Night had fallen over the city like a black velvet curtain, heavy and silent. The glistening cobblestones reflected the trembling glow of the streetlamps, turning the streets into a shattered mirror beneath the hurried steps of the last night owls. Among them, Count Henri de Montclair and his wife, Countess Élise, walked with elegant strides, barely shielded from the fine rain that had begun to fall as they left the opera. Their coats—his of dark wool, hers of light fur—offered little protection.
 
Drops slid down the count’s upturned collar, clung to the rebellious curls of the countess, and the click of their boots echoed on the deserted sidewalks. « At least the rain drives away the nuisances, » Henri murmured with a sly smile. « And gives us the city to ourselves. » She answered with a crystalline laugh, nearly drowned out by the rustling downpour.
 
They walked side by side, unhurried, as if defying the sky to rush them. « Do you remember, » Élise said, looking up at the wrought-iron balconies, « the scene where she tore off her dress in the storm? » « How could I forget? » he replied. « She made the entire audience shiver. Even the most jaded held their breath. » A flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a dull roll of thunder, like belated applause.
 
Suddenly, a stifled laugh reached them on the wind. A young couple, huddled under an awning, shared a stolen moment. « Youth, » Élise sighed, « always so eager to believe the world is theirs. » « And us, my dear? » « We know better, » she whispered, slipping her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. « But we play the game with more grace. »
 
The rain intensified, turning their stroll into an awkward dance between puddles and shadows. « Quick, » Henri said, pulling her toward a porch lit by a flickering lantern. « Let’s take shelter here. » Under the precarious cover, they faced each other, their faces illuminated by the golden glow. « We’re ridiculous, » he admitted, dabbing a damp strand from her forehead. « Ridiculous and happy. » « Just like the first day, » she replied.
 
They burst into laughter, complicit, as the rain continued to fall, indifferent to their plans. « Let’s go home, » Élise finally said. « The night is ours, but the day awaits. » « Always, » he answered, offering his arm.
 
And in the rain that washed the city of its lies, they resumed their walk—two elegant figures, carefree, masters of a world that, for one night, still belonged to them.