The radiance of the descending fireworks danced across the river in a confluence of brightness. Flashes of flaming orange mingled with the golden hue of the imperial crown of the United Kingdom. Brilliant blues collided with ribbons of scarlet and glittering white stars, the colors of the Union Jack, as they jetted across the gentle waves. The crowd cheered wildly, waved paper flags, and tooted their tin horns as they celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of their king’s reign. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she said breathlessly, her face bright with excitement. Her hostess in London, Lady Clerk (pronounced Clark), smiled benevolently and twirled her lorgnette. The aristocratic Englishwoman, who had become an intimate of the Chagall family when her husband served as ambassador in Paris, was amused by Ida’s naive excitement. Chagall’s daughter was so young, actually, an adolescent although she had been married for a year.
