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I was taking the train from Geneva to Grenoble, one of the most beautiful routes in the world, and I was reading Le Rouge et le Noir for the second time. I hadn't picked the book because I was visiting Grenoble, it just worked out that way. I was alone in the compartment; it was one of those old-fashioned carriages which still had compartments.

At the fifth or sixth stop, the door opened, and a young woman entered carrying a lot of heavy luggage. She asked me, in French, if I'd mind helping her put it up on the rack, and I did so. She smiled and thanked me, I smiled back. She was small, dark and very pretty in a North African way. We got chatting, and quickly determined that her English was slightly worse than my French; the conversation, which initially had mixed both languages, settled down to being completely francophone. She told me that French was her second language, Berber being the first, but she sounded pretty near perfect to me.

She asked what my book was, and I showed it to her. She'd said she'd never read it. I did my best to explain, while she looked at me with her huge dark eyes. Julien gets involved with two women. Madame de Rênal is kind and gentle, and she truly loves him, but he is forced by circumstances to leave her. He then later falls in love with Mathilde. I remember that I described her as bizarre et cruelle, and added that she reminded me of someone I had once loved. She nodded; she had had a similar experience. I apologised for my very insufficient command of French. Vous trouvez les mots, she replied. I have always treasured this compliment. Usually I am inarticulate in French, but just then I was indeed able to find words.

We reached the end shortly before the train got to Grenoble. I helped her take her several suitcases out onto the platform. We said goodbye French style, with a kiss on each cheek. She seemed a little surprised that I made no attempt to get her contact details. We had really got on remarkably well, but it had been so perfect that I was sure anything else would just spoil it.

I never saw her again, but every time I think of Le Rouge et le Noir I think of her.