The Studio

[Maid of Marvels]

You never noticed it before, the old barn beyond the bridge. It sits alone and long deserted; its paint once a bright red, now a dull brown. Lights flicker in the gloaming. Fireflies, you think, as you watch, bemused. But so many?

Without realizing, you have crossed the bridge, walked the distance to the barn and stand on the threshold, your hand on the door, sliding it back. What's that? You peer into the dimness beyond. An easel? And what is that doing here, you wonder. You expect the smell of hay and animals, but no it is the scent of oil paints and turpentine and something as old as time.

The easel is surrounded by light. Surreal you think until you look up to see a skylight above. Amazing that the glass has held all these years.

Disappointed that the canvas is blank, you start to walk away but something catches your eye. A ripple. Did it move? You look again. The canvas corruscates.

You blink. You rub your eyes and lean closer, peering. It can't be, but you see that it is. There is a painting there.

"I see you like my... studio," a voice says softly. "Won't you come in?"

******

Read along with chris2c4u and myself
as we
dance across time and space,
from painting to painting...

"Listen," another voice says. "There's a tale being told."

As always, comments, critiques and ideas are always welcome by PM or IM.

Enjoy!
Maid and Chris​

​

 

[Maid of Marvels]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/Maid/laGrandeJatte.jpg

"A Sunday on La Grande Jatte"
Georges Seurat​

 

[sonali00783]

OOC: sorry and good luck

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"A Sunday on La Grande Jatte"

Liliane Drouillard sat on the edge of her bed, a letter from James Randall clutched to her breasts as tears rolled down her cheeks. He was finally coming home from Egypt.

They had met two years before at a dance hall on La Grande Jatte, an island in the middle of the Seine, which was very near the garret apartment she lived in over a modest dressmaking shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Was it only that, she wondered? Two years. It seemed like centuries -- or so it seemed when there were lengthy gaps between their letters.

She had tried to write at least once a week. Lili blushed with shame as she remembered how she had sat, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she wrote in her childish scrawl, wishing that she was smarter and had continued with her lessons instead of leaving school to work.

Her eyes stumbled over the letter one more time. James had, as he always did, poured out his heart, his love, his desires and hopes and dreams. Lili, knowing well his needs and those of other men, had always replied in kind. She just hadn't expected he would return. Not that she wished him dead, but she had thought he would go on... find himself a proper, intelligent girl; someone he could marry. An English woman.

All that worry seemed contrary to Lili's purpose in life -- to find herself a husband and a place in society that was far from the workaday life that she tolerated every day before the sun began to set in Paris at night. James Randall, as an Englishman and, despite her genuine attraction to him, seemed almost unattainable in that sense.

Setting the letter in a small box where she kept the others, Lili dressed in her simple gray dress and went downstairs to begin her day.

 

[chris2c4u]

At a top speed of eleven knots, the SS Moeris took her time crossing the Mediterranean from Egypt, though now the jetties and dockside of Marseilles hove into view and James Randall felt better.

Despite working for the Compagnie Universelle du Canal Maritime de Suez he was not a good sailor. Luckily most of his work was done ashore, negotiating with customs and intransigent captains concerning their cargoes. He had not been averse to making the most of his situation in the two years he had been in Eygpt and he was coming back to France a considerably richer man. People were prepared to pay for certain heads to be turned and certain privileges granted and he was not one to uspet the way business was done.

It had been some time, he thought, as he directed the porter towards a cab to take him the the hotel where he would spend the night. Yes, quite some time since he had had the chance of the company of a European woman. The little collection of ex-pats who ran the canal tended to be incestuous and petty jealousies would flare at the slightest rumour of infidelity. He decided he would stick to his letters to Liliane.

They hadn't had long together before he had had to leave Paris but he had been smitten. While away her letters had been fewer than he would have liked but they didn't tell him of a new beau. On a whim he decided to buy a postcard and send it to her from Marseilles.

On my way to you now, my darling. Thinking of you.

He boarded the train for Paris, with Passepartout, the monkey he had bought Liliane as a present, on his shoulder.

****

Paris bustled and James smiled. It had been his home for many years since leaving London and he adored the city, its night life, its vibrant heart - its women.

He remembered the dance where he had met Liliane and smiled at how she had seemed so shy, how he had walked her home and how she had been happy when he asked to see her again. When he found out the spectacular dress she wore had been of her own making, he was enraptured at her skill and wouldn't have it when she murmured of her lack of learning.

Finally, he arrived at the apartment over the dressmaker's shop. He knocked on the door and put Passepartout in front of it, telling him to stay still as he had trained him to do. He hid a little way down the corridor. The little monkey looked up as he heard movement behind the door.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

She had just slipped into her nightgown when Liliane heard a knock. Thinking that it was one of the other grisettes, she didn't bother asking who before opening the door a crack. Seeing no one there, she opened it further, peering into the dim hallway. Someone was obviously playing a trick, she thought, until... Her shriek of terror resounded throughout the upper floor of the dress shop as something leaped onto her body, scrambling to her shoulder and fixing it's claws in her freshly washed hair while adding its own shrill chatter to Lili's.

Overwhelmed by sheer horror, Liliane struggled to free herself from what she believed were the clutches of a huge rat as her friends, in various modes of dress and undress, ran to her aid. Wielding brooms and whatever else they had found large enough to defend their friend, an army of women burst into her small apartment adding to the cacophony with their own promises of jail, castration and worse.

Josephine LeClerc, who was first through Liliane's door, screamed, her broom coming down on the bare wooden floor with a solid WHOOMPH as the vicious beast made its escape. Spinning around wild-eyed, she was poised for a second try when Amalie, who had brought up the rear of the lynch mob, began to laugh, the first to echo the sound of a man's as he edged through the doorway, said beast in tow.

"Cease fire!" James bellowed, rushing into the madness toward Liliane who had retreated onto her bed and was staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed, her lips moving though no longer making a sound. "Oh, my darling!" he murmured, obviously upset that his arrival had gone awry. "It's only... " The monkey took a leap straight into Amalie's arms as Liliane launched herself into his. "Passepartout. A gift."

Liliane Drouillard fainted.

Once the furor had abated and Lili had been revived, Josephine (assured that the "beast" would do no further harm) led the girls out of the apartment, Amalie offering to tend to the Capuchin while James made peace with Liliane.

Alone at last, she tried to act angry, but Lili's joy at seeing James caused the ruse to fail miserably. He kissed her and kissed her again. His mouth prevented any further chastisement to fall from her lips, instead turning those protests quickly into murmurs of desire as his hands tugged at her nightgown, slowly inching it up her legs. It had been so long. So very, very long.

 

[chris2c4u]

Yes, it had been some time for him, it had been some time since they had both been together like they were that afternoon.

They slipped into each others arms and into each others bodies easily. He knew that he would climax too quickly the first time but she grinned as he slid down her so his tongue could help her finish as he tasted their mingled juices.

The second time was slower, with talking and murmuring and laughing and they climaxed almost together. He enjoyed the look on her face as her hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she rode him. He enjoyed the look of la petite mort as she did so, the feel of her nails in his chest as her hands there curled like tiny cats paws. He shivered and lifted her body up with a deep thrust into her quivering sex.

They lay together and he told her tales of Africa; the shooting expedition he'd been invited on but then didn't leave the camp as he couldn't bring himself to kill the animals he saw. How he had come across Passepartout (she hit him on the chest at the mention of the animal) and he laughed.

She told him about the nights without him, of the dress shop below them where she sold her "creations" as he had called them.

He smiled and sat up, surveying her naked torso as he did so. He bent and kissed a nipple before saying, "we should recover your little simian." He saw her frown of a question and grinned. "Passepartout. I think he likes you."

****

The little capuchin did indeed like Liliane and the young girl took a shine to her new friend. James fished out some suitable food for the creature and told the women he was housetrained and the little monkey immediately had the run of the upper floor while James and Liliane took a stroll.

They ended up in a cafe both realising they were hungry after their earlier exertions and they ordered soup and bread, cheeses and wine.

"You, Liliane," he smiled over to her once thei edge was off their hunger. Taking her hand, "despite all the adventures and intrigues of Africa it was you I wanted. I wished I could have brought you out there but we were not married."

Liliane glanced down at the lace tablecloth and then up, staring at him through her thick eyelashes. She didn't say it but the thought coalesed in their minds together.

Will we ever be married? We are so different, he a globe trotter and a - well, let's say a shop girl, she thought.

"We're together now," his voice interrupted her reverie.

"Yes." She smiled, thinking, make the most of the moment - what time we have together. "Yes, we should enjoy that," she said half to him, half to herself.

She raised her glass and made a toast. "To the moment," she said. Their glasses clinked and they smiled, eyes meeting as they drank.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

André Virenque exhaled, watching the smoke from his pipe curl lazily upward in a light cloud that seemed almost to compliment the darker one that was his mood. Liliane Drouillard's Anglais had returned to Le Quartier Français and he was displeased by the prospect of losing one of his most profitable grisettes. News travelled fast in this corner of his world and Dédé did not like his petit pommier to be disturbed... by anyone.

"Merci, Jacqui," he said at last, dismissing the middle-aged woman whose hennaed hair seemed as coarse as the powder-filled creases in her face and neck. He was loath to let his eyes wander lower, though at one time, or so he'd heard, she was one of the most popular women on La Grande Jatte.

Gesturing toward a girl he'd never had before, Dédé placed her hand on his cock when she sat beside him, grinning lewdly when her eyes widened in surprise. The other girls called him "Le Grand Fusil" -- the size of his... gun... don't you know -- but she had never had the pleasure. Even now she wondered what had drawn her to him.

That knowledge, Bernadette was soon to discover, was not hers to be had and his "pleasure" left her out of work for nearly a week and she never did understand his parting remark about her being a pale replica of Lili who would do best married to a butcher somewhere in the countryside. As for Virenque himself, his anger and frustration slightly diminished and his head now more clear, smiled as a plan began to form slowly in his mind.

******​

The following morning, Liliane was just altering a gown for one of her favored customers when a young guttersnipe came in with a message from Dédé. "He wants to see you within the hour," the young boy yelped as she grabbed him tightly by the ear and returned him to the street.

His words stung her as sharply as if they were bees. "I... cannot," she whispered to herself, her hands flying to her neck and the cameo James had given her when they first met. "I... cannot," Liliane repeated, but she knew that she would -- without question. If she hurried, she could be gone and back before James returned from the minor business that had taken him away from her this morning.

Returning to her shop, the other girls looked up at her curiously. Some knew of Liliane's dealings with "Le Grand Fusil" (as they were similarly employed) while others did not. She smiled reassuringly at all of them and returned to pinning up the hem of Mme. Darrigade's gown as if nothing was amiss... well, until she stuck her with a straightpin for the fourth time.

"Mon Dieu!" the woman exclaimed, slapping Liliane's hand away. "I've had quite enough and if you know what's good for you and your business, you will work out whatever is troubling you and put it in your past." Mme. Darrigade stepped down from the platform she had been standing on and harumphed her way to the dressing room. "I'll be back tomorrow but I expect a discount on my dress."

Liliane pinched the bridge of her nose and whispered to Josephine. "I must go. I'll try to return within the hour."

"What of James," her friend hissed. "You don't have to go to Dédé. He doesn't own you!!"

"Oh, but he does, Josephine. He does. How else do you think I got the money for this place?"

 

[chris2c4u]

The Café Momus sat surrounded by its tables spilling out onto the pavement. The street sellers who risked the wrath of the proprietor sold goods to erstwhile cafe customers; to the courting couple plums, dates to the irracible old man studying his paper and a fruit pie to a cadaverous looking tailor. They sold nothing to André Virenque. Like animals, they instinctively steered clear of the red faced man, a small cup of black coffee before him on the round metal-topped table. He surveyed the street scene with eyes that seemed to have no care in the world as he refilled his pipe.

Lili approached, half skipping in haste. It did not do to keep Dédé waiting.

She arrived and tried to recover her breath. She gave a half smile, a half curtsey to Virenque, who nodded his head towards the chair beside him. He studied the dress, knowing it was one she could not afford, even if she had made it herself. She bit her lip as he studied her and did not speak until he said, "who gave you that?" He indicated the dress with the stem of his pipe.

"M. Artois," she said, hurriedly, flushing. "He wanted to - my birthday," she stammered and shrugged.

Virenque nodded. "You pleased him then," he smiled, his somewhat uneven yellow teeth giving a lupine appearance to his grin. She did not reply.

"Come with me," he said, beginning to stand.

"Monsieur," she stammered, "I - do not have long I...If this is about the loan - I have nearly enough...the final payment..."

He put his hand on her upper arm and drew her up to stand beside him.

"We will discuss it when we are in my rooms," he said. She drew a deep breath and knew it was futile to continue the conversation and she followed him down the street.

****

His apartment on the first floor of the same road as the cafe was surpringly quiet even though it overlooked the cobbled thoroughfare. He closed the door and approached Lili.

"Come," he indicated she follow him to the bedroom. Her heart fell and her face too, which Dédé noticed but he simply laughed and walked on, knowing she would follow. When she did he told her to disrobe and get onto the bed. She flushed again but decided that the quicker she could be, the sooner she would be with James.

She was soon naked and lying on the bed. He sat beside her, still clothed and reached out to put his cold, bony palm on her belly.

"You speak of the loan," he said and she tried to smile, tried not to feel his eyes absorbing her nudity. "Perhaps I will let you off the final payment," he said thoughtfully, feeling the muscles of her abdomen tighten in her surprise.

"Thank you..." she began.

"In payment for your night with a Viscount who comes to town next week."

She turned a little towards him. "But - when the loan was settled you said - no more...engagements for me..."

He began to remove his jacket and trousers. "Perhaps I did," he said.

She frowned, not wishing to anger him, uncertain of how to go on. Soon he lay beside her on the bed, naked himself and she tried not to shudder as his hands stroked her skin, as he pushed her shoulders flat to the bedclothes. She swallowed as he clambered over her, mechanically making himself ready for her body.

"Monsieur," she said in a small voice. He bent down and kissed her breast absently. He edged her thighs apart and settled a little between her legs. His hands filled with the thick luxurious tresses of her hair and she felt his hardness nudge her sex, preparing herself for her dryness at his entry with lack of any foreplay.

Before he did so he tugged on the handful of hair, pulling her head back into the pillow. He watched as she swallowed, her white neck contracting. He saw the beating in the carotid increase in speed, saw her eyes close as she whimpered.

"You will continue to work for me," he said as he thrust against her soft folds between her legs. Her head remained tilted back and he kissed the pale skin of her neck.

"You wouldn't want Mr. Randall to discover your real work, would you?" He thrust inside her and listened to her squeal, felt her chest draw a ragged breath beneath him. He let go of her hair and grunted in pleasure as he thrust again against her, in her.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

At last he had finished. Dédé gazed down at her with an accusing look before easing himself from Liliane's body. "You didn't come."

"Of course I did, Dédé. I always do - for you," she said unconvincingly.

He drew his arm back as if to slap her, then lowered it, his hand searching out the place between her legs that he had just vacated. "We can't have that," he growled hoarsely, manipulating her clitoris with practiced flair.

Liliane closed her eyes, replacing André Virenque's face and hand with James Randall's. This time she did. This time, Dédé was pleased. For the time being.

******​

The days after her meeting with Virenque passed quickly and Liliane was no closer to a solution than she had been before; the fact that she was truly in love with James Randall exacerbating rather than easing the problem.

"Are you all right, love?" Concern colored his face as well as his words. James had found Liliane awake in the middle of the night again.

Lili looked up from where she sat, brushing her hair back from her face as she tried to smile. "I am... just worried that I will not get the new gowns done in time. Mme. LeDoux is so very difficult to fit." She giggled when Passepartout chittered in a chiding tone from his cage, drawing their attention. "You should let him out, I suppose."

James shook his head. "No." He had purchased the cage when the monkey had begun to take an inordinate interest in their lovemaking. It seemed the only way to deal with things - even if Passepartout didn't much care for the new arrangement.

"No?" she repeated, tilting her head coyly to look up at the man who stood beside her. It was quite obvious that James had something else in mind. Her fingers curled around his sex and she wet her lips.

"Mmmno," James murmured as Liliane slid her mouth around his turgid shaft. "I mean... mmmyes."

Later, back in their bed, James returned the favor, though he couldn't help feeling that Lili's thoughts were elsewhere. Whatever it was, they would have to talk about it sooner or later.

******​

"Have you told him?"

"Told who?"

"James, of course. No need to play coy with me, Liliane." Josephine scolded her friend and shook her head. They had just finished the last alterations on some dresses and were preparing them for delivery to their prospective owners. "You look like... "

"Merde." Liliane sighed and her friend nodded her head. "It will be the end of James if I tell him."

"And the end of you if you do not."

"Comme si, comme ça."

"Don't be so flippant, Liliane Drouillard! Dédé is a dangerous man. Did you hear about... "

"Bernadette?" Lili nodded. "Who hasn't?"

"Then what are you going to do?" Josephine demanded. "He expected you to meet the Viscount, yes?"

The fear for her safety shining in her eyes sent a chill up Lili's spine. She nodded. "I decided not to go."

"Aiyee!" her friend shrilled. "Tu veux un dessin??? What he did to Bernadette will make what he does to you seem like nothing! You're mad!"

Liliane straightened her back, and narrowed her eyes. "I was crazy to get involved with either of them in the first place. James will never understand... As for Virenque... "

"What won't I understand? And who is Virenque?" James' voice interrupted their conversation.

Josephine busied herself tucking the last folds of a brilliant red gown into a box and placed the lid on top. "Imagine that, James - Lili and I having beaux with the same name." She laughed nervously and turned to her friend. "I think that's the last of it, chere. If you'll excuse me?" She squeezed her friend's arm and kissed her lightly on the cheek, whispering "Bonne chance."

"Liliane." James spoke softly. "What ever is wrong, you must tell me. How can I help if I don't understand?"

Liliane kept her back to James, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow. "I need some fresh air," she said, turning slowly in his arms as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"It's Sunday. Can we go to the Île de La Grand Jatte?"

James looked at her curiously. "Of course. We can go anywhere you like."

She nodded and smiled. "I just need to change," she said - thinking better to end it where it all began.

 

[chris2c4u]

The Jatte was crowded, as usual on a Sunday. They stood in the shade of the tree, Passepartout on a leash at their feet as James let the ash from his cigar fall to the grass while he looked out to the equally busy river. He drew a deep breath and looked at Liliane.

She smiled and he noticed her grip on the parasol handle tighten. She looked happy, at last.

James nodded to the figure reclining on the grass in front of them and Liliane returned the nod. James walked forward until he stood above and behind the man. He cleared his throat. "Monsieur Virenque," he said, still studying the river.

The man on the grass pushed himself up on one arm and looked around. "Yes?"

"A word, if I may," James said. "Perhaps we could walk?"

Virenque stood, his narrow eyes meeting James' gaze before flicking over to see Liliane standing, talking with some children about Passepartout.

"A beautiful day," James said, beginning to walk down the grass. Andre followed after but did not reply.

"I understand you have a business relationship with my fiancee," James said.

"Is that what she told you?" Andre grinned and clenched the stem of his clay pipe between his teeth.

"A loan, I believe - which is now paid off."

"Not quite," Virenque replied, "One more payment -"

"As I said, M. Virenque, it is now paid off," James went on, emphasising the last words.

Andre drew a breath through his nose, his nostrils dilating. James stopped walking and looked at Andre.

"You will have no more to do with her - with us."

"Mr Randall," he replied, affecting an English accent, "Perhaps she hasn't told you everything about our "business relationship.""

James looked into Andre's face; it made Virenque flinch back. James' appearance had hardly altered, though his lips were drawn tighter and his eyes sharper.

"That you are a common pimp? Preying on young women? Oh yes, she has told me everything Monsieur."

Virenque's face twisted as he saw his influence waning over his prize. He took a step back, waving the stem of his pipe at James. "You think she will be safe," he said. "You think -"

James took a step towards him and Andre cowered. "Virenque," James let the name slip from his lips like an olive pip to be spat away, "my work is interesting. I come into contact with ship owners - and their crews." He made a tilting motion with his head and Virenque glanced over James' shoulder. Two men stood together some way off; they both grinned back at him. Andre looked from them back to James.

"Such men are rough, ready - but when you have their trust, they will do anything for you. Anything. Do I make myself clear?"

James let seconds trickle by as he watched Virenque's face. "As I said, you will have nothing to do with us. Do you understand?"

Virenque spat on the grass, his spittle darkened by tobacco. He turned and began to walk away.

James went to speak with the sailors, discreetly paying them and asking them to follow Virenque a while, frighten him into bolting for one of his rat holes in the city. He then rejoined Liliane.

"He won't bother us again," James said simply. Liliane's eyes watered and she wanted to kiss him there, in public. However that would be scandalous, for a respectable couple.

"Come, let us walk and talk of where we will marry. Have you ever been to London?" James took her arm in his and Passepartout chattered, following on his leash.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/Maid/WomaninanInteriorStewart.jpg

"Woman in an Interior"
Julius LeBlanc Stewart​

 

[chris2c4u]

"I have a plan," he said.

The Marchioness chuckled and leaned into him as they walked within the Passage Jouffroy. "You always do, Julius," the older woman said and patted his arm.

"I do my little minx. I seek a new model and what better place to find her than here, in the arcades around Montmartre."

The woman looked up and blinked her rheumy blue eyes. "You think a respectable woman will just speak with you? A stranger? And - when you say you are a painter!" Marchioness de Dintville covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Julius grinned down at her and stroked his pointed beard, walking further into the arcade. "I have not come to simple buy handkerchiefs, you know," he said looking into the brightly lit window of a jewellers.

"Ah! Subterfuge already!"

"It is here, M'lady, where I will snare my model. An up and coming girl, an independent woman." He looked around as if seeking her out that moment and felt the Marchioness against his portly side, still shaking a little with laughter.

"You remain an innocent, dear boy," she said. "Why not paint the women of high birth that you know already - daughter's of your patrons?"

"Because they are the past," Julius said, his eyes scanning the crowd. "A New woman is abroad - she is confident, young, independent." He stopped walking and looked across the the other side of the shopping arcade. "She is there."

The Marchioness followed his gaze to a young woman studying a shop diplay of handbags. Her crimson skirt caught the eye as did the plume in her hat.

"Now, madam, wish me luck..." Julius began to disentangle himself from the older woman but she tugged him back.

"No, no, no." She sighed as he looked at her. "You want to do this silliness?"

He frowned. "It is not -"

She nodded firmly. "It is foolishness - for you. Let me approach her. A woman speaking to her, then you might have a chance."

Julius smiled and nodded slowly.

The Marchioness sighed. "Why do I get wrapped up in your schemes, Julius?"

"Because you love me, my little blackbird."

She rolled her eyes and set off across the arcade. Julius turned his back and peered into a window, though later he would not be able to tell anyone what the shop contained.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Colette Galfier made her way leisurely through the arcade, peering in this window, wandering into that shop. In one, she ran her fingers over several long silk scarves, admiring each in turn. Finally, unable to choose between one that was patterned with cherry blossoms and hummingbirds and another that was a rich, vibrant red - they were far more expensive than they should have been - she thought for a moment and then said to the hovering clerk. "We only live once." The young woman agreed heartily as she purchased both.

It was when she had finished paying that she noticed a small tear in the lining of her handbag and decided to see if she could find another, in a similar style. She stepped back out into the arcade and looked around. There was a shop nearby, but where? "Ahh! C'est la!"

Her stomach was rumbling as she approached the window and looked in. There was one, but she would have to take a closer look. Continuing on to the entrance, she nearly bumped into an elderly woman dressed entirely in black. "Pardon!" she said, preparing to walk around her, but the woman held her ground.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," the woman said, her breeding evident in her crisp Parisian accent. "I am the Eloise de Dintville. Who may I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Colette blinked and smiled, considering whether to reply or not. While it wasn't unusual for a flaneur to approach her, this was something not unheard of, but also not within her realm of experience.

She had married young, to a much older man and been widowed a year later. He had left her financially comfortable, but Colette was frugal as well as having more common sense than was necessarily the norm. Money didn't grow on trees, nor did it last forever. With this in mind, she chose to make her own way when and as she could. Times were changing in this, the last decade of the nineteenth century, and although she'd always kept her own mind - and opinions - about things, it was becoming even easier to be this way without so many noses turning up when she spoke.

Nevertheless, the woman had piqued Colette's curiousity and she accepted her hand and shook it when it was offered. "My name is Colette Galfier," she replied. "How may I help you?"

"Ah, my dear girl, it's not me that needs assistance," the woman answered. "It is my friend." Tilting her head in the general direction of a man who was gazing into a shop window across from them, the woman smiled. "He is... " she continued, "an artiste."

Colette blinked, and shook her head. "Pardon, Madame," she said. "I am not a model."

"That, my dear, is exactly the point. Julius can find a model anywhere," the Marchioness gestured broadly with her hand. "Paris is full of them." Colette nodded. "But what he needs is someone that is not one of those. What he wants is a new woman, confident, young, independent. We believe... and I know, even without having shared many words with you, that that is you."

Colette tried not to laugh, but her dark eyes sparkled with glee. "Flattery, madame will not get you very far, I'm afraid, though my curiosity is admittedly piqued. However, I am afraid I should decline your very kind offer."

Prepared to walk away, the woman reached out and grasped her arm. "Please. At least join us for coffee and a bite to eat. As my guest, of course. Perhaps when you have met Julius and spoken with him, you will change your mind."

While Colette couldn't picture herself posing scantily dressed or nude as the artists of the day seemed to prefer, she considered that it might be an interesting subject for her next article. In fact, she could almost see the words forming on a page as she accepted: An Artist and His Model.

 

[chris2c4u]

The Café at the arcade had a three piece band playing some latest tune in the corner by the unlit fire. As they wanted to talk they sat on the chairs that spilt out into the arcade, where a petite young waitress came to take their order, much to Julius’s pleasure. The marchioness rolled her eyes at the young woman sitting beside her, who replied with a small discrete smile.

"He isn't dangerous my dear, he does like to look though,” said the marchioness.

"I've had my moments," Julius said indignantly. Both women gave a small laugh and he joined in. "Well I do like to look, it's my job, you know," he grinned took off his top hat and placed it on a chair next to him.

"So you would like to paint me with you?" The woman smiled and looked at Julius with what he took to be clear intelligence.

"Yes I really think I do. You intrigue me," he broke off when the waitress returned with their order. Julius sat back and sipped his small cup of black coffee. "You know not so long ago it would be improper for a young woman to be walking the arcades alone."

"These are better days in some ways," she said in reply. "At least for women of some standing."

The Marchioness patted the young woman's hand. "The new woman eh?"

"We the coming thing," Colette said with a smile. The Marchioness nodded.

"As a new woman," Julius said, "you will no doubt be gainfully employed?"

Colette sipped her lemonade. “I am a journalist.”

Julius inclined his head, encouraging her to say more.

Colette shrugged. "A little piece here and there. Le Figaro, some work recently for the Revue Libertaire.”

Julius laughed. "An anarchist! How marvellous!”

"How terrible!" The Marchioness gave a passable impression of being shocked.

“She likes to give the impression that she is still a pillar of the community, but she has been in my company for too long for anyone to take that seriously."

The Marchioness sniffed imperiously but winked at Colette.

"I'm more on for the un-conventional," said Colette, “rather than the bombs.”

"My sort of woman," Julius said draining the last of his coffee. "You inspire me! Shall we retire to my rooms and explore the unconventional? Oh and yes her ladyship will accompany us if you have any fears for your virtue."

Both women giggled again. Julius looked at them. "What did I say it was so amusing?"

****

The rooms in question were not that far away and so it was that, a mere three quarters of an hour later Colette found herself seated before Julius as he stood at an easel and contemplated the composition that he wanted. The Marchioness, with the mock assurances that Colette felt that she would probably be safe in his company, had left them together.

Julius walked up and down a little as his model sat in the broad low chair. Something was missing. "When I saw you out there," he nodded at the window to indicate their meeting outside, "you had a certain something. You still have it," he added quickly, “but I'm not catching it."

She turned her face towards him as he stood by the side of the chair. She leaned out towards him her hands clasped together. He took a step back watching her. Slowly, she lifted her leg under her skirt onto the chair and half curled it beneath her. He walked slowly back to be easel, her gaze following him all the way.

A smile came over Julius’s face and he picked up a piece of charcoal and began to sketch an image of the new woman.