The sounds of the city did not reach us, and the wind that passed through the leaves was soft to hear like a rustle of silk.
At all times in my memory the voice of Bergeounette sang the song of earthly paradise:
In a delicious garden,
Close to heaven …
Beyond the alleys, when a group of children dressed in light colors ran past, I thought I saw clumps of flowers escaping from the flower beds and running towards the undergrowth.
On the benches and on the chairs, couples remained inactive and silent, as if crushed with happiness.