Reprise: A Story of Reincarnated Love

*** 10 May 2007 3:10 p.m. Paris campus of École Polytechnique ***

Sean mounted the steep stairs fronting the Greco-inspired Administration Building of École Polytechnique. His tongue still rolled about on the lingering hot spicy after taste of the Moroccan pork ragout that he had ordered at lunch. He and Angelo had met at 12:30 at the cafe and chatted away for a good two hours. Sean had spilled his guts to his friend. He told him everything about his life-long predilection to visions, his sense of past lives, Felicia, the Foreign Legion, his day-and-a-half trip to Spain, and his sketches of Felicia.

Contrary to his expectations, Angelo had bought the entire story! The artist in him embraced the poignancy of the story, and his love for his friend made him an ally in Sean's quest now for meaning, and Dominique Vasser. "Reincarnation," he had told Sean, "is not, I think, a fantasy. I've always known that I'm not traipsing through this veil of tears for the first, or last, time!" He vowed to help Sean in any way he could.

They parted and Sean had rushed to the École. His mission was to secure personal information -- an address, phone number, work place -- about Dominique from the public computerized Student Registry.

He followed signage to the Registry room and sat before a vacant dumb terminal. He typed, "Vasser, Dominique" in the search window. An entry appeared instantly:

VASSER, Dominique
Registered 3d qtr
Soph ECON
Contact information: DECLINED

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! She had opted to maintain privacy on all personal contact information! The Registry was useless to him.

Dejected, Sean left the Registry room and, on the way to the exit, swung into the Adviseurs de Curriculum office. He asked the reception person, "Pardonez-moi, uh, I am trying to find a friend -- a second year economics major. Is there some central spot where econ students gather or study?"

The receptionist told him "no," but suggested that a glance at the Spring quarter catalog might be helpful. Classes were listed by year in the highly structured economics major, and he could see times and locations of classes his "friend" most likely would be attending.

Feeling a lift now, Sean had grabbed a catalog from a rack near the exit, and began his dismount of the stairs with the intention of parking himself under a tree and perusing the catalog.

Like almost every other student on the campus, Dominique felt as if an immense weight had been lifted from her as she bounced down the steps into the brilliant May afternoon. The last of her tests had been the one she worried about the most – not because she had a hard time memorizing the material, but because the professor was fond of giving trick questions that involved layers upon layers of research. This test, by comparison, had been cake.

Her earlier dour musings had evaporated, and she now saw the hour she spent picking apart the pomegranate as a sort of psychological feint. She had really been worried about the test, but had needed something else to fret over, so she had picked Labette.

With her bag slung over her shoulder and held in place with her thumb, she strode down the walkways toward the nearby metro station, half in a fog. She wished she had someone to talk to, someone to celebrate her impending graduation with. Someone whose hands she could hold and spin in a circle like an excited child. No one could take that away from her now. While an undergrad degree in economics was not enough to excel in the field, it was a colossal accomplishment for Dominique.

Her flowery red and white sundress fluttered about her knees, the breeze pushing the thin fabric against her body and her loose hair out of her face. It seemed to her that she could not remember the last time she really felt the sun on her skin, though she realized it was simply because she had spent so much time lately brooding and fretting. Now, even though she could finally go home and crash, she felt like dancing.

All of a sudden she decided that she would go back to the river and walk along the bank. Maybe she would treat herself to a glass of nice wine and some decadent dessert that she ordinarily would not indulge in. Maybe she would buy a paper and sit reading it in the sun.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she broke into a springy trot pass the library, and then tripped to a halt again when she spied a familiar pair of chinos heading across the quad toward one of the large trees that shaded the lawn. For a moment, she just stood squinting at him as she sought to decide if he really was the same man that she had seen last Saturday.

Sean spied the perfect spot to sit. Just as if he were again a student. Studying. Studying the second year economics class schedule.

He started to turn as if to sit beneath the tree, and she knew a moment’s panic at the thought that he might see her staring at him AGAIN. Turning away, she headed unthinkingly up the steps into the library, though once her hand touched the door she realized she had no idea what she was going to do: hide from him? He probably wouldn’t have even recognized her (assuming it was HIM!) if she had come nose to nose with him.

That thought stopped her just inside the vestibule – didn’t being nose to nose with him have some appeal? A flush filled her cheeks. She really was being stupid…

Sean turned about before reaching the shaded tree spot, on a lark, to see the clumps and knots of youthful students choking the grounds. Ahh! Ohhhh! There. There, mounting the steps into a building was.... Dominique! He was certain. Even from behind, and climbing stairs, he could see her unique pelvic motion as she moved. Her form-fitting dress accentuated every curve and contour. The same curves and contours as Felicia's. And, her ass. Her tight, proud, fine ass! Making her "exit" like this up the stairs. She was making an "entrance" as far as he was concerned!

But, where was she going? Would he miss her today? She passed into the building through the doorway.

Sean plotted quickly. He would move toward her fast, but not show that he saw her once he entered the building and spotted her. From the last time, she seemed like a wild gazelle, easily scared off in the blink of an eye. He walked rapidly toward the stairs, clutching the catalog tightly.

Dominique never got out the door, for He was coming up the stairs, a catalog rolled in His fist. Oh mercy, but He was handsome, she thought. How did He not have a bevy of women hanging on Him, following him about? For a long moment she did not move, then realized that if she did not hurry she would be in His way when he burst through the door.

He was on the stairs, now taking them two at a time.

She needed a place to hide! The ladies’ room! As if running from danger she trotted into the first doorway, making a quick left into the reference section.

Sean now burst through the door, but regained his composure and walked in slowly. She was nowhere in sight. It was the library. She could be anywhere! He followed his nose forward toward the stacks, passing the reference section without even a glance.

Dominique had ducked behind the first high shelf, cowering like a fool, really; however, peeking through the empty spaces in the shelves, she saw the buff chinos hurry by and simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief and felt a pang of disappointment. Straightening, she realized that it was so much more likely that He had just been coming in here. Maybe He had been looking in the catalog for the library. Oh, she really was being a twit.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she started toward the doors, still being careful to look to make sure that He would not see her, then frowning. Maybe she should just go look and see what He was up to. Maybe He was chatting with friends… or a little brother… or a girlfriend.

Sean moved swiftly into the stacks checkout area and approached the long, low counter. He looked up and down the width of the room and into the many-level forest of stacks, seeking a glimpse of her. Feeling totally ridiculous, given the reality of his age, he asked the young acned student behind the counter, "Uh, excuse me, please. You happen to see someone in a ... uh ... a red and white sleeveless dress go up there?" pointing up into the stacks. "My study buddy got away from me! Heh ha heh..." He felt like an ass, being able to manage only that nervous dry laugh. The student looked at him quizzically and she told him no one like that has passed through.

Sean backtracked, striding past the reference room again and turning right, off toward the sciences collection, peering at every corner and doorway carefully.

The trick, she decided, inching along in a manner that would have drawn attention from anyone who saw her, was in looking natural. Coming through the first room, she caught sight of His hair as He strode away from her toward the sciences, and bit her lip. Yes, now would be the perfect time to make her get away.

She turned to do so, and ran smack into her project partner - a tall, lanky, tow-headed boy of maybe twenty-one years who seemed to always have ink stains on his hands.

“Dominique!” he practically wailed as she came up short to keep from slamming her nose into his bony breastbone.

Sean froze in his tracks when he heard her name and wheeled around, lifting his head in the direction he had heard. He looked like a demented gerbil sniffing the air for a morsel of cheese. And, there! He saw the hem of her bright dress and her shoe just around the corner of the juncture of this wing with the main wing up ahead. He hugged the wall that led to her and crept slowly forward. He could hear what the two were saying, and that provided his homing signal.

“Richard!” she half hissed, her hands going to his arms as if to fight her own momentum. “Excuse me,” she tried to get around him, but he seemed to take her touch as an invitation.

Sean moved gingerly to the opposite wall and looked down toward the confluence of wings. Dominique's back was to him. She was talking animatedly, flailing her arms, with a male student of indeterminate age.

Grabbing her upper arms from beneath, he glowed down at her, clearly giddy with excitement. “How did you do? I saw you leave. You were finished so fast!”

Dominique pulled away from him, “It was easier than I thought. I have to go.” Why did she sound breathless? He couldn’t know her name, and surely would not have heard Richard’s injudicious greeting - would he? It suddenly seemed as if there was not enough air. “Have a great summer!” she added in a small, too-high voice over her shoulder.

Sean watched as she bustled off hurriedly and crashed through the doors, almost in a run. He hastened himself to the door and, looking through the glass panes, saw her descending the steps. He pushed the doors and stepped out.

The outside air was so thick that she felt as if she were running in ankle-deep honey. She fumbled with her bag, finally managing to get both straps over her shoulders as she headed off the campus in the general direction of the metro station. The shoes were not at all made for running in, the heels so narrow that she had to run on her toes for fear of damaging them, which only made her slower.

There was no chance of detection, Sean realized. She was ahead, racing toward the metro, not looking back or faltering her haste. He could follow her at ease. As they approached the metro platform, he lost himself behind strangers' backs in the crowd, keeping safe distance from her.

She would go to the river; she decided when the train going that direction was the one arriving as she clattered onto the platform. She should have done that anyway…

A train marked "Hopital Necker -- École Militaire -- Esp. Invalides" pulled in with the noisy, scrawling sound of a pitchy screech on the old worn rails. It stopped from the dead run as if on a sous, and people rushed to board it through the narrow doors that accordioned open. Sean watched her dash toward one car, and he bolted for the adjoining car in front.

She managed to find a seat, folding in half to rub a stone out from beneath her right foot, but a large man flopped down beside her, his arms outspread on the back of the bench to give everyone nearby the full brunt of his aroma. Dominique moved away along with several others, though the space was quickly filled by those willing to endure the stench just to sit.

Inside, the thick crowd ping-ponged around itself as people clamored for seats or the overhead hold bars. Sean wove through the standing mass of riders until he could see clearly into the other car through the windowed doors of each on either side of the articulated connector between them. There! She was just within, grasping the overhead bar. Sean grabbed onto a holder on the back of a seat and watched Dominique intently. She swayed as the train lumbered off, clinging to the bar.

As she often did, Dominique clasped the bar with both hands and then let her weight drop onto them, relieving her feet briefly and stretching her back, shoulders, and arms as she let her head loll. It never occurred to her that He would follow her, and so for the moment she was content. As she stood properly again, clinging to the bar with only one hand, she studied the map of the metro line idly, and decided then that instead of going all the way down to the river, that she would take in the grounds around Napoleon’s tomb. Everyone said it was a beautiful cathedral and perhaps it would not be too expensive to go inside. Really, she had seen very little of the city given how long she had been there, but there had never been anyone in her life that was interested in sightseeing, nor the money to do so.

The metro raced on towards the river to the north. It stopped frequently, arrived at the Necker Hospital , and spilled out with a cascade of riders, only to be claimed by crowds anew. Off they all sped. At the Military School, the train sat nearly five minutes in wait for riders from connecting lines. The car grew more humid and odiferous as its cargo perspired and chattered away with garlic-breath or stood silent in claustrophobic sweat.

‘Where were all these people going?’ Dominique wondered, cringing away from the people around her as if she somehow could make herself smaller.

"Esplanade des Invalides," the tinny distant voice announced over the train's broadcast system. Sean saw Dominique edging toward the door, and he did the same as the platform met the train. They stopped, and the doors whooshed open.

It was with a great deal of relief that she broke free of the crowd, turning her face into the breeze to catch her first deep breath in what seemed like hours. Unhurried now, she stood just looking for a minute before heading in the direction of the tall, glittering dome that jutted from the river side of the cathedral like an ornate afterthought. Ostentatious and too large for the landscape, she mused that it seemed perfectly suited to honor a man as famous for his over inflated ego as he was for his diminutive stature.

She strolled along at a leisurely pace, weaving this way and that around groups and picture-takers, soaking it all in. The lawn looked unnaturally green, and not for the first time Domi wondered how the gardeners managed that. Was it the type of grass, or just fertilizer? It reminded her of childhood home, for the country club had had begonias just like that, the red flowers startling against the green grass.

What a time to feel homesick, she mused. But then, perhaps not. She supposed it was logical to wish to have some family to be proud of her accomplishment even if they had been no help in attaining it.

What looked to be thirty or forty schoolgirls in blazers and plaid skirts were spilling out of a hired bus, the teens breaking into natural groups and generally blocking the path. Dominique had to come to a halt there to get in the queue to get past them, her head dropping to look at her feet.

Sean needed to jostle past two candidates for most corpulent Metro riders of the day to keep sight of Dominique, whose retreat from her car had been swift and unfettered. One of the large people gave him a nasty look and gargled under his breath as Sean muscled past.

The bright sunny day and gleaming cathedral dome over the magnificent final resting place of Napoleon Bonaparte quite blinded him for an instant, but then, Dominique’s svelte red and white flowery form came into clear view ahead. He felt a tug and burst of heat in his chest seeing, even from behind, the distinctive delicate pelvic forward-glide that accented her every second step. It had been her signature gait over centuries and the many lives that she and Sean had shared – lives that had soaringly mounted the heights of ecstasy and fulfillment, as well as lives that had plumbed the depths of human tragedy and despair. It all played so vividly in memory as he followed her.

The knowledge that he had found her succored his heart as nothing else had in this existence. His eyes saw glorious visions of her smiling face and outstretched arms…. suddenly, his field of vision filled with nothing but red and white and flowers….

She would never know what about the broad shadow behind her made her turn around to look, but when she came face to chest with Him, her lips fell open. He had followed her? Surely not.

The red and white and flowers blossomed into Dominique Vasser’s willowy, fluid body, sheathed tightly, oh, so invitingly, within them. Her lovely face was right into, under his; her wide eyes pierced into his with a slamming flood of memories and sensations; her bosom greeted his chest as if seeking the right place to dock. He’d nearly mowed over her in his reverie.

For what seemed like an eternity she just stared into his eyes, half in wonder, half in question, until someone behind him barked about rude tourists standing in the way with a wide, frustrated gesture. Oddly, it was to Him that she whispered her apology, sucking in a breath that she had not realized that she had been holding as she turned to weave through the teenage girls, who were being organized into groups of four and given coupons.

“Uhh – oh! Mademoiselle!” Sean exclaimed as she darted off. “S’il vous-plait, Mademoiselle” ….. his voice tapered down as she strode far out of earshot “… Vasser, he finished softly.”

He continued to follow her, but at a further distance now. The gazelle again was spooked, and could dart sideways from view with no warning or trail to follow.

Mon Dieu, why was He there? She had to stop herself from looking back to make sure she had not dreamt that up. That thought tore a hollow laugh from her throat as she clopped blindly swept toward the ticket counter along with the crowd. She made herself not look back. It was a coincidence, she told herself. She had to try and act normally.

It was at least 5°C cooler just inside the building, though as the afternoon sun had warmed her skin – and she was still flushed from discovering Him behind her – Domi relished in it as she tucked the paperwork into her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. The gilt and size of the dome seemed to swallow everyone up and she did not fight the movement of the crowd of older American tourists that she suddenly found herself among.

My god, the sound of their long, low, slow vowels and muted consonants made her want hug them! Entranced, she followed them forward and off to the right, eavesdropping on their discussion of the beautiful frescoed dome and the magnificent sculpted circular stone banister. Oddly, it was some minutes before they began discussing the tomb itself, a few of the men hanging over the rail to take pictures of the mahogany sarcophagus on its tall pedestal.

He watched her buy her ticket and pass with the motley throng of De Moins, Iowa, USA-type women’s auxiliary tour group and male Kiwanians crowd on holiday in Europe. She was ensnared now, he chuckled to himself. No escape save through the front portico. And, he would make sure she would not pass through the portico again without him at her side.

When one of the women gave her a side-ways glance and moved away, Dominique figured her eavesdropping was done and so moved around to the stairs to the lower level. It was dark down here in the gallery, the light from above meant to spotlight Napoleon’s final resting place above. The crowd was much thinner here; and it was so cold that she had to fold her arms over her chest for modesty as she found a long stretch of unoccupied wall and slipped to the floor, arranging her skirt around her as she slumped back and people watched with half-closed eyes.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cavernous memorial tomb he caught sight of Dominique rounding the gallery above the sunken tomb toward the descending half-spiral stairs. He followed her with measured step, and, taking a long glance downward at the magnificent sarcophagus and resting chamber, began a slow descent into the core of the place. And the core of his being.

She sat, alone, almost meditatively, against the wall, wrapping her bare arms around themselves for warmth. Had Sean only brought a wrap of some time, he thought to himself. He inhaled deeply. Brass tacks, he thought to himself. Down to brass tacks. Now, or lose her again.

He walked slowly, cat-like, toward where she sat. Within three arms’ lengths of her, he quietly slid himself down to the floor, resting on his heels with knees bent rather than sitting on his bum. The faster to catch her should she decide to bolt.

He took a few quick breaths. Turning to her, he spoke, softly, quiet in his tone, calm in his breast to translate with his voice. He smiled and spoke with a slight lift at the end of the word, “Mademoiselle? Pardonez-moi, s’il-vous plait, Mademoiselle.” She turned to him, and he knew she recognized him from the jolt of tension that registered through her torso. He must act, speak, quickly.

“Please, Mademoiselle. Oh, give me but a moment of your time. I believe you and I have a mutual acquaintance, and so there is no discomfort in my seeing you here.”

He turned his head away from her, leaned it back against the wall so as to give her wide berth while he spoke, avoiding, hopefully, any measure of intimidation.

A mutual acquaintance? Dominique squinted at him, relaxing a tiny bit, and then followed his gaze when he looked away to see if she could find the said acquaintance. The second group of uniformed schoolgirls was clamoring down the stairs – their maryjanes echoing like tap shoes on the stone and blending with their soprano giggles. She certainly did not know any of them.

Giving him an abashed look, Dominique explained, “I do not know whom you could mean, monsieur. We have a mutual friend?” His nervousness was making her edgy – though in fairness she doubted that there was anything he could do that would make being this close to him not make her catch her breath. She wondered if he knew what power he radiated. Was he aware that when women looked at him that a little bit of them melted? It was something Dominique had never experienced before – not even with Gus, who had all the charisma of a cult leader.

This man was dangerous. She knew it as instinctively as a deer catching the scent of a wolf. And yet, she was very much afraid that if he touched her she would not resist, but rather bare her throat to him as if begging him to bite her.

Mon Dieu! She had to stop with these romantic musings.

Sean kept his head directed away from her, much as he wanted to look at her; the quaver in her voice as she replied, almost totally concealed, nevertheless caught his attention.

“Oui---Angelo. Did you not meet my artist friend, Angelo LaRussa, near the Quai last week?” He knew she was listening, absorbing, and he continued, now adding a pleasant rhythm to his inflection. “Angelo is such a fine man, and gifted artist. He shares much with me. So, he told me that day of meeting a nice young student --- uh, economics, oui? And, you are then, Dominique, ahh uhm …. Vasser? Dominique Vasser.”

She did not recognize the name at first, her brows knitting together until he mentioned that his friend was an artist, and her expression relaxed a little. So he was friends with the eccentric gallery owner? But then she pouted slightly. Angelo had known she was going to the bank. Had he sent this man over to meet her? Had that been the old man’s intent, to set his friend up with her? It was outrageous. The man before her looked well beyond dating university students. Well, she supposed that was not entirely true. He did not look old, he simply looked… sophisticated. He looked like he should be dating supermodels or royalty. She suddenly felt very shabby in her knock off Oscar De La Renta sundress and consignment store sandals.

He knew her name. Of course, she had told the artist her name, not even thinking that he would remember it. Why would he, after all? Maybe she was not too young for this man, but she was definitely too young for LaRussa. He had to be nearly fifty!

He turned his head to her now, slowly, taking care to meet her eyes only fleetingly from time to time, all the rest of the while looking at her dress quickly or his hands or the sarcophagus and back again to her face. Ohhh, her lovely face. His breast ached so for her. Much as she was right there with him, she as yet was not. He rattled on, not giving her chance to do more than breathe and relax, which was his sole intent. He fibbed away, somewhat.

“Saturday last, Miss Vasser, Angelo and I were strolling to the Pont to cross over to the other bank, and I had a touch of the May pollen fever, you know. So, as we stood in the shade for me to catch my breath, you suddenly passed us, much by total coincidence it appeared. I saw you and Angelo saw you, but,” he fibbed now, “you did not see us it seemed. You were in quite a rush! In any event, Angelo immediately told me that you were his Miss Vasser. Well, and, there is not really more to say of that.

“So, can you imagine my great surprise to see you here, now, today, in one of my favorite hiding spots for just being with myself in all of Paris? I knew who you were outside, when we nearly collided. Alors, I am so pleased now to see you here.

“Ah, but Mademoiselle. You are chilled. Oh, yes, I can see you are. May…uh…may I take you up for a coffee with me? I know Angelo would enjoy hearing that you are well and that we spoke – particularly if the subject of conversation is him! Haaa! Haaa!”

Reflexively, she gave a soft little laugh at that, her gaze finally breaking away from his to look at the white flowers on her dress. She could imagine LaRussa taking pleasure at being discussed; the man had seemed to crave attention. But she was not sure that she could risk being alone with this man.

Granted, coffee was a long way from going back to his apartment - which, of course, she would not do (she hoped). She bit her lip and imagined she could feel his breath on her exposed neck as his teeth closed in. But if she refused him, what excuse could she give? Maybe she would just tell him she did not trust herself when he was near. Ha! Indeed, she could just imagine him blinking at her in confusion, then embarrassment when he figured out what she meant.

He stood, very slowly. Almost in slow motion, he eased along the wall nearer to her and extended his hand down to her. “Come, Miss Vasser, please, it would be my pleasure to buy you a coffee. Or a Vichy . Or a lager. As you may wish….” Sean’s insides clamored for control of self. Was he truly about to feel the touch, after so many eternal years, of his soul mate?

“Wine,” she heard herself saying, then blinked at herself in surprise and looked away, blushing before she looked up at him as she slipped her weight over onto her shins, her heels digging into her backside. “Something to toast with. It is the last day of classes for me, and I was thinking earlier that I wanted to celebrate, but I could not find any of my friends. So I came down here to wander around.”

“Ah,” Sean nodded in understanding, reaching further to her.

“Le ciel ont la pitié, but that sounded lame. “I finished my undergrad work today,” she added with embarrassed pride, giving him a very small, self-conscious smile as she bravely slipped her fingertips from the web of thumb and into the hollow of his palm and then gave a strangled little gasp.

“Ooo,” her eyes went wide and glassy, and she started to sink back onto her heels before she shook her head and recovered. “Déjà vu,” she explained, finding her mouth dry and her legs shaky as she pressed her weight into his hand and rolled back onto her feet. “As if I had been here, on my knees before you, my hand in yours before.” It was already blurring, leaving behind only the eerie feeling of impending doom that always seemed to accompany the phenomenon.

“Ah, ohh—Mlle. Vasser. Here, steady yourself.” He cupped his other hand under her elbow and held her hand more tightly, and his leg brushed against hers lightly. He drew back quickly, still supporting her and holding her steady.

“Oh, I am fine,” she assured him almost too quickly as she danced away, her free hand covering her elbow where he had touched it. On the plus side, she was no longer cold, her skin actually a bit flushed as she withdrew her other hand from his, pressing the fingers unconsciously against her chest before using that hand to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt as the other adjusted her bag.

Sean stood very still, hands at his sides, totally open and magnanimous in a way. He was smiling at her, gently, warmly. “You know, Mlle. Vasser, they say that déjà vu is a window to our past lives, our past existences. Do you ever feel that you’ve, uhm, not just ‘been here before,’ but lived a whole other life sometime earlier?”

Her gaze moved from his hands to his face when he spoke and then back as if trying to find some source of the heat she had felt. Distracted, she had to think for a long second before shaking her head just a little. “I am afraid I have not given the matter any thought.” That was both true and simple. “But it is the most disconcerting experience. As if time has folded in on itself.” She had recovered from the creepiness by virtue of the analysis.

He moved on toward the staircase, motioning for her to go ahead of him. “Ah, mon Dieu! Pardonnez-moi beaucoup! I have not even introduced myself,” he said as they reached and began to mount the stairs. “I am Sean LeBeque. And, most pleased to meet you, an acquaintance of the grand Angelo LaRussa!”

Brows knitting together, Dominique turned to frown at him, though the expression did not survive first contact with his disarming smile. “He mentioned your name to me,” she stated, “Saturday afternoon, he…” LaRussa had seemed to be fishing for something. “He said his gallery was near yours.”

Sean pulled abreast with her, looking down and smiling as they strolled slowly across the stone floor of the crypt. “Ah, yes yes, indeed,” he replied. “He and I both ply our trade near the Isle. He has a working artisan’s gallery, and I a brokerage. I am on the Rue Ste Croix la Bretonnerie.” He fell back and motioned for her to mount the stairway ahead of him. “And, well, you know, I cannot fathom why he, so recently an acquaintance to you that day, would mention me---a total unknown. Haaaa!! Perhaps to ‘impress’ regarding the art circles he travels.”

They climbed the stairway to warmth and the now and here slowly. To Sean, with ‘Felicia’ in the lead, looking beautiful and strong without her even knowing her own strength, it was the stairway to heaven.