Free Paris Is Always a Good Idea by Nicolas Barreau

had gone down, and in the sky that was now quickly getting darker and darker they could see the moon rising, fat and round.
    â€œHow about it?” asked the blue tiger. “Shall we take a little trip?” He bowed his head a little and pointed to his silver-and-blue-striped back. “Climb on, Héloïse.”
    Héloïse was not at all surprised that the tiger knew her name. Nor was she surprised that he could fly. After all, he was a cloud-tiger. She climbed on his back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and nestled her face in his soft fur that was now gleaming silver in the moonlight.
    And then off they flew.
    Soon they had left the Grotto of the Four Winds, the white pavilion, the little pink castle, the babbling waterfalls, and the sweetly scented rose beds far behind them. They crossed the dark forest of the bois de Boulogne and saw in the distance the city with its thousands and thousands of lights, the Arc de Triomphe rising majestically out of the star-shaped crossroads, and the Eiffel Tower soaring slim and shiny into the night sky, watching over the city.
    Héloïse had never seen Paris from above before. She hadn’t known that her city was so beautiful.
    â€œThis is so amazing!” she cried. “Everything is so different when you see it from above, don’t you think, Tiger?”
    â€œIt’s always good to look at things as a whole from time to time,” said the blue tiger. “And that is best done from above. Or from a distance. Only when you see the whole picture do you realize how well everything fits together in reality.”
    Héloïse snuggled in close to his soft fur as they flew back toward the Bois de Boulogne in a broad curve. The air was summery and warm and her golden hair fluttered in the wind. Below them on the Seine, which wound through the city like a dark satin ribbon, the tourist boats glided on with their bright lamps, and if anyone had looked up from below he would have seen a long streaming indigo-blue cloud with a shimmering fringe of gold and probably been more than a little surprised. But perhaps this person would also have believed that it was the tail of a shooting star and wished for something.
    â€œI’m so happy that you really exist!” cried Héloïse in the tiger’s ear as they swooped down on the parc de Bagatelle and the scent of the roses wafted in her freckled nose. “At school they all laughed at me.”
    â€œAnd I am glad that you exist, Héloïse,” said the blue tiger. “Because you are a very special girl.”
    â€œNo one’s going to believe this,” said Héloïse, after the blue tiger had landed softly on all four paws in her garden.
    â€œSo what?” he replied. “Wasn’t it great anyway?”
    â€œAbsolutely wonderful,” said Héloïse, shaking her head a little sadly. “But they won’t believe me. No one will believe me when I tell them I’ve met a blue cloud-tiger.”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter a bit,” said the blue tiger. “The most important thing is that you believe it yourself—and, by the way, that’s the most important thing in every case.”
    He sprang lithely to a spot under the open window Héloïse had climbed out of to collect her forgotten painting things and the picture of the tiger.
    It seemed to her as if an eternity had passed since then, but it couldn’t have been that long, because through the lighted window she could see her parents still watching their TV program. No one had noticed that she’d been away. Apart perhaps from Babu, who was standing in the big living-room window wagging his tail and barking excitedly.
    â€œYou can climb on my back if you like—then it will be easier to climb into your room,” said the blue tiger.
    Héloïse hesitated. “Will I see you again?”
    â€œProbably not,” said the blue tiger. “Because you only meet a