6
The following morning it was raining. Jasmine stood at her bedroom window, looking over the roofs of the surrounding buildings at a gunmetal-grey sky. It was almost eight o’clock but she was terrified to leave her room in case Courbet hadn’t yet gone to work. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her mind running over what had happened the night before.
Was it her fault? Had she been too friendly the first time they’d met? Did she look like a girl with loose morals? It was unthinkable that anyone would assume she would be willing to become the mistress of a married man. Surely it wasn’t normal for young French women to become the mistresses of middle-aged men? What had she done to give Courbet the impression she would welcome his advances?
Perhaps it was because, as a young single woman, s
