" Looking at the stars to know that
There is a star for me too,
I would smile at all eyes around me,
Not lowering my eyes!"

Tsvetaeva, 1909-1910.

I had written Anne a letter that was planner carefully the about the salon. I emphasized that it was held weekly at 20 Rue Jacob, and if she had time, she would be most welcome to participate in it. There would be discussion, and debates of current issues, literature, and poetry readings, music and so on. I pointed out to her that since Anne had studied and translated Greek, she might have a lot of comments on the matter if the debate slipped in that direction.

Anne responded quickly with a glowing letter that downright vibrated the experiences and emotions of the last few days in Paris. Gilbert had a great time with his colleagues, they argued late into the night. Katherine had not been heard of at all not since that day of their arrival, and it was a little queer. Anne suspected that Katherine had buried herself deep in the shelves of the Bibliothèque Nationale and read through certain works that could not be borrowed out from there, as the collection of that library was enormous.

Anne gratefully accepted the invitation and asked me to convey to the hostess her heartfelt greetings for the invitation.

So next week in the evening I accompanied Anne to Rue de Jacob 20 where Nathalie was waiting for us in the parlor. Rays of sun reflected on Nathalie´s hair and shadowed her face softly. Her lap was full of white and light red roses, she was wearing a cream-colored, loose-fitting dress with a violet-colored silk ribbon at the waist, and had assembled her rich hair into a soft braid adorned with beads. I immediately noticed that the costume in question was one of Eva's creations, her style was inimitable and unique.

Nathalie glanced at Anne quickly, and exclaimed softly to her: "Thou have a similar presence, and coloring to Eva, she is one of my dearest friends, unfortunately not present tonight."Anne nodded gracefully to Nathalie and laughed aloud in that same gleaming silvery tone, and replied to her that over time she was used to her hair, but when she was younger, she would have liked it to be pale golden shade or dark, inky tresses, instead of a red. She had been, then too thin, slip of a girl who was dressed in plain, efficent clothes with no frills and furbelows in them, and she had in fact had often imagined herself as some tragic and beautiful maiden of alabaster brow, and such, always causing a lot of different scrapes for herself in olden days..

Anne, now was wearing a hazy gray formfitting flowing dress embroidered with delicate floral motifs, each flower a different color, the end result was vividly charming. She had strand shimmering pearls around her neck, and that thick gleaming red hair was wrapped under a copious green hat, from which a few strands of delicate hairs were flowing down to a high collar of hand tatted lace. The gloves were long and light gray.

I smiled delightfully, noticing Nathalie's reaction to Anne's presence. Anne Shirley Blythe was indeed in a class of on her own. On a nearby table was a silver teapot, with thin, sleek porcelain cups on a tray. The scent of strong dark aromatic tea was intoxicating. We sat on a nearby divan and enjoyed tea, making lighthearted conversation, of current affairs, art and literature, and Anne's imaginations and impressions on their travels around in Europe and of Canadian maritimes, its glow, beautiful nature and reddish roads.

Large double doors were open to the patio, where a gentle evening breeze shook the branches of the trees. Anne slipped out to enjoy the evening air and to see the oranges, and herbs, perennial dryad with a greenthumb, as she is..

In the parlor there was a grand piano, ferns in vases, narrow chairs on the wall with a wide and comfortable divan, a graceful table in emipre style, a theme that continued in almost every furniture I had noticed.

I waved my fingers nervously in my lap. I had agreed with Nathalie that I would perform later in the evening in honor of Anne's presence here. Mentally, I was considering different options, and one of them would fit almost perfectly with Anne's sensitivities and interest, if not for other audience today, but this was not about them anyway.

Not tonight.

The light of dozens of candles was reflected in the mirrors and the air smelled of perfume, the wax of a dripping candles, and of strawberries as Nathalie's guests wandered from room to room in the house, some admired the art, and bookshelves, others stood in a small group outside on the patio, the sounds of lively conversations flowing in the evening. The aroma of delicious French food circulated in the house, soup, salads, cheeses. One table was topped with glasses, and on the corner table was a selection of champagne, red and white wine, ouzo, cognac, and lemon limonade, or rosewater, or plain water, coffee and naturally tea too.

Critic Remy de Gormount, had kidnapped Anne in the corner and both were in the throes of a lively conversation. Renee and Nathalie whispered to each other at the ferns and made long glances in Anne's direction. I laughed to myself as I passed them, though Nathalie´s earlier reference to Eva was really true, at least based on the pictures. Both of them were slender, long and red-haired, with delicate features. Anne Blythe seemed to have conquered all present, in her unique indefinable way.

Another corner was occupied by a short-haired, blue-eyed blond woman with strong features and a determined chin, in a high collared night blue dress was sitting in front of a drawing board, with pens next to her. She, too, seemed to be really taken to Anne and the whole atmosphere, of the salon. When Nathalie had introduced me to the woman, I almost staggered in place. It turned out that she was Ellen Thesleff, the artist whose self-image potrait, and art were in high demand right know in Paris. Ellen's attentive large blue eyes looked at every detail, calmly, and attentively as if to memorize the atmosphere of the evening, to some future work or sketch.

Writer, Colette and her Missy sat side by side on the divan and talked to each other, Colette was dressed in the usual way, and Missy was wearing a gorgeous cream-colored double suit, and a striped silk tie with a ruby pin.

Katherine Brooke again in a most becoming shade of deep dark red, seemed to be slipping inside to the house from the patio door, and someone else on her heels, graceful and delicate, dark-haired girl-woman. Her hair was twinned in braidcoronet, she had poppy-red cheeks, large tragically dark eyes, long lashes and a mangolian white dress, with lavender ribbons at her collar, the slender lace gloves covered the smallest hands I had ever seen, she had a folder in her armpit, and a bouquet of lilies in one hand.

Nathalie had by now finished her conference with Renee and as I watched as she glided into the center of the room, taking a glass of champagne and happily clapped her hands once. Nathalie´s voice rose clearly over the murmuring the of crowd: Levons la coupe pour l'amitié, la littérature et la camaraderie . There was a slight noise in the salong as varied guests lifted their glasses, the crystal of them radiating candlelight and toasted together. The evening flowed harmoniously forward, the dishes were tasty and the conversations all around were varied, intense, and passionate. I noticed that Katherine seemed to be sitting near the bookshelves and the piano had gained a vase full of lilies. I couldn't see a trace of the slender girl.

The time seemed to melt and I soon realized it was time to musical section of the evening. Nathalie had been earlier in a very pleased mood, for the whole evening, so I pondered it had to be something concerning the mysterious girl, with the lilies, or that Nathalie was only generally satisfied to see people enjoying themselves at her salon. I saw that Renee talked lively with Anne, in another corner. As I observed them covertly, she wrapped a strand of blond hair around her finger, it glittered in the light. I momentarily hoped that Renee would not do anything silly, hopefully her and Anne would only discuss travel, or even Greek grammar and varying interpretations of ancient myths. Renee was dressed elegantly in her usual dandy style, a creamy high collar shirt with a pale, lilac ribbon around her throat in a bow, dark cut-out tailcoat, silm dark trouses, a violet at the buttonhole, a dark top hat, narrow high laced boots, with small heels. I had asked Nathalie once why Renee always had a purple ribbon around her throat, or flower in her jacket. Nathalie had smiled sadly and noted after a pause, as if to collect her thoughts:

"The flowers and ribbon are a memory of Violet Shileito, the girl was the center of Renee's life and a passionate love that was apparently unfulfilled, Shileito died tragically of typhoid. No living woman can compete with the dead, at least not for very long, even though there have been many attempts of to do so."

The conversations were coming to an end and Nathalie stood up again from her divan, and stated delightfully smiling to all of us: "This evening is very exceptional, because tonight we will hear two performances instead of one. The first one is a little more exotic as our usual , who is pianist, will play Finnish composer Jean Sibelius's piano piece op 36.1. Piece is called if I understand correctly Svarta rosor, black roses vocalist is Katherine Brooke, Canadian traveler in residence here tonight, but before we start listening to music, let's drink one more glass of champagne. There are notes on that little side table with a translation of Sibelius' lyrics. A peaceful and enjoyable musical evening for everyone!"

I glanced quickly at Anne's direction and noticed that the bright red spots glowed on Anne's cheeks, she seemed clearly confused by Katherine's presence here, or Renee had impiled something unsavory, or the reason was the heat in the room.

I waved my hand to a passing maid, and asked her to open the windows. The girl did so, and wished softly for me a good evening and luck for my performance, and returned to the kitchens downstairs.

That pianist girl Virginie was whispering in a quiet voice with Katherine, stroking the keyboards with a light touch. She stretched her fingers and her eyes seemed to glow with some barely restrained feeling.

And then.

Flowing music, romantic and brightly dark flowing under the girl's fingers. I noticed she had no sheetmusic in front of her – sightreading, then.

And Katherine's voice was just so gorgeous, almost like what I had thought it would be. Little like a melted dark chocolate with a hint of smokyness. The lyrics struck directly into the hearts of audience. The melancholic, symbolistic depiction of love, of roses, especially one verse in the middle was extremely eloquent in its emotion of pure feeling, that Katherine rendered expertly melting tone.

"I mitt hjärta där växer ett rosendeträd,

som aldrig nånsin vill lämna mig fred,

och på stjälkarna sitter det tagg vid tagg,

och det vållar mig ständigt sveda och agg;

ty sorgen har nattsvarta rosor".

I pondered myself a little bit as to what point in life Katherine had learned swedish, but a world traveler has a need to all sorts of languages. Katherines voice glowed, and colored the lyrics of the song in a way that created unique tension combined with the evocative stillness of girl's piano - she was one of the best that I had ever heard.

As the hauting ballad drew to close and the final notes lingered in the room, that sharp evocative final note glimmered in the still air of the room. All audience seemed awoken from a trance.

Silence.

Suddenly everyone were clapping, and cheering.

I left them at it and went away, to the patio for a moments peace and to commune with nature, to collect my raging thoughts. When I was calm and peacefull, I slipped back inside, to upstairs to change my dress and gather sheetmusic..

The performers bowed and curtseyed, with a smile, and walked hand in hand to the divan, accompanied by flowing praise. Anne her color still high, walked decisively to Katherine and inquired softly: " Why have you never told me that you know how to sing. I always imagined that you just teach music and play the piano, not that you performed yourself. You were absolutely incredibly gorgeous, and that girl seems to be someone important to you, a protégé, of some sort is she?"

Katherine looked at Anne with quick glance and stated dryly, coolly " how would you know if you never asked, you know I'm doing recitals sometimes. As for Virginie, Katherine indicated to the slim shadow of a girl-woman beside her, with a sweep of her fingers. " I found her in Tver. I had decided to travel a little more widely in the area, as my schedule was for once, completely open. One night gilmmering tinkling piano music echoed from one particular open window, of a light colored house, with blue ornate window sills, from the end of dusty ulitsa, I was curious, and went to investigate. In the house there was few furnitures, ornate carpets, some food, dark bread, and tea, piroshikis, and candles, books, chests full of clothes, bed, and a large piano, and her. Virginie, playing for days and even nights sometimes. She had then finished the local lyceum, partly from home, as her health is delicate. Her family were away for that summer, and by the end of that August, I had wrangeld fom them a promise that I cloud sometimes take her with me as a companion to my travels."

The girl whispered something to Katherine in a quiet voice. Katherine laughed melodically and stated, Virginie has something to say to you Anne, she asks how you would define love, for her it is:" Love is like the spirit of the wind that rustles in roses." Anne smiled at her and softly replied:"I have always thought that human souls are reborn as different flowers of spring, and love, it is different for everyone, sometimes it takes to little time to find different kindred spirits in life."

Nathalie raised her voice again for a second time that night, addressing her guests. Mademoiselle Elizabeth Grayson, is familiar to some of thou. Tonight she sings us aria from Rossini´s opera `Le Donna del lango.` The composition of Rossini is based on the poem of Lady of the Lake, by Scott and it is one of the first operas that popularised Scott´s work in opera circles. Now I have a small request to make, if there is a pianist on hand could they come here in front to accompany the soloist?

The girl Virginie, got up from the divan, her skirts making sweeping sound on the carpets, as she slid quietly, noiselessly to the piano, glancing at the sheetmusic few times nodded, crossed herself with a fluid twist of slender fingers. She looked at me, questioningly, with large dark eyes smiling, as to say:"we are in this together now, let's make the audience happy."The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and the notes that were flung out of that piano with a caressing skill, were deep, resonant and clear. I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and began to sing that final aria of Elena's `Tanti affetti ni tal momento`. The lyrics spoke of the happiness achieved, at long last, and at that moment, as my voice echoed in the sudden deep silence of the room, bright, gleaming, creamy, and clean, coloratura-trills sweepingly sure and secure, filled with warmth, a tiny quiet thought crept into my to my consciousness, maybe the Islands of Happiness, and gateway towards Tomorrow was creeping closer.

As the slim, blond girl her hair in twined in complex braided crown, studded with pearls, and white roses, in slender hazy petal dream of a silkdress, gilded up in front of the piano, crossed her arms, the high pale pink gloves echoed the tint of her cheeks, and began to sing. The Rossini's pure, clear melody echoed, softly, carefully, the italian lyrics were pronounced in a creamy-bright, clean, harmoniously clear voice whose sub-register was surprisingly dark. As the high coloratura runs of that aria flowed through the room, Katherine felt tremors in her soul, and thought that she was witnessing something historical, that girl of Anne´s Elizabeth was really incredibly good. In fact, she might have been the same girl who recited Baudelaire's lyrics on Momartre.

Katherine looked in Anne's direction. Anne sat with her large grey-green eyes gleaming and starlike, her slender arms crossed on knees, hint of faint red stain, on her pale face, quietly a small tear rolled down her soft cheek as Elizabeth's voice rose higher, and higher..

A/N:

This chapter is dedicated to the wonderfully talented Alinyalehtia, who loves Rossini as much as I do. Thank you, as ever to all the readers for following, reading, lurking, and commenting, you are all wonderful! A peaceful Christmas time for everyone!

The french translation of that toast of Nathalies are as follows:"Let us toast, to friendship, to literature, and to companionship". That aria of Elenas Tanti Affetti is from G. Rossinis La Donna del lango (1819). Jean Sibelius Svarta rosor, Black roses, the original swedish lyrics are by Ernst Josefson, and Sibelius composed that particular piano composition Op. 36.1. in 1899. That translation of the middle line in english are as follows.

"In my heart there grows a tree,

Which never grants me rest,

upon its stems hangs thorn after thorn,

it causes me endless suffering and pain;

For sorrow has roses black as night".