I dreamt that I was visiting a magnificent city that looked a bit like Paris. It was much grander, though. Its topography was much more lively, too. I remember walking down the marble stairs of a steep park and looking around at all manner of sculptures and pavilions. The taste was not mine, but the artistic touch of everything in sight was still enchanting. There were a few people with me, but I did not know them very well. I remember one gentleman impeccably dressed in a brown tweed suit in the style of late Forties or early Fifties. He had a brown felt hat, as well. Walking down elaborate stairs, at some point we left the park and entered a public library. Exquisitely designed in a style reminiscent of Art Deco, it was crowded. Everyone was carrying around large volumes bound in fine leather. Still walking down, we came to the library’s lobby. It was made of yellowish stone. The dedication inscribed on one of the walls carried a French name, but I do not remember it any longer. An elaborate pool of greenish water covered much of the lobby floor. Lit from below, the water looked pure and clean. “Excuse me,” said the gentleman in the tweed suit and made a few quick steps toward the pool, “I must…” A moment later he jumped in, feet first. To my surprise, the water reached up to his chest. His eyes closed, he waded around the pool in obvious delight. Only then I noticed wisps of vapor above the surface, indicating that the water was quite warm. I remember marveling at his pluck just before I woke up. Somehow he struck me as a French intellectual par excellence.