the note is older than the meal. it has been written, in roughly this form, for years — a household formula for a kitchen left in trust. the figures change. the small jar stays small and forbidden and is, in fact, only mustard, kept for the sunday joint.
the dinner was eaten slowly, by the window, with the cabbage gone slightly cold. the bread was good. the small jar was left alone, less out of obedience than because the kitchen at that hour did not invite enquiry. M. came home at ten and found the dish washed, the cloth folded, and the note still on the table — turned over, as if the reader had wanted, before leaving the room, to give the writer back the last word.