Moonlight Over Paris(22)

“It does not matter if you wish to paint like an Old Master or a Cubist—the education is the same. If you cannot draw, you are nothing. And your art? It is nothing.”

He went once again to the shelves, and this time took down a plain wooden cylinder. This he placed on the stool. “I will give you one half hour to draw this cylinder. Begin.”

Calm yourself, Helena thought. Calm. She could draw a cylinder in half an hour. This, she could do.

Helena decided to prepare the paper before she began—not as painstakingly as she would ordinarily do, but enough to provide some depth to the sketch’s background. She dug a flat piece of compressed charcoal from the cup on her easel and, holding it flat against the paper, spread an even layer of light gray across its entire surface. No rag had been provided, so she used the cuff of her smock to blend the charcoal to a pale, even wash of silver. Turning the stick on end, she sketched the cylinder’s outline in quick, confident strokes. Shadows came next, and then highlights, which she created with swift, sure touches of her putty eraser. She worked carefully, pausing now and again to survey her progress, blocking out all thoughts of Ma?tre Czerny and the other students.

“Enough!” he called. “We have only enough time for one more shape. Shall we see what ruin you can make of a sphere? Begin.”

Moments later, it seemed, the bells at Notre-Dame Cathedral began to chime the hour. It was noon.

Ma?tre Czerny went to the door, issuing a final directive before departing. “Take your work with you. I have no use for it. For tomorrow, I expect you to prepare one example of each shape, executed to the best of your sadly limited abilities. à demain.”





Chapter 9


As soon as the door had closed behind Ma?tre Czerny, air began to fill the salon again. Helena took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts.

“You seem a little bouleversée,” Mr. Moreau said. “I am not sure of the word in English. Overturned?”

“Bowled over, perhaps?”

“Yes, exactly. I was thinking we should—”

“étienne!”

They were interrupted by the arrival of another student, a woman who had been sitting on the other side of the salon, and whose work had elicited several rare nods from Ma?tre Czerny. She and Mr. Moreau kissed cheeks and began a conversation in French that was far too animated for Helena to follow.

“Miss Parr, allow me to introduce you to Mathilde Renault. I was about to ask if you’d like to share a coffee with me.”

“Yes, please. But you must both call me Helena. I insist.”

“We shall. We should all be on a first-name basis, should we not? As comrades in arms? Yes?”

“I have the time for one coffee,” said Mathilde. “But what of your other friend?” she asked, looking over Helena’s shoulder at the American girl, who was slowly gathering her sketches into a bundle.

“Of course,” étienne agreed. “Excuse me, Mademoiselle—would you like to join us?”

“I’d love to,” she said, her expression brightening.

“I am étienne Moreau, and these are my friends Mathilde Renault and Helena Parr.”

“I’m pleased to make everyone’s acquaintance. I’m Daisy Fields.”

No one spoke for a moment. The American girl simply had to be teasing them.

“Truthfully—that is your name?” étienne said, his eyes wide with amazement.

“Well, my real name is Dorothy, but my parents called me Daisy when I was little and I guess it just stuck. It’s pretty silly, I know.”

“Not at all,” étienne insisted gallantly. “I think it suits you very well. Now—where shall we go? Mathilde?”

“The Falstaff is not so very far.”

“The Falstaff it is. Allons-y!”

AS THEY FILED out of the grand salon and down the stairs, they were joined by a middle-aged woman who had been sitting on a stool in the corridor.

“Do you know her?” Helena whispered to Daisy, for the woman’s eyes were focused to a disconcerting degree on her new friend.

“That’s just Louisette. Daddy insists she accompany me everywhere. We hate one another.”

“Oh . . . I see.”

“I shouldn’t use the word ‘hate,’ I know. But she does get on my nerves. When Daddy first hired her, I tried to be nice. I’d invite her to sit with me, to have what I was having, but she always said no. So now I try to pretend she doesn’t exist.”

When they got to Falstaff’s, which was just down the street from the academy, Daisy politely but firmly banished Louisette to a table at the far side of the café and asked the waiter to bring the woman a glass of water. But she didn’t touch the water, or ask for anything else. All she did was sit and stare at Daisy and, by extension, the rest of them. It really was quite unnerving.

Soon, though, Helena was caught up in their conversation and having a grand time, though she barely touched the café noisette she had ordered. étienne was on his third café express before he noticed.

“Is there something not right with your coffee?”

“Nothing at all. It’s simply . . . well, it’s a bit strong for me. I would normally have a café au lait, but—”