Raised on wooden posts and wrapped on both storeys by pointed Gothic-arched arcades, the pavilion looks like a fretwork castle of wood lace: sharp arches, elaborately carved roof edges, and a roof crowned with a small spire. Two broad staircases lead up to it, while in front, on the gravel path between the hedges, stand empty ornate garden chairs and round little tables; a few guests in white dresses and dark suits stroll about or sit at the tables, and a maid in a white uniform climbs the stairs.
This is the same pavilion we already glimpsed in the distance, through the trees, in exhibit No. 68, when looking past the "Café Riviera" gate. Together with the brick building that housed the restaurant with its marble caryatids (exhibit No. 67), this terrace shows just how extensive Count Vladislovas Tiškevičius's pleasure complex really was: not a single room or a café counter, but a whole stretch of grounds studded with arcades, staircases and garden furniture, designed to make a visitor feel they had truly arrived at a seaside resort.
In the animation the people begin to move — a man in a black tailcoat walks along the gravel path straight toward the foreground, while other guests shift at their tables — yet the photograph itself, unlike most other exhibits, stays uncoloured, in black and white. It's as though time has only been half-released: the figures can move again, but the "Riviera" will still have to wait for its colours in another frame.