Aurora adjusts her napkin mitre, draws herself to full two-year-old height, and extends one solemn hand toward the seagull. This is clearly, in her mind, a formal negotiation between equals. The seagull regards her with one amber eye. Flavio, approaching from the other side, solemnly places the boutonnière on the railing — a trade offer, flower for bread roll — and steps back to await the outcome. The seagull looks at the boutonnière. Looks at Flavio. Shifts the bread roll approximately three centimetres further from the boutonnière. Aurora tries a different tactic: she delivers a speech in a language that is approximately Swedish crossed with gibberish, with absolute episcopal authority. The seagull blinks once, with great patience. The Observer wisely takes a half-step backward. Then, from somewhere below the terrace, comes the cheerful jangle of a small brass bell and the determined patter of paws on cobblestone. The harbour dog has found the stairs.