The lake scene was actually average. At least, at this stage of learning, dancers were learning fine. Louis Mérante carefully observed Rosita Mauri's Odette as she was soloing her scene like a real princess. Those hands moves… They were perfect for Odette, and she had perfected their contrary for Odile, giving both characters a very different feeling. He had watched Madame Périssé, the former Prima, in charge of teaching actual Primas and Soloists, but nowhere in her explanations and demonstrations had he found Rosita's inspiration for such a detail. She must have had a breakthrough, that would be typical of her, Mademoiselle Never-Give-Up.

Joseph joined Rosita and both started to Pas de deux. He was a timid boy, but really, that made him the perfect support dancer for Rosita's regal nature. Totally unlike Charles, who even in backstage could not keep quiet. He had really hoped the Sorcerer's role would have tired him out, unfortunately, it had not yet. What a phenomenal stamina. Always busy talking, and talking, and talking.

Louis Mérante suddenly caught a glimpse of a something long behind the young man, and he almost heard him gasp before falling totally quiet. Taking a step back, the man left some visual space to a familiar figure, half hidden behind a curtain, her cane the only clue of her presence. Well, the Ballet Master was not the only one inviting himself into other's classes apparently, he mused internally.

The scene ended, and Rosita and Joseph exited the stage. The Corps de Ballet kept dancing, Little Swans ready to appear. Louis Mérante was about to focus on them when his eyes stopped on Rosita. She was talking discreetly to a cane behind a curtain, and mimicking hands movement. A thinner hand raised slowly and showed her a specific movement, that the Prima mimicked.

In Louis Mérante's head, everything fell into place. Of course. Only one woman could keep surprising him, right?

"I need information."

"I beg you pardon?" Rosita startled, as she was taking off her slippers.

"I need information that only you can give me," Louis Mérante said kneeling next to the lone Prima and looking her straight in the eyes. "Please."

"Did you just say please?" The girl gaped mockingly.

"You have been training with Odette," he replied, unflappable. "Right? She is the one that gave you those hands' movements."

"Yes," the Prima answered cautiously. "What's wrong about it?"

"Nothing is wrong about it," he countered. "You have been dancing in Marie Taglioni's style for the last month and I just realised it today, that is what is wrong."

"I wasn't trying to taunt you, you know?" She smiled.

"Don't be silly," he impatiently waved off. "You have been training with Odette for a while, and for the sake of me, not once have I witnessed that teaching. Please, can you tell me where you two are rehearsing?"

"I don't really want to," she pouted, massaging her sore feet at the same time. "It's a cosy training just for us."

"I understand that. I don't want to intrude in your lessons. I just want to see Odette dancing," he said calmly.

Rosita furrowed her eyes at him.

"I never said anything about Odette dancing," she tried to discourage him.

"She is standing straighter. She walks faster, her limp is way less noticeable," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. "She barely uses her cane to help herself move."

"Maybe it's the effect of not being a cleaner anymore," Rosita suggested innocently.

Louis Mérante sighted.

"Félicie told me," he muttered.

"Oh Dios," Rosita grumbled. "Odette was right, that cute kid cannot keep a secret."

"Are you going to help me?" He insisted.

She slowly stood and he followed.

"Why should I help you satisfy your curiosity about something so personal to Odette?" She asked.

"It is not curiosity," he said, then hesitated. "I… I wish I could understand her better, that's all. She is going to be one of my teachers one day, and I've seen all my teachers dance. How a teacher dances, it tells me a lot about what is taught to my dancers."

Rosita seemed to think, her eyes almost weighting up the man. She had been watching Odette dancing recently, and she had felt her frustration. The woman was starting to reach the limits of her body, and despite everything she said and did, she could feel the want and need to go further. Except her right leg would never allow her.

"You were Premier Danseur in Russia, right?" she asked.

"Premier Danseur Noble," he replied proudly. "Why are you asking?"

She nodded.

"Yes," she said. "I'm not a hundred percent sure of this, but it could work. What are you doing tomorrow morning around 9 AM?" she asked.

"On a Sunday? Probably having breakfast," he answered, frowning. "What are you-?"

"Be in Madame Rochefort's classroom, at 9 AM, dress up for training. And be discrete, stay behind the curtains," she ordered him, before lowering herself to grab her slippers.

"Thank you," Louis Mérante answered, suddenly relieved.

Of course she would be dancing on a Sunday.

"A wink from Hesper, falling fast in the wintry sky, comes through the even blue, dear, like a word from you… Is it good-bye?" recited Félicie, her head upside down on her bed. "Across the miles between us, I send you sigh for sigh. Good-Night, sweet friend, good-night: till life and all take flight, never good-bye," she finished, her eyes lost into the ceiling. "Victor is going to be my Hesper. He better write to me, or I'll go to America and kick his sorry butt."

"Language, Félicie," Odette murmured, busy with repairing a pair of slippers.

"I hope he won't forget me," the kid whispered sadly.

"He won't. He is still convinced you are his fiancée after all," the woman remarked with amusement.

"Hm."

Silence fell, only troubled by Odette's discrete sewing sound.

"Odette?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever fall in love?"

She paused and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe once yes. Why?"

"What was it like? I mean, how did you know it was love?"

The woman thought for a few long seconds. She had been so young… It seemed like a classical love story honestly.

"His name was Pâris," she began.

"Like our city?"

"Yes. He was my partner on Ensemble dancing."

"Was he good at dancing?"

"He was the best of our age range. Which was why we were paired up together. The director of the Opéra, Olivier Dufrenoy at the time, hoped to make us the new perfect stage couple. I was quite young, almost thirteen, he was fourteen. He was a beautiful boy, with an easy smile. I remember feeling overwhelmed every time he would smile at me," she murmured.

"Did he love you back?"

"I had quite a few admirers, I must admit, and I may have played with them all a bit," she hid her smile, Félicie was still so young, she didn't need to know more about that for now. "But Pâris, he loved everyone equally, and took care of each of us. Now that I think of it, maybe I was in love with him because of how normal he made me feel."

"Hm..."

"This is not a romantic novel, so there is no declaration of love, nor tragic broken wedding," Odette said, eyeing Félicie's hopeful eyes. "We just drifted apart, he left for England to join their Troup and I became Prima here. And you know the rest."

"He wasn't your Hesper."

"No, I haven't talked to him in a long time. I think he is in America now."

"Hmpf. Boys and America…"

"Hmm."

"I don't know what romantic love is," Félicie finally sighted, sitting back correctly. "I think I've never fallen in love. I love Victor, he is like a brother to me, and I really like Rudy, but, er… He is my partner, my inspiration to always be better at dancing. Camille brought me books the other day, about love and princesses and chivalry, but I can't get it. What does love look like, for real? How will I know that I'm in love when it happens?"

"I know girls who have never fallen in love," Odette answered. "I don't think it is something mandatory to live a full life, and I definitely think romantic love from books are far from reality love. Actually, William Henley has maybe the closest reading on what love could be."

"Which poem?" Félicie demanded, grabbing the poetry book that never left her bedside.

"Between the Dusk of a Summer Night."

Pages were turned, and the girl cleared up her voice.

"I don't remember this one," she muttered before declaiming at an easy rhythm.

"Between the dusk of a summer night

And the dawn of a summer day,

We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,

And we bade it stoop and stay.

And what with the dawn of night began

With the dusk of day was done;

For that is the way of woman and man,

When a hazard has made them one.

Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,

The World went thundering free;

And what was his errand but hers and mine -

The lords of him, I and she?

O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,

And the marvel of earth and sun

Is all for the joy of woman and man

And the longing that makes them one."

Silence fell as Félicie silently reread the poem several times, trying to grasp for some sense. Odette, on the other hand, had laid down the repaired slipper and was staring into emptiness.

She remembered her tenderness for Pâris, their first kiss, the first time they had sex. They had been each other's first, and it was awkward. She was very glad she was not menstruated yet at the time, or consequences could have killed all of her dreams easily (it happened to so many ballerinas). They didn't do it much afterwards, and one day she realised she just wasn't into him anymore. Then began her exploration of other female pleasures, in the sweet company of a ballerina friend, but that was entirely something else.

"Is this poem saying that love is a mood that randomly happens, and that it ends as suddenly as it starts?" Félicie tried to sum-up. "And that's why it's joyful?"

"That is a good sum-up," Odette approved. "And it is very similar to what I experienced with Pâris. Maybe you will live something different though?"

"You have never fallen in love since then?" Félicie insisted. "Like, if you did, we could compare both and see what they have in common?"

"I haven't," Odette replied, rolling her eyes. "You are talking like a doctor trying to compare experiments…"

"I will ask Rosita if she has loved," Félicie muttered, barely listening to her mother figure.

"Félicie," Odette said on a warning tone, her eyes severe. "What I am telling you here, I don't want you to repeat it to everyone. Am I clear?"

"Yes, don't worry," the girl impatiently nodded, putting the book back in its spot.

"I am extremely serious, Félicie. If you betray my trust, I will know, and I will end up not telling you anything anymore. Do you understand?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," the girl replied, both hands in the air. "I won't tell anyone."

"Alright."

Silence.

"Will you tell me if you fall in love again?" Félicie demanded hopefully.

Odette gave her a weird look.

"Maybe. I'm not making any promise here," she said, shrugging.

"Yeah, yeah," the girl smiled. "I think you deserve it. I mean, life has been so harsh on you, it would only be fair that God rewards you with love."

"Hmm."

Odette had not yet told the girl that her belief in god had been seriously damaged ten years ago. She had not laid a foot in a church since then, and quickly found out she didn't mind it one bit. But that was a discussion for another day.

"Alright, time for bed," she murmured, cautiously lowering the oil lamp strength. "Under the covers you go, young lady."

"Aye, aye."

Odette sat on the bed once the girl was completely tucked in.

"Good night Félicie. And if you want to know what love is like, just look around you. There are people who love you, like I do," she murmured, brushing the kid's hair tenderly with her hand.

"Uh," the girl muttered sleepily. "That's not romantic love though."

"It is still love," Odette smiled, giving her one kiss on the forehead. "Motherly love."

"Thank you," Félicie sighted, half asleep. "Love you like mom too."

Odette laughed discreetly and stood. Nothing could stop her from loving that child anymore.

He thought about it for the whole walk from his apartment to the Opéra. His mind was in a loop, rehearsing Odette's emotional face as she watched Félicie and Rosita dancing together on their first representation, her gasp when he kissed her tear, her bitten lips when he asked to talk to her, her avoiding eyes when he insisted that she took his wooing seriously. Her sad smile when she explained she was dedicated to Félicie now, and that she was not letting anything else take more importance than the girl in her life. He had not understood at the time.

Now, he had seen her teaching, he had witnessed the evolution of Rosita's dancing. Marie Taglioni's spirit, which had once totally inhabited Paris Opéra, was slowly coming back to life through Odette's teaching, and it was something he never thought he would witness. He had embraced Petipa's dancing technique, and had brought it back from Russia to Paris six years ago. Marie's style, while admired by many, had not lasted long enough to shine and affect other Companies' dancing style like Petipa's.

Odette wanted to transmit that legacy. Even if she had not clearly said it, everything she had been doing since Félicie's arrival at the Opéra was in this objective. Maybe she was not even truly conscious of it? Louis didn't know about the woman's thoughts, and he would certainly be the last to guess them. Odette was the most secretive person he had ever met… No wonder he had spent five years at the Opéra without truly realising the woman cleaning floors was actually the same person as that exceptional girl that danced Clara with Marie Taglioni like no one had before.

Louis Mérante was roused from his thoughts when he realised he was standing in front of Louise's classroom, not daring to push the students' door, yet already changed in his training clothes. They had a reassuring weight on his frame, and he took several slow and deep breaths to calm down. Stay calm. You are going to see Odette dancing. First time since the Nutcracker, when she was eleven. Breath.

He pushed the door, careful not to have it make a sound. Louise's classroom had a peculiarity that was beneficial to both teachers and dancers: the whole side with the students' entry door was enclosed with a heavy curtain, creating a kind of sluice between people preparing and people dancing. And in this peculiar instance, it allowed Louis to silently reach the end of the curtain to discreetly peek inside the training part of the room, wide and luminous.

A lone silhouette was working on quick pointes in the middle of the room. Her bun was high and tight, in dark clothes from torso to ankles (where did she find such dark tights?), with a wide neckline revealing white and thin collarbones. Her pink slippers were precise and sharp, her pose, straight and firm. Louis thought at first she was another dancer. He had not prepared for her being dressed differently. Then he saw her right leg tremble while trying to pointe on both legs. She sighted and got back to her left leg, working this time on tendus and jetés. Her body twisted slowly and gracefully and he felt his breath catching in his throat. The way she carried her arms in a slower motion than her leg… He had forgotten about that. It was beautiful.

He watched her for a long while. He had no sense of time passing, and he didn't care. He saw how limited she was, and yet, how graceful she could be. She partially danced variations of Swan Lake Act One, in a simplified yet meaningful way that was quite remarkable. He could see her thinking while she mimicked some parts, how she arranged some moves to make it more accessible and less demanding. She was writing Students' Special Swan Lake before his eyes.

When she was working on Odette being surprised by Siegfried at the lake for the first time, he started to inch closer to her half-consciously. She could barely dance the scene, but seemed determined to push her body far enough to grab at least one arabesque. He quickly positioned himself behind her, while she was too concentrated to notice him in the mirror, ready to help her balancing. Her rising right leg was trembling and he could almost feel her strain as his hand hovered over her hip. She suddenly inhaled, and a tremor roused through her. He caught her hip with his left hand and her leg with his right before her body could falter, and swinged expertly her weight on his arms, relieving her fast enough to allow for the arabesque to end gracefully.

She was quick to break the position and turn towards him, seeming both outraged and abashed. He raised his eyebrows and she opened her mouth but seemed voiceless for a few seconds. He had not released her hip yet.

"I trust you were just testing the arabesque for fun, right?" He finally commented, a smile dancing on his lips, hinting at how happy he felt. "Because clearly, I would not trust a thirteen years old girl to succeed it on stage."

"Of course not," she frowned, seeming to have found her voice back. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw light and heard someone dancing. Nice outfit by the way, suits you well," he added lightly, releasing at least his hold on her.

"You…" She didn't seem to know what to say for once. "Thank you," she finally muttered, her cheeks reddening as she lowered her eyes to the ground.

"Can I dance with you?" He asked, searching for her eyes again.

"With me?" She raised her gaze to his, alarmed. "Why?"

"You look like you could use a premier danseur on the lake scene," he justified, waiting patiently with his hands in his back.

He was afraid he was going to grab her again subconsciously if he kept them in front of him. She frowned, and suddenly her blue eyes scrutinized him closely.

"How long have you been watching me dance?" She calmly asked.

"I am not sure. Seeing you dance made me lose track of time," he admitted with a slight shrug.

Her eyes widened and she bit her lower lip, seemingly embarrassed.

"What about this," he suggested. "You keep dancing as you planned, and I will just warm-up at the barre in the meantime. It will leave you all the time you need to decide if you should kick me out, or just accept my help."

He treaded calmly towards a faraway barre, showing his back to her, internally praying that she would not kick him out immediately. He began stretching and doing pliés, careful not to watch her, or at least not letting her feel she was being watched. He heard her going back to her dancing timidly, and he angled himself astutely to be able to see her reflection through several mirrors, as she redid the passage she was working on. Her dark red skirt moved slowly around her, sometimes revealing a knee or two as she turned. She had the thinnest legs he had ever seen, especially for a dancer. It scared him a bit, as if she was going to break in the middle of a grand battement.

"I am not sure of what thirteen years old boys cannot dance," she suddenly admitted aloud, resting in fourth position.

He finished his jeté and turned towards her.

"Ah yes. Rudolph sure is good at making people believe thirteen years old boys can dance anything, right," he said with a sight. "Russians kids have no limit, and often end up at thirty years old with terrible pains in the body."

He joined her to the centre of the room and laid out his hand questioningly.

"I can show you what they can't or shouldn't be dancing, if you want," he said. "Solo and Ensemble."

"I am watching," she replied, coming back to third and taking his hand.

He really tried to not let his thrill show too much, but she wasn't fooled, and gave him back a discreet and amused smile.

"Before we do so, I am sorry, but I have to ask you that question. Is there a place I should not touch, on your body?" He dared asked, his eyes concerned.

Her smile disappeared and she frown slightly, before nodding.

"Yes, thank you for asking," she murmured, before delicately rising her skirt. "Don't hold my right thigh around here, and absolutely do not touch my right knee. Be careful not to press too hard on my right hip, in this area," she answered extensively, pointing at each zone over the tights and the leotard.

"I see," he muttered, taking mental notes. "I will be careful."

She nodded, let the skirt float back around her leg and looked him in the eyes. He smiled lightly and got into fourth position.

"Alright," he said. "The main difficulty for the boy dancing the Prince will certainly be to follow the ballerina, and not lead the dance."

"That's for sure," she approved as he began turning around her.

"Do you have a boy in mind for the part already?"

She smiled.

"We both know who it will be, Monsieur."

Félicie had trouble getting up since she had been living at the Opéra with Odette. Maybe it was because she lived next door to her classes now, so why rush, or maybe because she felt safer here than she had ever felt before. Or maybe both. In any case, she knew she was not obligated to anything on Sundays, but when she woke up late, like today, she couldn't get any food from the kitchen, Emma being too busy preparing the Troup's meals. All she could do was change quickly and dance to forget hunger. She was used to it.

She knew on Sunday mornings Odette was training in Madame Rochefort's classroom. The woman had admitted to her that she had taken a liking to the wide bays giving on the rumour of the street. Félicie was rushing joyfully to the Student's door of the classroom when she realised it was wide open. She slowed down carefully and gave a quick glance inside the curtained anteroom. Rosita was sitting against a far wall, completely dressed for training, a finger over her mouth warningly. She motioned the girl to silently come over to sit and watch with her. Félicie obeyed, more out of trust than understanding. She slowly crawled into the woman's arm, pressing her face to look through the curtains' thin opening.

Louis Mérante had a hand on Odette's right hip and was slowly helping her turn in her arabesque pose. It was a striking sight, the dark colour of Odette's clothes against his white training outfit. The white of his hand on her hip, on her leg as he accompanied her down gently. Félicie felt herself blush and turned to Rosita, confused, full of questions. The Prima mysteriously winked at her while smiling, and put another finger against her lips. She then rose and silently made her way out, disappearing in a flutter of her tutu.

Félicie remained where she was, completely absorbed by the scene in front of her, admiring each move in the ever-present silence of the room. She watched as Odette pointe'd, jeté'd her right leg in front before arching back, blindly falling backwards. The Ballet Master caught her as if all was planned, accompanying then negating her fall, helping her back up effortlessly. It was the most graceful scene Félicie had ever seen, both dancers seeming entranced in the effort of the moment. The girl gripped the curtains, her eyes as wide as the night she had witnessed Rosita dancing for the first time.

They redid the same move, still perfectly to Félicie's eyes, and Odette did one last arabesque, her face lowering as her leg rose behind her while Mérante still held her hip. He helped her turn and find balance as she came back up and lowered herself back to third position. They started murmuring, mimicking some moves. She seemed adamant on something he would keep shaking his head over. Félicie wished she could be a little mouse in Odette's pocket, so that she could hear what they were saying.

Odette suddenly turned around, as if hearing something, and her eyes went straight to Félicie's position, who gasped while throwing herself back behind the curtain. Had she been spotted?

"Félicie, come here," Odette called aloud in her ever-calm voice.

The girl groaned over her lack of discretion, and timidly made her way towards the couple looking at her.

"Really, what is it with watching secretly from behind that curtain nowadays," Odette was muttering, her fists on her hips. "I will just keep it wide open next week."

"Good morning Monsieur," the child said, timidly looking towards Louis Mérante's direction.

"Good morning Mam'zelle," he answered, his face neutral yet his eyes radiant.

"Sorry Odette," the young ballerina then told her foster mother. "I didn't want to intrude … You two were so beautiful."

"Thank you," Odette said with a slight smile. "I have a question for you though."

"Yes?"

"Have you danced a Pas de deux with Rudy while training with him?"

"Er, yeah, all the time!" The kid laughed. "The first time, he porté'd me like I was some kind of bird, and then he threw me! As if I would be able to fly?! I swear, I got a bruise that lasted for days after that fall," she winced.

"He threw you?" Louis Mérante muttered, incredulous. "What… Why?"

"I really don't know," she confessed with a grimace. "But he did not do it again."

"Dear Lord," the Ballet Master muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose painfully.

"I thought so," Odette sighted. "Well, thank you. Do you want to train now that you are up?" She added.

"Can't I just sit and watch you guys dancing?" She replied hopefully.

"Well…" Odette murmured, hesitating.

"You would get spoiled about the Students' Special Swan Lake then," Louis Mérante observed. "How good are you at keeping that secret?" He added with a raised eyebrow.

"Er…" Félicie muttered, very aware of the discussion they both had yesterday night about Odette's wound.

"Very bad," Odette whispered wistfully.

"I can keep a secret!" The girl protested, seeming scandalized.

"Here is what we can do," Odette suggested, obviously still planning while speaking. "You go train on the right side of the room, and we do our Swan Lake choreography on the left side. This way, you won't hear anything we say. If next week I do not see any Coryphée dancing what you witnessed, you will be allowed to watch us again next week. How is that?"

"Deal!" Félicie exclaimed excitedly, before fusing to the far side of her part of the room.

"So we are doing this again next week," Louis Mérante murmured thoughtfully.

Odette froze then blushed while turning towards him.

"I…" she began. "That is, if you want to help me again next Sunday. If you have better things to do, I would understand," she finished in a low voice.

"I have absolutely nothing better to do," he replied joyously. "I will be there."

"Thank you," Odette smiled, this time a frank smile.

"It is my pleasure."

Rosita slowed her eating as she watched Louis Mérante enter the Troup's dining hall. He was not alone and definitely satisfied. Behind him, Odette and Félicie were trailing, the first one very apprehensive and the second one euphoric. The kid gave her a reserved but heartfelt wave of the hand, before joining the Ballet Master and her mother figure at their little table. Corps de Ballet dancers had noticed them already, and whispers were starting steadily. Rosita made sure to give them a Look, pressed long enough to have meaning. Keep the gossips down, for Jesus's sake.

It helped for five minutes, long enough for food to be served to the newcomers. Louis Mérante eating his lunch here was a regular sight. Louis Mérante eating lunch on a Sunday with company, that was something that had scarcely happened before. Never with female company. The Troup was relentlessly whispering, and the Prima sighted with defeat when she noticed her Premier Danseur following suit to the whispering.

She stood suddenly, quieting everyone, grabbed her tea cup in one hand and her chair in the other one, and strutted towards the newcomers' table. She plopped down between Félicie and Odette and addressed a sunny smile towards the taken aback Ballet Master.

"And a good Sunday to the three of you," she said, depositing her cup carefully between Félicie's bowl and Odette's glass.

"Good morning Rosita," Odette answered calmly, aiming a warning look at Félicie about to greet her with a mouth full.

"I am very happy to see you both ladies here," Rosita said in a measured voice, knowing very well two dancers a few chairs behind were listening intently. "I have been wondering when we would be able to eat together. I hope you will keep the habit for the incoming weeks."

"I am not so sure about that," Odette muttered.

"I will make sure they do," Louis Mérante said with a meaningful look towards the assistant.

"I love it here," Félicie commented before engulfing a full spoon of stew.

"Me too," Rosita laughed. "It's really good food."

"Yeah, right," approved Félicie after gulping down. "It's because Emma is the best cook in the whole world."

"You know the cook?" The Prima said, surprised.

"She is a friend of mine," Odette murmured between two sips from her glass.

"Oh, that's why," Rosita said, suddenly seeming to understand a lot.

"Is the Troup rehearsing the ball scene this afternoon?" Louis Mérante asked while eating efficiently his own stew.

"Yes," Rosita nodded.

"Hum, good. Good luck on that," he added as an afterthought.

"Thank you."

"Hey, Rosita!" Félicie intervened, slowing down on her eating to look excitedly at her. "Monsieur Mérante said there are actual Swans in Paris! I have never seen one in my life, have you?"

"Yes, there were a lot of them near my dancing school when I was your age," the Prima smiled, eyeing curiously Odette who was frowning at her plate.

"Wow, that's so neat," the girl muttered, fascinated. "Did it feel like they were dancing when they moved? Like in Swan Lake?"

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" Mérante suggested, scraping at his remaining food. "It is not far from here. I could actually walk you, if you want."

Félicie's eyes seemed to physically sparkle.

"Really? Oh man, Odette, can we go? Please!" Félicie implored towards her guardian.

"Yes, you can come too, Madame, if you want," the Ballet Master murmured, attentively watching the woman as she put her spoon down.

"I am afraid this morning has tired me a bit too much," she answered in a low voice, avoiding his eyes. "I will stay inside, but you can go Félicie. As long as you come back with clean clothes," she added with raised eyebrows towards the girl.

"I will make sure she does," the man nodded.

"Thank you," Odette said, before hesitating. "And… I forgot, but thank you for yesterday as well. Félicie told me."

"What happened yesterday?" Rosita asked, starting to get worried as the child put her spoon down and laid back in her chair, suddenly in the darkest mood.

"Victor told me he was leaving for America soon," Félicie whispered very low, tears bordering her eyes.

"Oh dear, I am so sorry," the Prima reacted, wrapping the child in her arm fondly to comfort her. "I had a fellow ballerina who travelled there as well, it was terrible to tell her goodbye without knowing when I would see her again."

"Yeah," Félicie sniffed. "Exactly."

"We will leave to see the swans in half an hour," Louis Mérante mentioned while standing, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin. "Make sure to properly dress Mam'zelle, alright?"

"Yeah," the girl muttered, wiping her nose with her arm. "I mean, yes, Monsieur."

Louis Mérante observed the girl as she tried to mimic the walking of a swan, her dress flying around her. There was something terribly genuine and innocent in Félicie, something that seemed to give her an unending pool of energy and dedication. It was truly a delight to watch, he thought, while sitting on the bench and alternating between his newspaper and the girl. They had spent an hour there already and yet, he wasn't tiring of watching the show. She even stopped next to an old couple giving bread to the birds and help them feed all the animals, making sure each bird had its share. Really sweet.

When she finally came back to the bench, she was panting, and he had to remind her of how a girl should sit, tired or not. He knew she made great efforts into straightening only because he was the one to comment on it. He could see though she was only temporarily tired, and knowing her, she would need about ten minutes rest before jumping around again.

"Are you hungry?" He asked her, seeing she was eyeing a candy salesman walking around the parc they were in.

She hesitated.

"No," she finally answered decisively. "But why is there so many kids around that man?"

"Maybe you should go have a look," he suggested.

She stood eagerly and he caught her hand before she started running.

"You will need this," he said, putting a few coins in her hand. "Now go."

She gave him a puzzled look before rushing towards the salesman. He watched as her face light up upon seeing the content of the man's basket, and how long she hesitated between several possibilities. She came back walking carefully, a candy cane in one hand and a small bag in the other hand.

"Here," she said while licking the cane. "I took berlingots for you."

"That's kind, thank you," he replied, leaving the pouch on the bench next to him.

She remained quiet for a while, thoughtfully looking at the swans evolving on the water plane.

"They are not really that gracious when they are walking," she finally muttered.

"Indeed," he nodded. "They are water animals. Which is why in Swan Lake, all swans can only be seen at the lake."

"Hm," she simply replied, sucking thoughtfully on her sugar cane. "They are really pretty thought."

"Hm," he approved, watching the birds as well.

"Are you going to dance with Odette again?" She suddenly asked, eyeing him from below her hair locks.

"I will certainly try," he answered.

"Are you going to marry her?"

He blinked, and turned his head slowly to look at her blushing face.

"I- I mean," she stammered. "I have been trying to understand what love is, and how people fall in love, and why, and when I saw you two dancing, I don't know, it felt… It felt like in that book Camille lent me, it felt… very intense. I thought that was what love was. Understanding each other that well," she tried to explain.

He nodded.

"I see what you mean," he murmured, gazing back at the pond. "But there is one thing you must understand about ballet, Félicie. It is an art that wants to transmit emotions through movement. Professional dancers, they can create any kind of emotion because they know what to do to inspire it in people's mind, they know how to dance them. Odette is a specialist in this. She has been taught by a genius of emotions and she is herself a fantastic dancer, after all."

The girl thought about it for a few minutes, then started to frown.

"Are you saying," she murmured," that Odette and you can fake emotions?"

"Kind of but not exactly. Faking an emotion can only work if the person dancing has lived it at least once for real."

"Uh," she muttered. "That seems… OH!"

He glanced at her, surprised at her sudden outburst, and followed her gaze down the pathway. A woman dressed in a blue robe was walking towards them, and it took him a few seconds before recognizing Odette. He had never seen her in a robe like that. She had kept the same clothes that she used to clean when she began assisting Louise, except maybe for her new slippers, more adapted to classrooms. Apart from this morning's training outfit, it was the first time he saw her in something so sophisticated. And of course, it suited her admirably.

Félicie had already rushed to the woman's side, cooing about the dress, the hat, the entire outfit. He stood slowly as she drew closer, and she dared looking at him as she stopped by the bench.

"I have been worrying," she began, before biting her lower lip. "You two have been gone for a while."

"Please forgive us, we got distracted by a candy man," he smiled simply, as Félicie showed her the candy cane. "Is this a new dress?"

"Yes," she admitted, blushing a bit. "I have been thinking about finding a better outfit for teaching."

"You are beautiful," he murmured. "That colour outlines your eyes."

She didn't answer but lowered her head with a timid smile. He could see her blush spreading over her delicate neckline. The child seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes jumping between them two.

"Would you like to seat with us while we criticize swans?" He suggested, indicating the bench.

She nodded and sat slowly, keeping her cane by her side. Félicie stood for a few seconds, visibly hesitating, before propping herself between them.

It was at that moment Louis Mérante had a thought that would keep inhabiting him for quite some times. If he could choose his family, he would pick those two ladies right away.

They got used to the routine. Madame Rochefort's departure was announced, and Odette's future position was revealed at the same time. Louis still didn't know where Odette was secretly training during the week, but on Sundays, she was always there, dancing seemingly effortlessly in the biggest classroom of the Opéra. They worked together to finely tune Students' Specia that day while the rest of the week, Odette took feedbacks from other teachers while Louis Mérante worked on his own choreographies with the Troup. Sometimes, on Sundays, Félicie would dance under their direction, which allowed them to easily judge at which point a move was too hard for children.

On the first day of June, one week before Louise Rochefort's departure for Milan, an announcement was made on the big stage. All students from eight to fourteen years old were sat in front of a row of teachers, standing straight and waiting for everyone to calm down. In the back, out of curiosity, several members of the Troup were sitting and murmuring. When silence was made, Louis Mérante stepped forward and saluted the public.

"Children," he began. "I believe some of you may have guessed why we are all here. As you know, your teachers have been working on an adaptation of Swan Lake for you. We call it, the Students' Special."

A few kids started to cheer eagerly but quickly calmed down.

"Today, we are going to give you two important news. First, rehearsals rhythm. You will have the whole summer to work on the Ballet, which is quite short, only three months. You will have different rehearsals depending on which role you will get, and you may have to skip some classes to attend them sometimes. As an indication, you can get repetitions twice a week if you are in a Corps de Ballet role, and repetitions every day of the week except for Sunday, if you are in a principal role."

Apprehensive murmurs rose for a few seconds.

"Once you know which part you got, you will have to make sure your time is available for all those repetitions. If it isn't, we will find a way to solve the problem, either by moving repetitions, or by exchanging roles between students," the Ballet Master mentioned. "Your rehearsal dates and times will be printed down in the Grand Foyer each week. Make sure to check them each day as time and date could be changed on the fly."

He sighted deeply.

"Now," he said. "The moment you have all been waiting for, I guess. We will give out roles for each of you. We will begin with Premiers Danseurs and Danseuses, then Sujets, then Coryphées, to end with Corps de Ballet. As a rule of thumb, roles were given mostly age-wise, which means all eight years old, for example, will globally be part of one Corps de Ballet, while the oldest kids will get the soloing roles for most. Please note, since this is a Students' Special, absolutely nothing is following the right ranking of actual Ballet Dancers. When, or if, you become professional dancers among the Troup, you may find yourselves in very different roles, as you would have evolved into adult dancers with equal capacities."

A stunning silence followed his tirade, the youngest children seeming lost and the oldest delighted. Madame Rochefort stepped suddenly forward with a smile.

"Madame Odette will call your names," she said, starting to move towards the left side of the stage. "When you hear your name, come here on stage, okay?" She said with exaggerated emphasis on each word, showing the emptiness in front of her.

The Ballet Master turned towards the assistant slowly coming forward, her hands linking together on her cane.

"For Odette's role," she began. "We choose Zélie, and for Odile's role, Adélaïde."

All fourteen and thirteen years old roared as one, cheering and squeezing both girls blushing heavily while timidly extricating themselves from their seats.

"For Prince Siegfried, we selected Rudolph."

The blond boy sprung out of his seat with a victorious howl, and Louis Mérante rolled his eyes sighting. Unfortunately, he was indeed the best choice for the Prince, but that was still not going to be an easy teaching.

"For Benno the Jester, Alexandre Piémont," Odette continued in between excited shouts. "For the Prince's friend, Alexandre Marchand. For Von Rothbart, Alfred."

While she continued enunciating names, teachers began gathering kids climbing the stage, spatially dividing them into roles.

"Quiet!" One of the male teachers suddenly thundered over the general uproar, effectively shutting everyone up. "Let the lady finish, for God's sake! Sit down and be more respectful, little rats!"

"The four cygnets," Odette continued, fighting to hide her amusement and lowering the cane she was about to use to calm everyone. "Joséphine De Chazac, Jeanne, Lucienne and Eugénie. The four little swans: Camille Lehaut, Félicie, Nora and Dora."

The four girls almost squealed but managed to remain decent while joining the stage with the biggest smiles on their faces. Odette finished her listing, until all students were set in a role, and contemplated for a few minutes the excited roaming all over the stage. She felt in her body the excitation of starting something new, something fun. Something certainly exhausting as well. Students gradually calmed down, each assembled group standing with a teacher in the centre.

"Listen up," Louis Mérante's voice boomed right next to Odette. "The teacher in your group will be your referent for the Students' Special. If you have any question or any doubt, you shall talk to them and they will help you. If you don't find them, you can come see me or Madame Odette. Now each group will go to their classroom with their teacher, where they will learn more about what they will dance."

"Come on," the male teacher called Arthur murmured towards his eight years old kids. "Everyone grab someone's hand and follow me."

The youngest group left the place, quickly followed by other groups, until the last group standing was the smallest one, made of six children and Madame Rochefort. Odette was starting to approach them when she felt a loss as the Ballet Master withdrew the hand he unconsciously held against her back. She didn't mention it but noticed on a quick glance he seemed to feel sorry about it, quickly hiding his hand behind his back. Those Premier Danseur impulses…

"Congratulations," she finally said, coming close enough to the kids to not have to speak loudly. "Zélie as Odette, Adélaïde as Odile, Rudolph as Siegfried, Piémont as the Jester, Marchand as the Friend, and Alfred as Von Rothbarth. The six of you have gotten the hardest parts. It will be tiring, intense training, but rewarding in the end. Are you all okay with the idea of having to train each day more than the rest of your classmates?"

"Yes," all kids murmured unanimously.

"Good," Odette approved. "Well then, I will be the one training you two, Zélie and Adélaïde. I will also teach all pas de deux scenes. For the boys, you will have the distinct honour to be taught by our Ballet Master himself. Make sure to listen carefully to everything he says," she added with the shadow of a smile on her lips.

The boys looked extremely excited, proudly raising their chins, and Odette could feel the internal eye rolling of the man besides her. Adélaïde raised her hand before Odette could continue her subtle teasing.

"Yes Adélaïde?"

"My mom has told me the story of Swan Lake, and she listed the roles for me," the girl stated. "So I was wondering, who is going to dance the Queen and the Tutor?"

If Odette already had a sweet spot on that kid, it was reinforced with that question.

"Very good question, Adélaïde," she smiled. "We have planned for adults to dance both roles, but for now we have not decided yet on who. Rest assured though, it is the least difficult roles to dance, anyone can play those parts on training."

"Oh," the girl murmured, seemingly satisfied.

"If you do not have any more questions, let us begin talking about Swan Lake, alright?" Odette said while the Ballet Master was leaving the stage on a nod. "Monsieur Mérante will come back later for demonstration, for now, I will tell you all about the story and your role in each act."