She stands there at the top of the stairs, waiting for her admirers. There is no arrogance: she is rightly deserving of their adoration. Although there were hundreds (and I am not fond of crowds, to gloriously understate my tendency to avoid great throngs of people no matter the cost), I found myself drawn to her, as well. I am always drawn to her. She stands there as if for eternity, her confident breast poised to ever move forward, exemplifying courage in battle, courage amidst the storms. (If you have the opportunity to view her from the side, you can better see how she is buffetted by the winds.) She is the Messenger Goddess, Victory. And, I joined the fray at the Louvre to pay her homage.