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of the presentation.
    And that was when he came upon it, when he first saw the painting, Jeune Fille à la Plage by Henri Lebasque. It called to him with an extraordinary voice. It was not, however, identified as one of the artist’s major works hanging on the gallery walls. It had been leaning in front of the director’s desk in the middle of the room, among a secondary group of paintings available for sale. Taylor had, literally, stumbled upon it as he backed up to view an enormous landscape on an adjacent wall.
    “Excusez-moi. Soyez prudent,” the man at the desk had admonished him when he heard the slight knock of Taylor’s heel against the frame.
    “Oh, sorry, sorry,” he was quick to say. “It didn’t fall. It was leaning precariously. No harm done. I’ll set it right again.” But as he bent to just readjust its position, he was immediately captured by it. “Sir, may I put it here?”
    There was an open easel, likely there for this very purpose, and so without waiting for an answer, Taylor placed the painting gently on display at eye level, as Francois, having witnessed this last part of the exchange, came toward him.
    Taylor had been drawn to the painting immediately, as if it were a play for which he arrived late and he was anxious to take his seat. The painter had not only illustrated a poignant moment in time, but had touched his audience with an unmistakable impression that they had come in at the middle of the story, that they needed to know the beginning and to follow it through to the end. Francois translated the title for him, as “Girl at the Beach,” and Taylor understood that the artist meant for the central point of view to be that of the little redheaded girl sitting to the far left of the canvas at a beach café table, with possibly her young mother, or more likely an older sibling. Sitting close together in their turn-of-the-century attire, the pair reminded Taylor of those in Auguste Renoir’s Two Sisters, the colors equally as vibrant as that master’s. They are watching a group of young couples dancing. Perhaps the little girl’s fascination with the scene is because she is envious of their age and wishes she could be part of the fun, but more likely she is trying to understand the exchanged looks she is witnessing. A handsome young man, his arm around the waist of his partner, is not focusing on her eyes, but is staring instead beyond her shoulder directly at the older sister, the longing in his eyes unmistakable, as is the desire in hers.
    Taylor was so moved by the painting that he turned to Francois and insisted that this was the one—and Francois could only concur with his choice. Taylor knew that this painting would be the beginning of his collection—that he would present it as a gift to Emily upon his return.
    Speaking to the artist’s representative, Francois explained that his young American tourist was interested in the painting, but would need a good price in exchange for extending the artist’s reputation to Chicago in the United States. Of course, the dealer was anxious to reduce his inventory and even Francois was surprised at the modest price he named.
    Although Taylor would have liked to have had the painting in his possession immediately, would happily have carried it carefully through the crowded walkways of the fair, instead, they arranged for the painting to be delivered to the Hôtel de Crillon the following morning, at which time a remittance would be left with the hotel cashier.
    Taylor’s guide, well aware that they were running late, rushed him along. Even without the purchase, they had to delicately maneuver the crowded promenade of the exposition area, as many people were heading in the opposite direction to enjoy the evening at the fair.
    When they finally reached the restaurant where the conference would have its opening dinner, Taylor found it to be a dark and weathered-looking place, not at all worthy of the accolades that Francois had advanced. But