Natalia, upon having lived in Paris for some time, became a subject of much discussion. All spoke of the fair maiden with the long face of such striking intelligence. No at-homes passed without at least a few points made as to the young lady from Russia. Many watched her as she walked by, going to her school with her chin held high as to avoid conversation. She usually wore her hair plaited up and cleared from her face. She never wore rouge or smiled. Her dressed were violet and other dark colors, with shawls draped around her shoulders in winter and her sleeves short in summer; exposing thin, milk-white arms.

Her beauty however was not the main subject of thought, though it was looked over. What struck people most was her intellect. She spoke quickly and acutely, as though in a great hurry; and even then her replies were witty and accurate. Sometimes she was invited to parties. When she came the men invited her into philosophical and political debates. She always had a reply and her eyes flashed whenever arguments were tossed at her. She then pulled her lips into a ghost of a smile and reprimanded them; telling them what she believed to be the truth.

The women watched her in envy, wondering how she was treated as an equal and they were not.

There was one thing however that Natalia had a flaw in. Her French pronunciation was atrocious. She always enunciated the "t"s at the end of sentences and rolled her Rs. The listeners tried not to wince, because her grammar was correct and her vocabulary was expansive.

One day, when Natalia had no classes to attend to and was forced to wander from her place of stay; she ended up before Notre Dame. She examined the great columns and the statues. It was a chilled autumn day and her shawl was strung around her shoulders. The delicate lace crossed in various patterns, as a rose along the right side. Tassels hung at the ends and cast shadows down at her dress. Her hands were gloved in white silk.

Couples and groups walked by her, chatting and laughing occasionally. Pigeons, grays and whites, surged up into the air when someone approached them. Then they settled back down, cooing occasionally. Natalia quite enjoyed it and left the great building. One shadowed building attracted her attention. She approached it and pushed the door open. Inside the smells of liquor, perfume, and smoke greeted her. She squinted and pushed in, clutching her bag to her breast. Inside a dim room, groups of men and women of the middle class were circling around an empty wooden floor. Natalia edged closer, hidden behind two mustached men engrossed in a conversation about the Emperor.

She watched as a group of suited musicians set up their equipment, off to the side of the crowd, and tuned their violins, violas, cellos, and whatnot. The sounds of tuning escaped them, stifled by the volume of the crowd. Once satisfied the musicians poised their bows at the strings and strung a strong note. The chatter silenced at once and everyone turned their gaze to the empty space.

The black curtains Natalia had not noticed prior rustled and then spread open, pouring out a stream of young girls in dresses. Their dresses of mostly dark colors gleamed in the few rays of light while the girls tapped and hopped their way around. They smiled broadly at the crowd, pretty eyes batting at the folks around. The music began slow, almost subtle. And then, once the girls paused, holding their hands out to the right creating a circle, the music flourished. The violins flared up and the girls danced with explosive energy, kicking their legs out and causing their skirts to fly upwards. They danced merrily and with such passion that Natalia found herself clapping along with the others and tapping her foot.

They danced as such for a while yet. At the end of the first song, Natalia took her leave and exited the building. Her ears rung with the echoes of music now cut off by the quieter streets. Natalia continued her walk, her smile smoothing away as she stared forwards. She became conscious of various stares pinned onto her and the whispers that followed. She had trained herself to ignore them and so they became nothing but background mumbles.

Beautiful and handsome women passed her. Many had their dark, curly hair pulled back tightly. Others kept their hair loose or artificially curled. A group of young girls, hardly older than fifteen, gathered together before a shop and stared longingly at the young men passing by. Natalia ended up at a street and turned around, her dress twirling around her. The clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages rumbled behind her. She glanced up to the sky. The clouds were scarce but they edged closer together. She sensed rain would fall soon enough and turned back towards the street and crossed it stiffly.

She sat down in a café some time later and ordered herself a meal. While sitting there, alone, she was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness. All the other patrons were with families, friends, groups, or lovers. No one sat alone like her. No one seemed to be sitting like her, near a window and accompanied only by a wilting flower before her. She touched its petals dolefully and sighed. She felt homesick and wondered how Yao and Ivan and her sister were faring.

Following a meal, the rain began to fall, as she had anticipated. She found herself caught in the storm, standing beneath a canopy over a fruit vendor. The vendor paid no mind to her and looked around for actual business. Occasionally some strangers came by, giggling and looking at the fruit before popping their umbrellas open and rushing away. Natalia was not entirely soaked, but her hair had turned a darker color and stuck to her cheeks. Of all the people in Paris, she had forgotten an umbrella. Unless she wanted to risk being drenched in the downpour, she was forced to wait it out.

The rain fell in plump, silver drops. They plummeted to the ground and shattered, splattering the ground and darkening where it touched. It smelled heavenly; metallic and yet so clean. The gutters flowed, carrying leaves and pieces of parchment. Once it carried a flowered hat. Natalia dared to take a dash and picked it up, before returning to her shelter and seeking an owner. Eventually a woman, elderly and withered, discovered her hat and thanked Natalia for it. Natalia smiled her sterling smile and then the woman was off just as quickly as she had come.

There was a reason for Natalia's rare smiles. When she did smile, it was true and honest. She loathed false pretences, especially forced grins.

Unfortunately, the rain only thickened and now fell in a thick sheet. Most of the people had escaped to their homes, causing the streets to be clear and silent save for the pitter-patter of rain. Even the fruit vendor packed up and went home, leaving Natalia to sit down on a dry bench and wait. She held her bag even tighter.

A stranger approached about the time Natalia began to doze off. He wore a clean, white suit with a purple-rimmed flower pinned to his lapel. He had an umbrella that streaked rain down like pulsing veins. It covered his face. He entered the canopy and stood below it. Lowering the umbrella, he revealed his face, shaking the water off of it. He had a broad, handsome face lined with the beginnings of a beard. His eyes were pale and luminous, his lips well-formed, and his nose long and smooth.

Natalia watched him, her lips pressed tightly together. He turned and looked at her. He wore his flaxen hair tied up in a red ribbon.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," Natalia replied stiffly.

"What a beautiful rain storm," he commented closing the umbrella and leaning against it like a cane briefly. He then decided against it and sat down by Natalia, a few inches away from her. She brought the bag closer to her belly and stared ahead.

"You seem to like the rain." Natalia observed.

"I do. I wanted to take a walk in it. Then I saw this lonely young lady and I decided to bring her some company. I have nothing better to do."

"I see."

"You have a strange accent. Are you from Russia by chance?"

"Yes I am."

"Ah…" he trailed off into silence. The quiet between them was soothing and comforting. The man had that strange quality to him, almost as though the very air around him ceases to be corrupt and, even for a moment, turns to love and joy. "Oh, I forgot, my name is Francis Bonnefoy." He turned and raised his hand. Natalia shook it firmly, indicating that she did not want her hand kissed.

"I'm Natalia."

Francis leaned back on the bench.

"Where are you from?" Natalia asked.

"That's the wrong question, dear. What you must ask is where I am going to—because that is the real question. And your answer is Paris, but I grew up in Leon."

"How is it not a real question?" Natalia asked and her eyebrows elevated.

"It is only a question when the answer is unknown."

"But the answer was unknown to me."

"Perhaps so, but in a grander scheme the question as where I am going to next is unknown to both you and I."

"That's a curious way of thinking, Monsieur Bonnefoy."

"Mademoiselle Natalia, I do not claim to be a philosopher but rather a thinker. Of course my ways are curious, everything is curious to me."

Natalia paused, parting her small lips. "Do you often come up to strangers and speak of such things?" She asked, at length.

Francis shrugged. "No, I rarely do. It's a pleasure and so I want to have it scarcely. That way, when it does happen, I am reminded to cherish the precious moments."

"Monsieur, by chance… Are you a soldier?"

"Yes." He cast an amused glance at her. "How could you tell?"

"You speak like my brother. He's a solider as well. And also, you look at the sky in the same way. Once, my brother told me this, he was injured in both legs and was unable to walk. He lay on his back and was greeted with the sky. He stared at it, certain that it was reaching down to grab him and carry him, swaddled in great clouds, to death. Those were his words exactly."

"Charming! The same thing happened to me; except I was injured in the hip and was caught under my dead horse. I then looked towards the sky. It was snowing then. Every flake fell slowly and all around me. In that moment I was suspended in time, away from it all and just watching the ice fall around me as though I was in a tunnel." He spoke with an air of melancholy.

The rain began to clear up. Nothing but a faint mist remained and Francis stood, his red ribbon flickering. He left without another word, as was the French way or so they say. Natalia stood as well and went to the edge of the canopy's protection. When the rain finally halted, she scurried back home. She needed to study and then to read. She was seized by the unmovable desire to pick up a volume and sink into it, as one is at times after healthy conversation.

Night fell on the city of Paris. Church bells tolled. Carriages clattered across the streets, carrying people off to balls and to dinner parties. Meanwhile Natalia stayed at home, lying on her bed in a nightgown and stockings that stretched up to her knees. Her hair, loose and free, had a bow in it, along the top. She wore it for comforting purposes. When she was little her mother would tie it on her head and then it was Katrina who put it on. It brought back gentle, warm feelings of childhood and the sweet, syrupy nostalgia along with it.

She slowly let her eye lids fall. Sleep crept slowly along her, urged by the gentle sounds from outdoors. Her nose itched and her cheeks were rosy from being outside for so long in the cold. She was determined not to catch the grippe and decided to drink tea and a large bowl of soup. She dug herself into the bedspread and curled up, bringing her knees almost to her chest and leaning into the pillows.

In her dreams she imagined endless fields of bright yellow flowers. She rushed through them, her hands spread out and her head tilted upwards. Her arms tickled and stretched, becoming a milkier color. Long tendrils erupted from her skin and became feathers. Her neck lengthened and thinned out, ending in a yellow beak framed in black. Her dress rose and twisted itself into the body of a swan, followed by a tail. Her legs, too, became that of a swan. She, in a painless and glowing motion became a slender-necked swan that soared through the air, free and fearless. Somewhere in the distance another swan soared and below it, unmistakably, was her brother holding his hands out, setting it free.

The dream continued to be surreal. Ballerinas in flowing white dresses leaped up, legs spread out. In a quicker transformation they, too, became swans and spread their wings out, flying. More and more came up until Ivan was lost from sight and Natalia led a sea of milky white birds. It no longer felt peaceful, but it did not seem chaotic either.

It felt like the beginning of war.

An alternative title to this chapter is "Field of Swans".