By the next day, Nini had nearly managed to forget about the previous nights encounter. Besides a small pang of regret at the loss of her treasured chemise, it was easy enough to ignore the feelings that had been plaguing her since she left. The loneliness, the longing to see him again, it was all petty emotions brought on by a moment of weakness; a lesson for the future. Resolved to go on as usual, she gave a final tug to her corset and flung aside the dressing room curtain to reveal a calloused hand holding the rumpled form that was once her lovely chemise.

"You forgot this in your rush to escape this morning."

Of course it was him. Nini almost had to laugh at the irony; just when she had put him out of her mind, there he was again. She reached out for the cloth, but came up empty handed; her chemise now dangled a few feet higher, just out of her reach. She gave the man a fixed look, and he silently thanked some higher power that looks in fact could not kill. Smiling down at her, he said in his sweetest voice, "Now, now, mi amore, none of that. Come walk with me. It is a beautiful day outside, and your face could use some sunlight." With that, he swept past the curtains and left her standing, bewildered. One the one hand, she was fairly sure that somewhere in there was an insult, and she would not stand for that. But on the other, this might be her only chance of recovering what was rightfully hers. Finally, anger overcame reason, and she raced to catch up, leaving behind a trail of whispers.

He had gotten half way down the block before she reached him. By that time, she had discovered that cobblestones were most definitely not designed for running in heels and stockings and corsets were no protection against the bitter cold of a Montmartre morning. All this combined with the infuriating sight of the very man she was chasing flirting lewdly with a streetwalker and holding her chemise sent he over the edge.

With all the strength she could muster, Nini gripped his upper arm and swung him around to face her. He didn't resist, just turned to deliver a quizzical look. Slowly, he crossed his arms before him, stroking his chin as if in deep concentration. Finally meeting her eyes, he said in an accented drawl, "I didn't think you'd come, .but I'm glad you did."

A moment ago, she had been enraged, had planned to reel off an apparently spontaneous tirade that would bring him to his knees. She even had a crystal clear mental image of herself standing triumphantly over him, rescued chemise in hand. But the absurdity of the situation held her back. There he stood, giving her a cocky smile, while still leaning over the streetwalker, who was pulling insistently on his shirt, a pout playing at the edges of her mouth.

Instead, she went with the first idea her muddled mind came across. Her hand drew back and before he could react, she left a stinging mark across his cheek. Without a second thought, she grabbed the chemise from him and flounced back toward the towering windmill. Behind her, the woman gave a surprised gasp, which dissolved into a fit of laughter. Footsteps told her the man had left her to her pleasures, and was now in hot pursuit.

She fought the urge to bolt, knowing her shoes would not allow it and dreading the thought of being rescued, becoming a damsel in distress. So had held high, she continued on her way, ignoring the growing presence behind her.