When my turn comes, my face flushes and sweat prickles in my underarms. I have never shown my work to anyone except André, or Mama and Papa at home. At the academy of decorative arts, I drew mainly patterns and geometrical designs, controlled and repetitive, completely different than figure drawing, in which you must take risks.
“I have never seen you before, Mademoiselle,” the maître says.
‘No, Monsieur. Today is my first class.”
He stares at me a moment, then smiles with faint recognition. “You’re the sister of André Hébuterne, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then.” He glances at my work for less than a second. “Keep trying. One step at a time.” Patting my shoulder, he passes on to Thérèse.
Tears of humiliation sting in my eyes as I hear him praise her fine shading and make a techn
