And The Blue Tiger followed Marta to Paris. 

It was hard for him not to go, as his tail and her wing, which Marta had instead of her left arm, were still linked by a silver chain. The thin chain was outstretched to the limit, and it annoyed The Blue Tiger very much. And his tail was in a constant silent frenzy, pounding rhythmically on the floor. 

The spring in Paris was almost beautiful, and the trees looked like young brides. If only it weren’t for the high winds and drizzling rain. The Blue Tiger had no choice but to buy a new trench coat. This time in beige. She recognized him by this very trench. She knew he was coming beforehand, of course, because instead of profound silence, the chain began to jingle on the pavement, and thus she realized that the distance between them was lessening. It was disturbing. 

Marta decided that she wouldn’t give herself away. And when she saw the familiar blue-striped tail from beneath his trench coat, she yanked the chain with all her might. 

But Tiger was faster. A feline’s presentiment or something. Before the swing of silver links reached him, he was beside Marta in one leap.

“I see the waiting hasn’t been tedious for you, Marta?” he asked her calmly as if nothing had happened.

They were standing in an alley, around the corner of a broad avenue. 

“Well, this is Paris,” she said without looking at him, ostensibly observing passersby on the avenue – ”Everything here is supposed to be tedious and languid.”

“And what is your purpose in staying here?”

“I thought of escape like I always do. But it turned out there is a clinic where they teach how to fly with one wing.”

“Your new hobby? A scam?”

“More like the same old, same old self-delusion.”