A group of school children, probably born after Bertie Ahern became Taoiseach, filed into the National Gallery this morning unaware that next door in the foyer of Government Buildings, the end of the Ahern era was imminent.
Civil servants had taken time off from their no-doubt hectic work schedule and looked on from the wings at a moment in history.
As Bertie reached the plinth atop the marble steps, he looked over the heads of the hastily assembled media corps and out to the gates where a band of loyalists had gathered. The small group held a deep red banner bearing the words: "Ballybough loves Bertie" - appropriate for the self-declared "only socialist in the Dáil."
And then Bertie launched into what have been the toughest 11-and-half minutes of his political life.
He started with choked voice but as his professionally written script took on the sound of an ardfheis speech, normal oratory was resumed.
He had followed through on the commitments he gave on the day he became leader of Fianna Fáil, he said.
After the heave-ridden years of Haughey and the bitterness of Albert Reynolds's Country and Western clear-out, Bertie had promised there was no room for factions in Fianna Fáil when he took up the party reigns over 13 years ago.
He had put his party back in government and kept them there. He had pledged to work for economic prosperity and delivered.
And above all, he had promised to spare no effort to bring peace to the island of Ireland. I have given my all to the cause, the outgoing leader of the republican party insisted.
It is often said that the only people who can take down a Fianna Fáil Taoiseach are Fianna Fáil members. And consistent to his undoubted flair for brokering compromise Bertie defied the rule by keeping his enemies - and his allies - to a minimum.
Flanked by his Cabinet and Chief Whip (and Dick Roche, for some reason), this morning he thanked all and sundry, speaking in particularly warm tones about the party grass roots which, he said, were the "decisive factor" in returning the party to power last year.
He departed from his script to say give words of thanks to Mary Harney whom he described as a "good friend".
As the clock ticked towards eleven, a loud humming sound came from a plant room adjacent to the foyer. Bertie had just told the media that they knew more about his personal life than anyone who had ever held office.
And then he offered them perhaps their last Bertie-ism of his term. The "issue" was interfering with the body "politique", he said.
The "issue", of course, was the Mahon Tribunal inquiries exposing the "minutiae" of his lifestyle and finances.
His leaving was not because he had done anything wrong, he insisted. And he began to choke again as he defiantly declared that he had never enriched himself "by misusing the trust of the people".
The hum stopped and moments later Bertie said the words that his opponents believe he should have said months before last June's election: "it is my intention to tender my resignation".
Not that they did much of a job convincing the Irish public. While some were too cowardly to tell the electorate last summer that the Taoiseach must go, others who said so were - in classic Bertie style - ultimately taken into coalition.
He accepted he had made personal and political mistakes and apologised to those who found his financial affairs "unusual". His problems were all down to a period when his "family, personal and professional situations were rapidly changing", he insisted. Again.
He said he would travel to the States to be honoured by Congress, return for the State visit of the Prime Minister of Japan, and on May 6th that, as he would say, would be dat.