Stavanger Bay l'ingénue

The child came forth first, and though her movements were less refined than an adult, Renoir could see the potential of her; the narrowness of her body, the exacting manner of each step. She seemed overwhelmed with glee — it made his broken heart swell with a great many emotions — and just as swiftly there was a shadow, and that shadow encompassed her entirely. This too brought emotion to Renoir, and he had to hold back a pitiful little gasp upon realizing how distraught the girl appeared. When she turned around and scampered in to her hiding place the boy wished to call sweetly to her, to comfort her, and ease whatever troubles he had caused. It was heart-wrenching for the wandering boy — painfully so.

Renoir stepped closer, intending to apologize, but then the man above the child spoke; his words were familiar in their tone and inflection, and again Ren was sent spiraling in to feeling. He looked at the man then, studied him, and a grin spread across his narrow features. Anchante, and then the girl spoke, mimicking her father with a sweet, dulcet voice.

Voulez-vous vous joindre à nous? asked the father, and it was music to the boy's ears! They were so far from his beloved home, and yet they carried with them pieces of it. It was easy for him to answer — the surprise of having discovered them was simultaneously replaced by waves of glee he could hardly contain. Wi! Mwen ta dwe kontan. Mèsi.

They were standing in direct opposition, so Renoir hastily moved out of their way, bidding with a low bow of his head for them to come closer — and he briefly flashed the angel child a glance, eager to feel that familiar sensation in his heart which, thus far, had only been caused by his beloved Monet.