CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 27

All that day, Clair-de-Lune listened.

He listened to his grandmother at breakfast—so serious, tense, and persistent—and for the first time the girl thought, My grandmother is sad.

He listened to the girls at dance school—especially Milly Twinkenham, Fenella Flynn, and Prudence Eeling—and not only limited to what they said. He listened to what he knew about them, though he had seldom thought about them. They were afraid of me, he thought. They are even more afraid of me

than me on them!

Even if, to be honest, knowing this is not

reduce Clair-de-Lune's fear of them.

However, however, their hatred towards him was not so disturbing anymore. For, is there not a thing that

more important than love? His mother taught him that too!

And so, on this incredible morning, as it passes by

Milly before entering class, he looked into her eyes and smiled slightly at her. Milly was so shocked that she couldn't say anything.

There are six boys in Monsieur Dupoint's class.

Clair-de-Lune had never noticed them before, but now—because he listened to them—his thoughts in amazement, they seemed to be!

“Don't worry—borrow mine,” said one to another, and just then he lifted his head and saw Clair-de-Lune watching him. Since he was inherently friendly, and did not know what to do, the boy smiled; and Clair-de-Lune

immediately returned his smile. He started to smile.

He listened to Monsieur Dupoint, and inwardly, the man was anxious.

He listened to Mr. Sparrow playing

piano—and heard, behind his music, the faint sound of his fingers tapping on the piano keys, and the piano rattled as he changed

position.

He listened to Bonaventure— and dreamed of being able to hear (even if perhaps only his imagination) his small voice squeaking with joy as he announced a resounding new project in front of his students, who had been quietly gathering, one after another, in the process, attend a meeting inside his secret hole.

And he tried to listen to his own heart.

But it's harder.

# # #

When Clair-de-Lune left for the market that afternoon, he

surprised to meet Monsieur Dupoint on the stairs.

“Ah, good afternoon, Nak!” said.

Clair-de-Lune replied with a bow in greeting; and he saw that not only was his trainer wearing a high hat, gloves, and black robe, but the man was also surprised to see Clair-de-Lune.

He will visit someone, Clair-de-Lune thought

while continuing down the stairs. Could he be going to visit my grandmother?

However, the building has many inhabitants. It could have been

visit to others.

Monsieur Dupoint was surprised, as he thought of Clair-de-Lune as they passed by the corner of the stairs.

“Poor girl,” muttered while climbing two steps at once. But it wasn't the girl's silence that made her anxious.

When he arrived at the sixth floor, he paused for a moment

take a breath and calm himself. There is a heavy duty facing him. Then he raised his hand and knocked on Grandma Clair-de-Lune's door.

“Please come in,” said the grandmother, her voice cold and

kinda surprised.

“Madame,” said politely. “Eh—can I..?”

“Monsieur Dupoint!” granny Clair-de-Lune.

“Come in, come in. Be sitting. Tea?”

“Not necessary. Thank you, Madame.” And grandma

Clair-de-Lune let out a sigh of relief, because if Monsieur Dupoint says yes, there is no cake that he can serve as a friend of tea. It is too expensive to prepare a cake for guests. Guests rarely come! Grandma Clair-de-Lune begins to be reluctant

receiving guests after the death of his daughter.

“I hope I'm not interrupting. You're fine, right?”

“Yes, I'm fine, Monsieur, thank you.”

“Thank God—maaf is annoying, but I need to ask you about an important issue. I also need to remind (even this

happy news) this can make you remember will—memories are sad.”

Grandma Clair-de-Lune sat with her back straight in her chair. The afternoon sun shone through the window grille behind him. Wearing a black dress and lace scarf, she looked like a graceful shadow. He looked at Monsieur Dupoint with his dark, sad, and wide eyes.

“Forward, Monsieur, I'm strong to hear it.”

Monsieur Dupoint shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

“Madame,” he started gently, “as you know, the hundredth anniversary of the Company will fall in May, and will

celebrated with special performances, including awards for our greatest achievements, past and present. Such a celebration would certainly not be complete without mentioning La Lune—our biggest star.”.

“Sure,” murmured grandma Clair-de-Lune.

“...and some have suggested to me that his dance—the dance we most closely associate with him..”.

“Last dance,” said grandmother Clair-de-Lune

with a cold tone.

“Ya,” said Monsieur Dupoint boldly, “his last dance—ada suggested that the dance be staged again. Certainly Company

having multiple candidates, all of whom, with their own individual traits, can do well to win the top award for our star. But Monsieur Director feels—even I think the entire staff of the Company thinks—short words have been suggested to me, that there is nothing more appropriate to revive the La Lune dance except his own daughter.”

Monsieur Dupoint looked worriedly at the old woman. He sat forward at the end of his chair, his hands widened in his lap.

Madame Nuit sat glued, upright like a statue. His facial expression was almost unexpected. But—looks clear—slightly paled.

The heartache from the death of his daughter—even after twelve years—still so fresh, hearing his name just mentioned was enough to make the room seem to spin. For a moment, I thought he would faint.

Strengthen the heart, he emphasized to himself. Strenghten

hearts.

When he was struggling to control himself, his heart felt sore, sore; then suddenly

light up with anger. Re-staging her daughter's dance? How dare they. So, they think La Lune has a replacement, huh? Or worse, the successor! With indignation he remembers the dance group that is now owned by Company—only onion, like a cancan dancer who is glorified. How could they be so blind? La Lune is irreplaceable! It has no successor…

Except…

Then the rounds in the room started to subside, like

the merry-go-round was towards the end of the round, and the old mistress understood what Monsieur Dupoint had said, and muttered softly, saying,

“Clair-de-Lune?”

As I expected, Monsieur Dupoint thought, and from the look on his face, it seemed

Madame Nuit disagrees. Monsieur Dupoint sighs in relief.

Seriate...