Vignette: Bal du moulin de la Galette.

It was a pleasantly warm summer evening in Paris; its young inhabitants made use of the beaux temps and for the third night in a row celebrated this time of dutilessness and blooming love by waltzing at the Galette Mill all through to the early morning hours. Marianne, wearing a white dress with blue lines, was escorted to the event by her older sister Jeanette.

Though 16 and 20, their parents were not as enthusiastic about the dance as the sisters, who begged and pleaded and mitigated them for days on end - until permission to go was granted. The sisters got dressed immediately and joined the dancing crowd that consisted of giggling young women and handsome hat-wearing gentlemen that evening.

The sisters took turns, watching one another float graciously across the parquet with any available male dancing partner. It was when Marianne was sitting on the bench, watching her sister in her simple yet eligible black dress drift fairly around, when a luscious voice broke through into her ears. The melodical sounds of the three-beat pieces, played by a live orchestra on a stage situated on the other side of the parquet, she ignored since.

“Mademoiselle?” Marianne turned around to face a fine-looking, dark-haired gentleman. “Excusez-moi, I could not stop myself… but are you by any chance Renoir’s muse?”

Marianne stared at him in bewilderment! How and what is she to respond? Luckily her sister appeared and placed her arm protectively around her petite soeur.

“Marianne, do you know this young man?” Jeanette asked calmly, studying the unknown man. The sterness in her eye made the man look away. Sensing the pinch of tension present, Marianne quickly replied:

“No, but he was not bothering me either. He only took me aback, as he asked, imagine! whether I am Renoir’s muse!” Jeanette laughed whole-heartedly, the man gained confidence to look back at them and smile, though a bit sheepishly. Vivaciously, he apologised and explained:

“It was rather silly of me to do, but you see… I study art, so do the fellows here at this table and your… female companion so highly reminded me of Renoir’s portraits!” Jeanette leaned towards him, conveying interest. As for Marianne, she could not take her eyes off the young man - Handsome! An art student! Polite! - she stared into the deep brown woods of his eyes… It was this time her sister’s voice that broke into her ear, disrupting her thoughts of enchanted nature.

“That is a sweet remark on your part… but if you are a student of art, then do you know Renoir?” The man’s smile widened, his fellows grinned – the empty glasses of wine on the table were not to blame for this reaction, for they were simply amused by Jeanette’s enquiry. He glanced at his entertained male companions, then turned back to the sisters who awaited in suspense his reply.

“Yes – he has been coming here for the past few nights, making sketches and studies, rumour has it he will paint something soon. Who knows, maybe our verbal conversation will take visual form!” The sisters cried out, looking at each other in utter excitement. The celebrated artist, their beloved painter, potentially physically present, right there, where they were! The men laughed.

Turned out, Renoir was truly at the Galette Mill that evening. The youth’s conversation was made eternal, the students of art were astounded and the sisters delighted at the discovery. Their parents however were a bit prudish, finding the sisters guilty of promiscuity, yet as the painting was available to the public eye a long time after the dance took place, no punishment was given to Jeanette nor Marianne… The painting of the warm summer night happening hangs in Paris's Musée D'Orsay.