A woman in Paris lives deliberately and keeps her days orderly—meals at a modest café, life arranged. Then she is surprised by love: a man with a kind manner, a crooked smile, large soft hands. The affair is pleasant but brief; he proves too restless and unfocused, and they part. Afterward, the café and avenue look the same, as if love has moved through like weather. She takes up a fondness for cello music and stays open without waiting, not ruling out another such presence arriving someday. The mood is calm, a little wry, and quietly accepting. There is no bitterness here, only the sense that life remains mysterious whether or not love stays. The closing image keeps possibility alive but unhurried: another incarnation of love may walk up the avenue into that quiet, laconic café.
A Woman in Paris — Summary
In an unambitious café on one of the smaller avenues, she took her evening meals. She
kept the objects, events, and duties of her life orderly. Was therefore surprised by love;
by a man’s kindness, crooked smile, large soft hands. This pleasant passion didn’t make life less
immensely mysterious to her. Soon love concluded anyway. He was a restless, ill-focused
fellow. Goodbye to him. The café didn’t change, or the avenue. Love like weather
had passed through. She grew fond of cello music and neither waited for nor ruled out another
incarnation of the love-phenomenon coming up the avenue some day, some night, into the laconic café.