Read Online With Violets by Elizabeth Robards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Robards
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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the name of work.
He steps back to look.
“Mademoiselle , if you please, tuck your skirt underneath you so we might see the legs of the chair. Mademoiselle Claus, would you be so kind as to help her fix her train so it f lows nicely over the back?”
Fanny Claus does as she’s asked, but to accomplish the task, I must stand so we can turn the chair back so it will not ob-struct the line of the dress.
When I sit, Édouard studies me for a moment, brows knit. I wonder if he is displeased with what he sees, with both of us being dressed in white gowns?
He says nothing but, “This painting will take several days.
Are you prepared to wear the same dresses for the duration?”
I nod. “Will they not get dirty, monsieur?”
He strokes his beard and turns to Maman and Madame Chevalier. “Mesdames, would it be possible for the mesdemoiselles to wear a different dress tomorrow and bring the white frocks with them? They can leave them here to change into each morning. Mademoiselle Morisot is right, if they wear them back and forth every day, I am afraid they will get soiled.”
My eyes dart to the dressing screen, and my breath catches at the thought of undressing behind it. Then my gaze shifts to Maman to gauge her reaction.
Madame Chevalier looks to Madame Manet, who seems undaunted by the request. Maman stares at me with narrowed I-told-you-so eyes, as if the suggestion has f lown from my lips. “As long as you are comfortable with the idea, Madame
Manet,” says Maman. “I suppose I am, too.”
Much to my surprise, Madame Chevalier agrees, and that is the end of the discussion. Fanny Claus and I will be dressing partners, for there was no possible way we can navigate the buttons that run the length of the back of our dresses.
“Angle your body to the right, but look slightly to the left.”
I do exactly as he instructs.
“No, too much. Back to the center. Just a bit. Yes, there.
Good. Good. Hold that.”
He turns to his worktable and comes back with an armful of items, among them a red fan and a necklace. He hands me the fan, then walks around behind me and slides a slip of black velvet around my throat.
I only catch a glimpse, but I see the choker consists of a heart-shaped medallion strung on a piece of ribbon. I feel his hand working at my nape, and I wonder if the choker belongs to Suzanne or whether it is just a prop he keeps in the studio for just such an occasion.
After he finishes tying, he walks around to the front. “Hold the fan in your left hand and bring it up so it rests on your right arm.
“Yes, that is it. Perfect! Hold that pose while I arrange the others.”
It takes him an instant to accomplish the task. He directs Fanny Claus to stand next to me, and places Monsieur Guillemet in the middle, slightly behind us.
With my face angled away, it is hard to see the props he has selected, but I get the idea from conversation.
“Mademoiselle Claus, let the umbrella fall across your body, anchoring it with your left arm. Bend your arms at the elbows, like so.” He demonstrates. “And act as if you are putting on these gloves.”
His instructions for Monsieur Guillemet are as simple as, “Stand between the two ladies, s’il vous plaît, with your arms like so.”
Édouard bends both arms at the elbow, one slightly higher than the other, as if Guillemet is walking midstride.
I believe Manet is about ready to start, but he frowns and walks over to the worktable and rummages around for a while, then comes back with the homeliest hat I have ever seen—a close-fitting cap with a big, ugly dried pompon of a f lower pinned to it.
For a split second I fear he will pull it onto my head as fast as he slipped on the necklace. Alas, it is Fanny Claus who wins the pleasure. I hear Édouard rustling around next to me, but I dare not turn my head to look and lose the perfect angle he has assigned me.
I smile to myself, as I can only imagine how ridiculous her long, expressionless face must look
He steps back to look.
“Mademoiselle , if you please, tuck your skirt underneath you so we might see the legs of the chair. Mademoiselle Claus, would you be so kind as to help her fix her train so it f lows nicely over the back?”
Fanny Claus does as she’s asked, but to accomplish the task, I must stand so we can turn the chair back so it will not ob-struct the line of the dress.
When I sit, Édouard studies me for a moment, brows knit. I wonder if he is displeased with what he sees, with both of us being dressed in white gowns?
He says nothing but, “This painting will take several days.
Are you prepared to wear the same dresses for the duration?”
I nod. “Will they not get dirty, monsieur?”
He strokes his beard and turns to Maman and Madame Chevalier. “Mesdames, would it be possible for the mesdemoiselles to wear a different dress tomorrow and bring the white frocks with them? They can leave them here to change into each morning. Mademoiselle Morisot is right, if they wear them back and forth every day, I am afraid they will get soiled.”
My eyes dart to the dressing screen, and my breath catches at the thought of undressing behind it. Then my gaze shifts to Maman to gauge her reaction.
Madame Chevalier looks to Madame Manet, who seems undaunted by the request. Maman stares at me with narrowed I-told-you-so eyes, as if the suggestion has f lown from my lips. “As long as you are comfortable with the idea, Madame
Manet,” says Maman. “I suppose I am, too.”
Much to my surprise, Madame Chevalier agrees, and that is the end of the discussion. Fanny Claus and I will be dressing partners, for there was no possible way we can navigate the buttons that run the length of the back of our dresses.
“Angle your body to the right, but look slightly to the left.”
I do exactly as he instructs.
“No, too much. Back to the center. Just a bit. Yes, there.
Good. Good. Hold that.”
He turns to his worktable and comes back with an armful of items, among them a red fan and a necklace. He hands me the fan, then walks around behind me and slides a slip of black velvet around my throat.
I only catch a glimpse, but I see the choker consists of a heart-shaped medallion strung on a piece of ribbon. I feel his hand working at my nape, and I wonder if the choker belongs to Suzanne or whether it is just a prop he keeps in the studio for just such an occasion.
After he finishes tying, he walks around to the front. “Hold the fan in your left hand and bring it up so it rests on your right arm.
“Yes, that is it. Perfect! Hold that pose while I arrange the others.”
It takes him an instant to accomplish the task. He directs Fanny Claus to stand next to me, and places Monsieur Guillemet in the middle, slightly behind us.
With my face angled away, it is hard to see the props he has selected, but I get the idea from conversation.
“Mademoiselle Claus, let the umbrella fall across your body, anchoring it with your left arm. Bend your arms at the elbows, like so.” He demonstrates. “And act as if you are putting on these gloves.”
His instructions for Monsieur Guillemet are as simple as, “Stand between the two ladies, s’il vous plaît, with your arms like so.”
Édouard bends both arms at the elbow, one slightly higher than the other, as if Guillemet is walking midstride.
I believe Manet is about ready to start, but he frowns and walks over to the worktable and rummages around for a while, then comes back with the homeliest hat I have ever seen—a close-fitting cap with a big, ugly dried pompon of a f lower pinned to it.
For a split second I fear he will pull it onto my head as fast as he slipped on the necklace. Alas, it is Fanny Claus who wins the pleasure. I hear Édouard rustling around next to me, but I dare not turn my head to look and lose the perfect angle he has assigned me.
I smile to myself, as I can only imagine how ridiculous her long, expressionless face must look
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