They took a taxi to a café on the edge of the Alexander Gardens. There was not a breath of wind, and under the glowing white sky tinged with pink from the horizon which seemed to fume with a warning of frost, the scant leaves were hanging motionless from the lime trees. The waiters who had to serve the tables outside the café were wearing their overcoats over their long aprons. It was the first sting of autumn. In two weeks the statues in the gardens would be wrapped in straw against the cold, all doors would be shut and all windows would be impenetrably sealed up until next spring.
