Rodin's Lover Read Online Free

seventeen.”
    “I would be willing to take her on as a pupil,” Boucher said. “I could travel to your home a few times per month, as time permits, but I must warn you, I spend a great deal of my time in Paris. I cannot commit to a regular schedule.” He clasped his hands behind his back, thinking. “If there is any way . . . Pardon my candor . . .”
    “Go on, man,” Papa said. “I invited you here for your honesty.”
    “You really should send her to Paris. She could learn from me as well as from other students. There is an art school where young women are now permitted—the Académie Colarossi. She would certainlybenefit from their teachings. The school even uses nude models. Unusual for a school with female students, but necessary for learning sculpture. And, as luck would have it, I know the director. I could talk with him if you wish.”
    Art school? Camille bit her knuckle to hold back a squeal.
    Surprise registered on Papa’s face. “We will discuss it,” he said slowly. “This is a sudden move, and possibly more than we can afford. And it would divide the family.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I can’t very well send her to Paris alone.”
    She fought the disappointment that crushed her unchecked hope. She had to go! She would never flourish at home, in this
ville nulle
, with no training and no opportunity. Mother would force her to give up sculpting and marry some boorish man.
    “Did you say
nude
models?” Papa asked.
    Alfred Boucher smiled. “Yes. To properly learn the human form, the musculature and bone structures, you need to study them nude. It’s shocking for those outside of the art world, but I assure you, the greatest sculptors study nude models—even if their pieces eventually wear clothing.” He removed his hat. “You don’t have to decide now. Take time; consider it well. A move to Paris is a grand decision. An investment for her future, and would be for your son as well. I hear he’s a gifted student in letters and philosophy? You have a talented family.”
    Their voices trailed off as Papa led Camille’s only hope away to the house.

    Two weeks had passed since Monsieur Boucher’s visit and Camille had yet to see him again. She peered over the edge of her book from her position on the settee, chewing one nail after another. When would they receive word? Had Monsieur Boucher rejected her after all?
    Papa reclined in his usual spot, nestled in his favorite chair with a stack of newspapers on the floor beside him. Paul sat at the dining room table, writing furiously by lamplight, pausing only briefly to flip through one of the many books beside his inkwell. Mother and Louise had retired to bed.
    Camille’s anxiety swelled and she stood. “Papa, would you like to stroll with me in the garden? It’s a perfect night.”
    “A splendid idea,” he said, oblivious to her distress. “I’ll just get my walking cane.”
    They filed through the door and around the side of the house. Moonlight spilled over the scraggly hedges and the red roof of the neighboring house. Though they walked without speaking, Camille’s stomach churned.
    “Papa—”
    “Camille—”
    They spoke at the same time, then laughed.
    Papa slid his arm about her shoulders and kissed her head. “I have something to tell you.”
    Her stomach plummeted to her toes. This was it. Monsieur Boucher had decided not to tutor her—she wasn’t good enough. Suddenly the moon turned into a glowing eye, mocking her from its exalted pedestal in the sky.
    Papa lifted his cane to point at a movement near the roses. “Look, a family of rabbits. They had better hide before that old fox comes around.”
    “Go on,” she said, her impatience plain.
    He chuckled and turned to face her. “I have a proposition for you.”
    She nodded.
    “The family will move to Paris.”
    “You mean it?” Her heart leapt into her throat and she squeezed his arm.
    He held up his hand. “As I said, it’s a proposition. We will