So she made her luggage and started off. She used to wear high-hilled italian shoes, small white dress under a long ivory-colored coat, her hair was made like out-of-bed, she was made-up sophisticatedly (nú) and just could not stop smoking.

First she arrived to Paris. She´s been to Paris several times already, but never in her life she felt herself so perfectly free and happy, passing the bridges, promenading down the boulevards, throwing some tiny stones from the bank of Rive Droite, next to Tuilerie garden.

It was raining heavily in Paris, but our young lady hated umbrellas, so she got wet till her bones ("empapada hasta los huesos" - she thought, remembering her spanish lover). But as far as our heroine was not any usual indecisive and fearful lady, she just did not noticed how wet she had become.  She just gathered her hair in an elegant knot (she perfectly knew how to stay beautiful in any case). And she went on walking, making small gracious  passes, admiring her nice shoes and her personal reflection in huge vitrines de Champs Elysées.

At last she reached a small caffé, hidden in the end of a narrow street,  took her place at  a tiny table and ordered:

"Un verre du rouge, s'il vous plait".

And sipping her wine she plunged in remembering sunny day of summer, taking her aperitive in the Piazza San Marco. And she burst in laughing thinking of her italian lover, so ingénu his was with his humble complements like:

- I bet you don´t know what is the most beautiful thing of Venice?

"I bet I am," - she thought, but being absolutely polite she asked:

- No, I´ve got no idea, but I suppose...

- THIS IS YOU! - whispered he, kissing passionately her palm in both sides, so happy to drop this gracious comment.

So she smiled our young lady with  her charming sly smile, turned round and said addressing herself to a couple of french ladies:

"Mais comment il es ingénu, mesdames? Vous l'avez intendue?"