Iris opened the blinds of the atelier to let in the sunshine, which she hoped would help to warm the room. She’d left Marie asleep, and Johann had avoided her at breakfast before she could ask what happened to make Marie so exhausted and Johann so serious. Had they engaged in the kind of improper activities she would supposedly find out about when her innocence wasn’t in danger? But both of them seemed experienced in that way—at least that was what they projected—so Iris wasn’t quite sure what to think. She only knew that something of serious import had occurred.
But Johann and Marie weren’t her main concern. She needed to continue to read the manuscript Monsieur Firmin had entrusted to her. Even if she couldn’t understand all the words, she could continue to get images of the history. Sh
