Come see my ballerina! he would say. His friends would come, would watch her flit across the stage as if blown by winds of angry gods of war.

They who saw her dance before would see it. They who had a love of art and still the heart within them would not say it. The General did not know. He saw her in his own way and thought he saw it all.

Her smile to him, her bow; a perfomance like her dance.