The Virgin Blue by Tracy Chevalier Page A

pebbles underfoot. Pardonne-nous nos péchés, comme aussi nous pardonnons ceux qui nous ont offencés .
Isabelle, taking a deep breath, added her voice to theirs.
— Et ne nous induis point dans la tentation, mais délivre-nous du malin; car à toi appartient le règne, la puissance, et la gloire à jamais. Amen .
The man with the torch stood between them and the group of men. He stared at Marie, the silence stronger than ever.
— If you hurt us, she said, God will hurt you. He will hurt you very very badly.
— And what will he do to us, ma petite ? the man asked, amused.
— Hush, Marie! Isabelle whispered.
— He will throw you in the fire! And you won't die, not right away. You will lie in it and then your guts will begin to ooze and boil. And your eyes will get bigger and bigger until pop! They explode!
This was no lesson from Monsieur Marcel. Isabelle recognized the details: Petit Jean had thrown a frog into the fire once and the children had gathered around to watch its demise.
The man did something Isabelle never would have expected from such a man in such a place: he laughed.
— You are very brave, ma pauvre , he said to Marie, but a little foolish. I would like you to be my daughter.
Isabelle clutched Marie's hand and the man laughed again.
— But why would I want a girl? he chuckled. What use are they?
He jerked his head at the others and extinguished the torch. All of them disappeared into the woods.
They waited for a long time; no one returned. Finally Etienne clicked his tongue and the horse continued, more slowly than before.
In the morning Isabelle found the first strand of red in Marie's hair. She pulled it out and burned it.

4
THE SEARCH
I ran back to the office, clutching a postcard of the Tournier painting. Rick was sitting on a high stool at his drawing board, a Tensor lamp picking out his cheekbones and the arrow of his jaw. Though he was staring at the sketch in front of him, his mind had clearly moved beyond the paper. He often sat for hours, visualizing in detail what he had just designed: fixtures, electrical systems, plumbing, windows, ventilation. He imagined the whole thing and held it in his head, walking through it, sitting in it, living in it, combing through it for faults.
I watched him, then stuffed the postcard in my bag and sat down, my elation ebbing. Suddenly I didn't want to share my discovery with him.
But I should tell him, I argued with myself. I will tell him.
Rick looked up from the board and smiled. ‘Hey there,’ he said.
‘Hey yourself. Everything OK? Structure sound?’
‘Structure sound so far. And good news.’ He waved a fax. ‘A German firm wants me to present to them in a week or two. If it comes off we'll get a huge contract. This office will be busy for years.’
‘Really? What a star you are!’ I smiled and let him talk on about it for a few minutes.
‘Listen, Rick,’ I began when he had finished, ‘I found something at a museum nearby. Look.’ I pulled out the card and handed it to him. He held it under the spotlight.
‘That's the blue you were telling me about, right?’
‘Yes.’ I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stiffened momentarily; I checked to make sure none of the psoriasis was touching his skin.
‘Guess who it's by?’ I rested my chin on his shoulder.
He started to turn the card over but I stopped him. ‘Guess.’
Rick chuckled. ‘C'mon, babe, you know I don't know anything about painting.’ He studied it. ‘One of those Italian Renaissance painters, I guess.’
‘Nope. He's French.’
‘Oh, well, one of your ancestors, then.’
‘Rick!’ I punched him on the arm. ‘You looked!’
‘No, I didn't! I was just joking.’ He turned the card over. ‘This really is one of your relatives?’
‘Yeah. Something makes me think so.’
‘That's great!’
‘It is, isn't it?’ I grinned at him. Rick slid an arm around my waist and kissed me while reaching around to unzip my dress. He had peeled it down to my waist