Unlike his three sisters, who were chaste and modest, under constant supervision from an imposing governess, the boy was obviously treated differently. His soft golden curls spilled down his forehead ears and neck, and his posture was completely relaxed, yet surprisingly elegant, a far cry from the stiffness displayed by his siblings. On closer inspection, I noticed his face to be more pale than is considered healthy, white as ivory against his dark gold curls. Perhaps this young boy was ill, or sickly in some way?

Soon enough, a waiter appeared, to inform us all that dinner was served. However, I remained where i was for the time being, sunk down into my armchair, and continued my scrutiny of the boy and his family. The polish children and their governess waited patiently around their little cane table, and I waited unobtrusively with them. The dinner service had begun, but still we waited. At last, a well-dressed lady entered the room, perhaps the wife of some high up government official, and the children rose to greet her. Finally accompanied by their mother, the family entered the dining hall together. As I walked to my own table, noticing with a pang of regret that it was situated far from the beautiful boy and his family, I reflected on what i had just witnessed. It was nothing unusual, common courtesy dictates that you wait for your mother before being seated yourself, but the whole affair was performed with such an air of dignity and respect that I found myself to be strangely moved.