Summer in Vichy, when the sun burns the city, everyone looks for his or her shade, that of the large trees along the river, the more ephemeral one of an awning. Every move is seen as a journey and life seems to be suspended in the slightest trickle of air. The people of Vichy are in apnea. All the people of Vichy? Not all. There is an oasis, a secret place, a pocket Cherifian kingdom in the middle of the thermal district, where the heat has no hold. From the outside, nothing distinguishes this house from the others except for a frieze on the floor and a sparkling white façade. Black is not the order of the day in this Belle Epoque house remodeled in the 1930s by a wealthy French colonist from Morocco, an avid follower of the thermal cures in Vichy.