SIGNED “LES REGARDS”
There has already resonated the last toll of the bells of Pey Berland; Virginia was sitting at table of an old restaurant at the corner of Cours Pasteur. It was a typical Aquitanian autumn, where Bordeaux’s streets were full of ochre and red foliage caducous of gnarled plane trees and lime trees. The lounge was almost empty, tables and walls were enlightened by a homesick glow of the lamp hung to the roof. From the corner of the lounge, in the twilight, there was a man who was looking Virginia. He asks for an empty chalice in order to mix his wine and offer it to Virginia, who was sitting after three or four tables ahead. Slowly the waiter walked to the table while the ebony strips that covered the floor scrounged. He then picked up the glass of wine and handed it to Virginia. She turned and saw the young man smiling at her, his chin between his fingers and lifting his cup to invite her to drink. On her cheeks seemed to rise a slight redness of embarrassment that flowed, just slightly sensitive, up to her eyelids illuminated by the lamp under which she was sitting. From that glass she exhaled an intense perfume to ignite in her a sudden reliving of the spirit. She drank that wine and at the first sip recognized, in the taste, that acute smell that invaded her nostrils. Suddenly, the man strolled over and gives a napkin to her for dry out her lips. Virginia accepted and, lifting the napkin, the man looked at his ring finger with a brilliant set. The man gasped and for a while seemed to leave, allowing himself to see where his gaze rested. Virginia politely nodded to what she well understood to be her omen, that she was a woman already promised.
The young man, however, with great gallantry came and continued to smile at her. He greeted her, then neatly and headed out. Virginia could see him the last time from the window of the restaurant that leaned out on the street, while her back disappeared with astonishing rapidity under the rays of the full moon that peeped in golden splendor among the secular buildings. The young man, however, with great gallantry came and continued to smile at her. He greeted her, then neatly and headed out. Virginia could see him the last time from the window of the restaurant that leaned out on the street, while her back disappeared with astonishing rapidity under the rays of the full moon that peeped in golden splendor among the secular buildings. When she came back, she was terribly taken from a feverish emotion, so that she couldn’t define but the admission of non-removing the memory of the smell of that wine; that smell was still preserved in her hands. Suddenly, as he approached his left palm to his nose, he noticed that the ring no longer carried the diamond to its top. Taken by the discomfort he made the path back in the middle of the night, looking at every corner of the road he had beaten before. She found herself right in front of the now closed door of the restaurant and, cutting the air with a sigh, she became aware that she would never find that diamond lost in the abyss of the intense perfume of that wine.
