I dreamt of “L’Impératrice Eugénie parmi ses dames d’honneur” by Winterhalter (1855), that I know because there’s a small reproduction in my parents’ dining room.
The Empress Eugénie was having a nice and quiet afternoon with her friends from the palace, sitting in the beautiful and shady garden in Compiègne.
I could hear their educated, sophisticated and subdued conversations. Two were laughing lightly, another was humming a song, one was lost in the contemplation of flowers, two were whispering secrets, two were undecided as to which conversation to follow, and the empress was rather bored. I was on my way to the kitchen and wasn’t paying attention to them.
On my way back to my room, something was missing.
The Empress Eugénie had left.
I guessed she had gone for a solitary walk.