By nine the square was already practicing punctuality in the kindest way. The tower clock lowered its minute hand like a porch stair, and the minutes walked as far as the fountain, counted the ripples, and came home before the next hour had to clear its throat.
We asked at the news kiosk under the tower. "I wrote it in the thank-you book," the seller said. "If a minute nods to the water, you may wave. If it keeps walking, it is still counting cobblestones and should not be hurried." A rumor that time had taken the morning off turned out to be smaller and kinder: just one stroll, one nod to the hand, and a slightly tidier face.
The next afternoon the same woman came back with a paper cup of cocoa and stood long enough to see one minute bow to the fountain and climb back through the XII. She left a card on the bench that read, please keep the quarter-hours free for beginners.