever wanted to.

Given Francis's temperament, Julien didn’t expect that to happen anytime soon. So he decided to find himself some breakfast, not at the hotel restaurant but outside. With so many guests this morning, and since he himself had taken his time leaving the room, the place was far too crowded to expect an empty table.

Or, honestly, what did it matter? Especially on such a festive day, where joy filled every corner. Julien thought it a splendid idea to wander through the cobblestone streets of the village, admire the Christmas decorations, and pick up something to eat while browsing the market stalls.

Saint-Genix-sur-Guiers was a village of just over a thousand inhabitants that, despite its modest size, brimmed with life. Julien noticed this as he began walking the narrow streets toward a square where a crowd of people was already gathered, strolling between the stalls with the usual curiosity and exchanging friendly words with friends and relatives.

The previous afternoon, thanks to a mix of inclement weather and travel fatigue, he’d barely noticed the garlands adorning every house and shop. Like everyone else on that train, he’d been more concerned with finding a place to stay the night than with appreciating the local customs of this rural area.

But now he intended to make up for it completely. Once at the market, Julien stopped at every stall, regardless of what they were selling. He began by seeking something for breakfast. Initially, he considered trying the village specialty, sweet buns filled with red pralines. But, already tired of brioches, he decided on some bread and local cheese instead.

Perhaps, since Francis had mentioned he didn’t like sweets, he might also benefit from this choice.

It wasn’t until Julien bought an extra portion of cheese that it occurred to him: What if Francis had already had breakfast on his own? Julien had seen him rushing off toward the railway, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t stopped to eat somewhere along the way. And more importantly, what if Francis didn’t want anything from him?

Julien was used to doing thoughtful things for people he liked, and he’d never considered it a flaw simply because no one had ever complained... until now. What if this turned out to be the first time?

Either way, the cheese was bought. He wasn’t going to return it.

Determined to distract himself and avoid overthinking the potential confrontation with the grouchy journalist, Julien turned his attention to other stalls. This time, with his hunger sated, he focused on those offering more artisanal goods, starting with colorful winter garments and ending at a stall packed with wooden figurines of various sizes.

"What do you think of them?" the vendor asked, and only then did Julien realize he’d been standing in front of the display for over five minutes.

And for good reason. The figurines, most of them depicting saints, were carved with such professional skill that the craftsman had paid attention to even the smallest details—be it a fold in the clothing or a carefully rendered facial expression.

Not only were the figures meticulously carved, but they were also painted to add a touch of realism, making it nearly impossible to look away.

"They’re very beautiful," Julien said, thinking that, while he wasn’t devout enough to want to decorate his nightstand with the Virgin Mary, he could see himself buying a couple of animal figurines as gifts for his nieces and nephews. "Do you make them yourself?"

"That’s right. I have my own workshop on the outskirts of town. Though, like so many others, I spend more time here during the holidays than there."

The artisan, a man in his sixties named Gustave Briand, explained that he’d lived in the village his whole life, first running his own shop and now dedicating himself exclusively to creating and selling his art.

Julien quickly struck up a rapport with him, bonded by their shared appreciation for craftsmanship, and they fell into an easy conversation while he made his purchase. It was clear that Gustave was as, if not more, interested in the new visitors to Saint-Genix as the accidental tourists were in the village.

"This isn’t the first time the train’s been halted mid-route," Gustave commented. "The last time was about two years ago, in early January. Roads and railways were blocked from here to Lyon because of the storm. And guess what? It took almost a week to get everything running again."

"I hope that doesn’t happen this time," Julien murmured, a little concerned. "My travel companion was already a bit on edge this morning at the news of just a few more hours’ delay. If they tell him we’re stuck here until New Year’s, I wouldn’t be surprised if he attempts a trek through the most remote parts of the region just to prove he can get home on time."

"He must be very attached to his family if he’s so determined to press on despite the weather."

No, attached wasn’t the word Julien would use to describe Francis. Unless, of course, he had that side buried deep down, with no marker to indicate where it lay.

"And what about you?" Gustave continued. "Are you in a hurry to get to Chambéry?"

"In a hurry? To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it," Julien pondered. Was it wrong to be so relaxed given the circumstances of the past day? "I mean, it’s true that I’d like to get home as soon as possible, but I know they’ll be waiting for me whether I arrive today or not until tomorrow. So I don’t feel anxious."

Maybe things would be different if they were completely cut off and he hadn’t been able to inform anyone of the delay. But with Chambéry so close, and assuming the snowstorm had reached there too, it was safe to assume his family knew transport had been temporarily suspended.

"That’s the best way to be. Staying calm is the best way to live, especially when things happen beyond our control. And on the bright side, if the bad weather forces you to stay until the evening, you might get to participate in the Christmas activities—not just the market."

"Oh, I saw they’ve prepared a bonfire in the center of the square on my way here. That’s where they’ll burn the Christmas log, isn’t it?"

"For the first time, yes. This year it’s being done publicly, outside, so all the villagers can join in. In previous years, it was always done in the priest’s house."

"Is there a particular reason for the change?"

"Space, I suppose. The Father is very kind, always opening his doors to everyone, and I imagine he’ll do so again tonight before the Mass. But there’s a limit to how many people can fit in a house for certain events."

Especially one like the Christmas log burning, Julien supposed, which was such an integral tradition in each household that it was unlikely anyone wanted to miss it—whether celebrating with their family or joining a community gathering.

"No, it’s better to do it in the square. That way, there’s no limit on attendance."

"If I’m still here tonight, I’ll make sure to come and see it," Julien promised, and he truly meant it. If he was going to be stranded in a random village on Christmas Eve, he had no intention of spending the evening idly waiting for the impossible in a hotel room.