"Do you speak English? I'm afraid my French is pretty rusty," I said, kneeling to help her gather up the things that had spilled out of her bag. I handed her back the usual assortment of items—keys, cell phone, compact, and a paperback—before gathering up the couple of books I'd purchased.

"Oh, thank you. Yes, I do speak English. I am so sorry, I am very late for an appointment and wasn't watching where I was going," the woman said in a delightful French accent, her delicate-boned face perfectly framed by fluffy blond hair. She had that air of fragility common to Frenchwomen, the one that screamed "gamine." That she plowed into me with the force of a Mack truck mattered little, I suspected, to the men who no doubt flung themselves daily at her feet. "Did I step on you? No? Good. I am very distressed, you see. I've lost the address where I'm supposed to go, and none of the bookshops seem to be the right one. Ah, there is another one. I will try there."

"Beware of spiders," I warned as she tucked her belongings away in her bag.

The smile she flashed me faded. "Spiders?"

"Yes, evidently some big hairy ones."

She shuddered. "I detest spiders! Perhaps that shop is not the one…" She eyed the bookstore with obvious distaste.

"If you're looking for a current book, they probably aren't going to have it. It seemed to be mostly old and antique books."

"Antique," she said thoughtfully. "That does not sound correct. The Zenith was most specific it was an English book with the man and woman on the cover dancing… oh, la la! The time!" She had glanced at her watch, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "I will try another one; that does not look like a shop to have the dancing books, does it?"

"Naw, the only thing I found there was an old Agatha Christie and some Regency romance," I said, gesturing at my books.

"Bien, It is good I run into you, I think!"