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for her robe, she yawned and
stretched her petite body, pulling out the kinks from her battle
with her covers. As she donned the robe and tied it at her waist,
she walked to the window of her small, cozy and—to her mind and
great satisfaction—beautiful apartment.
    She pulled open the dark green, wooden
shutters to the window. The morning light of Paris immediately
streamed into the large room that served as parlor, bedroom, and
dining room. Its yellow walls brightened with the rosy sunlight of
the Paris morning. The splashes of bright blue and lavender she had
tossed about the room in the form of a glass-shaded lamp, pillows,
vases, and the little painting she had bought from a local artist
always raised her spirits.
    The breeze immediately lifted the scents from
the little garden below the window. It had just started coming to
life the week before. She inhaled deeply, letting the wonderful
scents of the morning air fill her, lifting her mood. Basking in
the morning, she wondered if there was anywhere any more glorious
in the spring—or any other time, for that matter—than Paris.
    Behind her landlord’s quarters was a small
courtyard where he had permitted her to plant a small garden that
she thought of as her own. The rose bushes were just coming into
leaf. It would be a few weeks before their first spring blooms
would scent the air. The hyacinths and other wonderful spring bulbs
she had planted were already putting their perfume into the air.
Someday, she sighed to herself, someday she would have a home of
her own with gardens galore. And water, she thought. Yes, she must
have water—blue and peaceful water. Her sigh was one of utter
peace.
    Smiling, she thought of her landlord, the
tiny, fragile-looking eighty-six-year-old Mssr. LeGard. So aptly
named, he thought of himself as her guardian, her protector from
the dangers that he felt awaited her out on the surrounding streets
of Paris. He might look frail, slightly bent, and small in stature.
But, she giggled to herself, the man had the heart of a feisty,
young lion.
    Her uncle would never have permitted her to
get her own apartment if she had not found such a protective,
caring landlord. Mssr. LeGard constantly urged her to eat more, get
out more, and find another handsome young man. She felt her heart
clutch, then put the thoughts of the past away again.
    Oh well. Yawning and stretching one last
time, she spoke aloud to herself. “It’s time to stop your
daydreaming, Blair. Your day has begun, and…” looking at the clock
on her desk, she jolted, “you are already late!” Except for the
smudges of color under her eyes, the nightmare was forgotten for
now.
    Opting for a quick shower instead of the long
hot soak she longed for, she ran to the bathroom removing her robe
and nightgown as she ran. Once she was finished bathing, she
wrapped a towel around her hair and went to her closet. She
selected her favorite blue dress with its large buttons down the
front and its collar that closed just a few inches below her chin.
Taking little time for make-up, she piled her long, quickly-braided
blond hair on top of her head and pinned it securely.
    Once she had dressed for work, she grabbed an
apple that would serve as her breakfast. Ready to start her day,
she ran out her apartment door, then down the steep, narrow
stairway. She quietly passed Mssr. LeGard’s door and ran out the
front door of the building. She had always thought it was a sweet
little building. It sat on one of Paris’s cobbled streets in a
neighborhood that was centuries old. The building in which she
lived had been there for at least one of those centuries. It had
been Mssr. LeGard’s home for most of that century. He had married,
raised a family, and—sadly, she thought—outlived them all.
    As she rounded the corner of the building,
she saw Mssr. LeGard returning to the house with his arms loaded
down with packages from the marketplace. She would have loved to
help him with his packages, but