A pert little nose and dimples accentuate the mischievous smile. A cloud of dark hair surrounds a small oval face, out of which enormous dark eyes (much bigger than they were) look out from under arched brows.
She is wearing a red velvet dress with a square décolleté outlined with Venetian lace.
Memories of myself at Serena's age recall a picture painted by Carolus Duran of a little girl against a tall red curtain. That we are both in America - she the child of my granddaughter Sarah Spencer-Churchill, who married an American, and I the wife of a Frenchman - is due to World War II, and to events little anticipated at the turn of the century when I left my native land. Watching my great-grandchild Serena Russell at play, so sure of herself, even at the age of three, I wonder if, when she reaches my age, she also will have forgotten events that now appear important to her. IN TRYING to recount events that have influenced my life, it is humiliating to find that I remember very little of my childhood.
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