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checked.”
    “Here.” She handed him the bento box. “You can put it back.” Ruthie was glad to rest after the long climb. She sat down and watched as Jack took the box and made his way through the opening in the framework, which led to the side room where he would wait for a break in the crowd.
    “That was close,” Jack said when he reappeared. “Someone almost saw me, and I had to dive into the garden. It’s weird,” he added. “It feels different in there since the last time. The garden was real, alive, before. Now it’s fake.”
    “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t alive when I went in there on Sunday. I noticed that right away.”
    “I wonder why it’s not.”
    “All I know is that E27 is most definitely magic,” Ruthie responded. “Or at least it was on Sunday. Let’s go.”
    Ruthie and Jack ran along the ledge, past the Chinese interior and a German sitting room. She led Jack to the opening for room E27. Stepping into the beautiful rooftop garden, the two instantly felt what Ruthie had experienced before—it was alive!
    “Wow. This is pretty awesome!” Jack looked off into the distance through a window in the high wall that enclosed the garden.
    “Jack, watch out!” Ruthie ordered. “People can see you from there.” It was true. Room E27 had two doorways—one leading out to the roof garden, and the other to a balcony. Viewers from the museum could look through either door and see not only the long vistas of Paris but Jack as well. He swung around and ducked out of the way at the very moment a head came into view.
    Ruthie joined him in the safe spot. “Isn’t it fantastic?”
    “What year did you say it was?” Jack asked.
    “The catalogue said 1937—the year of some kind of big fair.” She peeked around the corner. “Come on!”
    Jack followed her into the room. “It’s so different from Sophie’s room.” He admired the high ceilings and simple, geometric lines.
    “We can’t stay here—the museum is too crowded. Let’sgo out to the balcony.” Ruthie led him out of the room, through the door on the right.
    Out there, where no viewers could see them, they heard the sounds of the street mixed with music and voices, just as Ruthie had during her brief first visit. She looked at Jack. “Want to explore?”
    “Yes!” he answered.

T HEY MADE THEIR WAY DOWN and around—six times—on the outdoor spiral staircase. At the bottom they found themselves in a formal garden courtyard, much like the one on the rooftop. Several beautiful white stone sculptures stood next to precisely trimmed bushes. Aromatic roses bloomed in four squared-off sections with paths in between, and an elaborately decorated wrought-iron gate led to the street. Jack opened it and stuck his head out to check what was happening on the sidewalk.
    Ruthie noticed a key hanging from a nail on the garden wall. She put it in one of her pockets to make sure they wouldn’t get locked out, and then joined Jack on the sidewalk. The weighty iron gate clanged shut behind them.
    So this is Paris in 1937
, Ruthie thought, wide-eyed, as she looked all around. White stone buildings—uniformly about six stories tall—faced the wide boulevard. Sycamoretrees trimmed into perfect rectangles lined the streets. Ruthie thought they looked like giant leafy ice cream bars on sticks. A few blocks off, the Eiffel Tower rose high above all the other buildings. A well-dressed woman walked by carrying in a little basket the smallest dog Ruthie had ever seen.
    Another woman passed them pulling a wheeled shopping cart, a baguette sticking out from the top. Except for the hairdos and clothes and the shapes of the cars, it looked just like the pictures in her mother’s books. The women all wore dresses or skirts and high heels and had neatly waved hair. Most of the men were in suits and leather shoes—no blue jeans or sneakers in sight. The sidewalks were dotted with cafés on every corner, filled with people, many of them smoking cigarettes,