Overhead, a canopy of tender green leaves gently sways with her every move. Glimmers of sun wink through the branches and spin her hair into gold. She wears a gauzy white dress that flutters down to her pink satin shoes. Students in straw hats and elegant women streaming out of the Bon Marché stop to stare. Suddenly she begins to run, graceful as a ballerina, past the students and the shoppers, past tightly corseted ladies and top-hatted gentlemen. She runs, until breathless and panting, she reaches the gilded gates of the Luxembourg Gardens. Handsome as a prince, Pyotr stands there waiting. The sleeves of his shirt billow in the breeze. They stretch out their arms to grasp each others’ hands. Lidia and Vera shower Angela and Pyotr with fresh blossoms. The students and gentlemen invite the ladies from the Bon Marché to dance. Everyone is dancing. Round and round, faster and faster. Too fast. Pyotr and Angela cannot stop. They whirl out of the park, onto the docks, too close to the water.
