The Art of Seduction Read Online Free PDF

eyes as if they’d just stepped out of a painting by Millet. Pere Carrier assured her that they were happy to take care of her and wanted nothing in return.
    â€œAnd the woman…the other woman…”
    They exchanged puzzled glances, and the father said, “There was no other woman with you.”
    Mason felt a heavy sadness. She’d wanted so badly to help that poor nameless soul on the bridge. Madame Carrier saw the tears that slipped down her cheek and gently stroked her hair back off her face. “There, there. You’ve been very ill. You must rest and not worry. You will stay with us and let us care for you until you are yourself again.”
    Choked with tears, all Mason could do was nod her gratitude. Madame Carrier gave her some more medicine and before long, she’d once again drifted back to sleep.
    Three days later, Mason awoke with more strength. She managed to get out of bed and stand for a few minutes. Every day she increased her time out of bed until finally she was able to take walks around the nearby village.
    The Carriers were wonderful. They accepted her as a member of the family and gave no indication that they wanted her to leave. As her strength returned, she found herself enjoying being protected within the bosom of this family and being away from the life she’d left in Paris.
    It was an idyllic retreat. Her gratitude at having been so miraculously spared blotted out any thoughts of the past or feelings of failure. The air had never smelled so sweet; the sky had never seemed so blue. She savored every moment of life, putting off thinking about where she would go from here. She had no commitments in Paris and she’d told Lisette she might go to Auvers, a village on the Oise River where she often retreated to paint, so there was no need to notify her. For now, it was enough just to be alive.
    But then one day she decided to walk into the village. She’d been away from Paris for just over seven weeks by then and had lost a great deal of weight. She barely resembled herself, but she felt wholly refreshed, bursting with energy and robust with health.
    Then she saw it: her name on a newspaper lying on an outside table at the local café. She snatched it up and hastily began to read.
    The article told the story of how the late American painter Mason Caldwell—whose body had washed up on the shore of Neuilly, just outside of Paris, on the eighth of February—was becoming a posthumous celebrity. The Parisian papers had been in competition to glamorize what they were calling her suicide. According to them, she’d thrown herself from the bridge with the desperate romanticism of Madame Bovary. That was remarkable enough, but even more astonishing was the fact that dealers were actually competing to acquire the right to sell her paintings!
    Stunned, she stumbled back to Chez Carrier and, without telling them what had happened, announced that she must return to Paris at once. Asking no questions, they gave her five francs, and she set out to correct the ghastly mistake.
    On the riverboat back to the city, the scenario of what must have happened played through her mind. The woman on the bridge that night—the one she’d tried so hard to save—had drowned and her body, which was found more than a week later, had been mistaken for Mason’s. She tried to remember her face, so briefly glimpsed when the wind had blown back the concealing hood. Who was she? She must have some family who Mason should contact and tell the sad news. Nearly two months later, they must be out of their minds with worry. Her message would be a blow, but at least they’d know what had really happened.
    It was late by the time the now nearly complete Eiffel Tower came into view. Passing the fairgrounds below it, she saw the silhouettes of dozens of new buildings for the upcoming Exposition that had sprung up in her absence. She looked around her at the once-familiar sights of