21
Louvre, 4 December 1870
Iris snatched her hand back from the manuscript, and her mind tripped over possible explanations for what she was doing. Monsieur Firmin’s expression had never held warmth, but now he studied her with feral curiosity like she was an exotic object worthy of study.
“How long have you been there?” she asked and recognized how guilty the question made her sound.
“Long enough. I’ve only seen one other person approach objects like you do. I watched you yesterday with the potsherds. You have talent and a good understanding of how to categorize them. You approached the examination and sorting with excellent logic, but you were particularly fascinating when you got stuck.”
Iris clasped her hands in front of her and willed her expression to stay neutral. “I didn’t see
