Jasmine nodded.
Raising his voice, he called through an open side door into the adjacent office. ‘Mademoiselle Daudin, take this prospective student to Monsieur Robertson please. He should be in his atelier.’
A small woman, her grey hair scraped into a bun, came into the room, and offered Jasmine a beaming smile. ‘Allons-y!’ she said, shepherding her out of the office. Once they had moved down the corridor, the woman smiled again. ‘Monsieur Rochambeau fait plus de bruit que de mal,’ explaining that the tutor’s bark was worse than his bite.
Shaking with nerves after her brief encounter with the principal, Jasmine followed the woman deeper into the building. As they were passing a heavy door the secretary paused and pushed it open so that Jasmine could look inside.
‘This is the Salle de
