One of those frail little love stories which can barely withstand the light of day, let alone the transposition from the French where it was no doubt favored by the douceur of the inflection. Jacques Bernier, 45, alone and rather dull, in fact looking like an ""undertaker's assistant,"" goes off for the summer to visit his daughter -- the child of a year-and-a-half marriage -- now living in a commune. After a night in what sounds and looks like a ""North African bazaar,"" he goes to nearby Menton where he picks up a girl at the movies. Her name is Laura, and she's blind, even if she does do all kinds of unexpected things like going to the movies or driving a car. They spend the next few weeks together; he's warned -- by another blind man -- that the sighted are always ultimately excluded in a world where the condition supersedes the self. At the end Laura is off to America -- he hopes -- and one assumes -- she will return to him. L 'heure rose -- with a gentle intimacy, as soundless as the splash of a teardrop.