Marguerite has remained alone in front of the painting. She's bored.
She considers the watercolor without really looking at it.
Mechanically, she deciphers the label that reads: "Annie Bayle -- Separate Destinies".
Marguerite doesn't know
who Annie Bayle is. She knows most of the painters her father frequents,
but Annie Bayle is certainly much too famous to be in the circle of acquaintances of a painter who hasn't yet broken through.
And "Separate Destinies" doesn't say much to a little girl. So Marguerite concentrates on the painting, trying to understand what a
destiny is and how it can be separated from another destiny.
- Please, do you know my name? Tell me my name, little girl!
- Such scribbles!
- Scribbles? She said "scribbles." That's not a name! But at least she answered me. She's looking at me!
Do you really think my name is Scribbles?
Marguerite hasn't said a single word. She has kept this thought about Annie Bayle's painting -- "Such scribbles!" -- to herself,
without opening her mouth. But it seems to her that someone has answered her: "Do you really think my name is Scribbles?"
Intrigued, Marguerite gets closer to the watercolor.
- Yes, it's me talking to you. Look, I'll give you a sign!
Annie Bayle - Separate Destinies
Marguerite is amazed: something seems to have moved, right in the middle of the painting.
There, in the white strip at the bottom -- something like a hand with three fingers. And the hand is moving!
Stranger still: even though no sound is coming through the plate of glass that protects the painting,
Marguerite distinctly hears the question she is being asked:
- Yes, it's me! Why do you say that my name is Scribbles!