Free Paris Is Always a Good Idea by Nicolas Barreau Page A

cloud-tiger once in a lifetime.”
    â€œOh,” said Héloïse.
    â€œBut you mustn’t let that make you sad. Whenever you want to see me, just lie down in the grass and wait until a cloud-tiger cloud flies past. That will be me. And now go.”
    Héloïse put her arms around the tiger for one last time.
    â€œJust don’t forget me,” she said.
    The tiger raised his bandaged paw. “How could I forget you? I’ve got your cloth with the paint spots.”
    Héloïse stood at her window a little longer, watching the blue tiger as he bounded across the garden in a couple of great leaps. He jumped over the hedge, flew away over the treetops, making their leaves rustle softly, and then rose above the bright disc of the moon for a brief moment before he was finally lost against the dark night sky.
    â€œI won’t forget you either, Tiger,” she said softly. “Never!”
    When Héloïse woke up the next morning, the sun was shining brightly into the room, the window was wide open, and her clothes and her red painting bag were lying on the floor.
    â€œGood morning, Héloïse,” said her mother, who had almost tripped over the satchel. “You shouldn’t just drop things on the floor all the time.”
    â€œYes, Maman, but this time it’s different,” said Héloïse, sitting up in bed excitedly. “Yesterday evening I went back to the park because I’d forgotten my painting things, and my bag was still there but my picture had vanished, and then in the Grotto of the Four Winds I met a blue tiger who looked just like my picture, blue with silver stripes, and he could even talk, Maman, because he was a cloud-tiger, but he’d hurt himself on the rosebushes and I bandaged his paw, and then he let me ride on his back and we flew all over Paris together and—” Unfortunately, Héloïse had to stop for breath at this point.
    â€œMy goodness,” said her mother with a laugh, stroking her daughter’s hair. “You’ve had a really adventurous dream. That’s probably because of all the chocolate cake you ate yesterday.”
    â€œBut no, Maman, it wasn’t a dream,” said Héloïse, leaping out of bed. “The blue tiger was in our garden. He was standing here, outside my window, before he flew away again.”
    She went over to the window and leaned out to look into the garden, which was calm and peaceful—actually just like every other morning. “It was a cloud-tiger!” she insisted.
    â€œA cloud-tiger … well, well,” repeated her mother, amused. “I’m really glad that he didn’t gobble you up. And now get dressed and Papa will take you to school.”
    Héloïse was going to explain that cloud-tigers are no danger at all to children, but her mother had already left the room. “That child really has a lively imagination, Bernard,” Héloïse heard her say as she went downstairs.
    Héloïse wrinkled her forehead and thought as hard as she could. Could it really be true that she had just dreamed the whole thing? Thoughtfully she put on her dress and stared at the red bag with her painting things, which was still lying beside her bed. She lifted it and looked inside.
    There was a box of watercolors, a couple of brushes, a sketch book with empty pages. An opened pack of cookies. The white rag with the paint spots was missing. And then Héloïse noticed something shiny right at the bottom of the bag.
    It was a round, flat, sky-blue pebble!
    â€œHéloïse, are you coming?” she heard her mother call.
    â€œComing, Maman!”
    Héloïse clenched her fingers tight around the smooth blue stone and smiled. What did grown-ups know about anything?
    After school she’d go to her friend Maurice and tell him the story of the blue tiger. And she was absolutely sure he’d believe her.
    Long after she’d read the last