The lovers meet in isolated places. Tonight, it's the little café on rue de La ____. They hide their fears from each other, just as they hide their faces from passers-by. They are therefore very discreet. The warm wind reminds them of the passage of time and they become one. He leaves a tip. Glancing around, they blend into the crowd, only to find themselves back in the street. A nod, a smile, then he hails a taxi. He holds the door for her, then closes it. He overpays the driver, turns abruptly and drives off into the twilight. She's a diva, with the voice of an angel. She is known all over the world, as is her husband, the conductor. However, it is not with her husband that she will be this evening. Her lover is attractive, in a strange way. But her attraction to him isn't based on appearances. The taxi starts and turns right at the first turn. They pass two intersections, then turn right again. In the middle of the block is a small hotel, once elegant, now quaint. Today it is frequented by traders and visitors to the city. The taxi stops on the sidewalk, the driver gets out and opens her door. She feels his fear for his fame and the discomfort it brings him. He won't accept his tip. She watches him get into his taxi and drive off into the evening. She throws a silk shawl over her head, turns and enters the hotel. He will have arrived before her and will have arranged the room. They are each known within the hotel. Even though it is obvious that they are not married, no one who sees them would think that it matters. They embody romanticism. Room 212, always the same. If he is not available, they have agreed not to meet that evening, despite their passions. It is part of...... middle of paper......sliding in its channel. He imagines her coming out and floating across the hall and out the front door, into oblivion. Why did he do that? The question torments him; he can't answer. Wiping his eyes with his damp handkerchief, he stands up and enters the hall in his wake. She left; he refrains from running after her, fearing what he would do if they met. Swallowing his feelings, he walks through the door, unaware of the magic and mystery they have woven in and around the hotel. He stands on the sidewalk, looking first to the right, then to the left. In the early morning light, no one else is visible. He hears traffic, but the noise is muted by the thick mist. Raising his collar, he walks into the wind, the rain mingling with his tears, the sound of the wind absorbing his sobs. It's done ; it's over. He's alone again.