Even from inside the furnished and secure walls of the Cafe, the sound of impending happiness was clear. Light footsteps. Barely suppressed happiness. A orangy flower with a yellow tinge prodding out of his front pocket of the uniform of Francis Durand signified his happiness.
Opening the door, waving and saying "Bonjour!" cheerfully to every last person who happened to be enjoying an evening in the establishment.
He sat down at a table of friends and chatted among them.
