“Jeunes Voix” achieved for me another of education’s primary goals: It opened up an enthralling new world, something to which I could aspire. Yvone Lenard’s characters lived life with all the Frenchness we Americans love to think they do. In her hands, the French-speaking universe seemed coated with fairy dust. So enchanted was I that, years later, I would fly off to Paris to study French at the Sorbonne for my own little Christine moment (I even brought a dress like one Christine wore). There, my French reached a fluidity, if not fluency, and my interest in other worlds led me to pursue a career as a travel writer.

Adult life being what it is, my French went unattended, but recently, with a milestone birthday approaching, I’ve decided to study for and take the French Ministry of Education’s proficiency exam, a horrifyingly intimidating test that certifies you as someone who has at least a respectable grasp of the language. Turning to my old, beloved textbook as a study guide, I started wondering about Yvone Lenard, who she was and how she came up with her characters. Could I even find her, now that the book was almost 50 years old?

An obsessive search through the warps and wefts of the internet yielded an email response within 48 hours:

Dear Ms. Lichterman,

I am deeply touched and appreciative of your kind words about ‘Jeunes voix’ and would be happy to meet you. I think we live close to each other so would you come for a very informal lunch . . . I am sure we’ll have much to talk about.

Yvone

Ms. Lenard, now 96, stood smiling, arms extended, on the walkway of her home, less than nine miles from where I live, in a Southern California city where neither of us is a native (I’m a product of New York City, she of southwestern France) and where each of us happened to move in our adulthoods.