"Look, whose elegant carriage is that? It's absolutely stunning."

"Perhaps it's from the palace!"

Edith's sharp eyes didn't need to follow the direction of the onlookers' pointing fingers to spot the exquisitely crafted female carriage. Its dazzling decorations shone and sparkled, exuding unparalleled luxury.

The carriage came to a stop by the street.

A maid first stepped out, followed by a graceful petite head adorned with a golden-like chignon. Then, a slender arm enveloped in pristine white gloves extended towards the maid, who supported a lily-white dress to jump down from the carriage - even from this distance, one could discern the high-quality softness of its silk - inside was a wondrous beautiful damsel.

"A peerless beauty!" exclaimed a university student in exaggeration.

"Must be a very highborn lady," sighed an elderly woman.

"Definitely a princess," asserted a man of property, leaning on his cane, already balding.

The noble young lady walked towards the little beggars along the street, unfolding the handkerchief to reveal a handful of shiny coins.

"Notre Dame! An angel of kindness!" exclaimed the old lady in excitement.

"Even his Majesty Beelzebub would shed tears at this scene," joked the university student.

"This is a miracle on earth," said a round old man, tears welling up in his eyes.

More and more passersby gathered at the bridge, mesmerized by the scene before them.

Indeed, it was a marvelous picture:

The young lady handed the coins to the suffering children one by one, her lashes casting soft shadows each time she bent down. The setting sun shone on her delicate profile, creating a momentary illusion of divine light.

The children were also apparently moved by this sacred radiance.

One of them knelt before her, trying to kiss the angel's feet, while another smaller one eagerly reached out to touch the hem of the angel's holy garment, as if receiving communion.

But the "angel" suddenly became flustered and backed away.

Just before the kid's hand touched her undefiled dress, she grabbed the hem and hastily pulled it back, stumbling a few steps backwards. Even the last glittering gold piece fell from her handkerchief, rolling into a drain.

Fortunately, the immaculate dress of the Virgin Mary did not get tainted with the terrifying filthy fingers of the waifs.

The "angel" stood still for a few seconds, seeming somewhat overwhelmed, but quickly regained composure.

She walked towards the waiting maid and lightly leaped onto the carriage with the help of the latter's arm, her snow-white skirt fluttering as she disappeared behind the velvet curtain, just as spotless as when she arrived.

Little Edith witnessed the entire scene.

However, the rest of the audience seemed to have not noticed this interruption. The crowd murmured in admiration, clearly still entranced by the miraculous spectacle. It was difficult to tell if their eyes were not as keen as Edith's or if their hearts were not as bright.

Only the painter next to her remained silent.

"You should have recorded that scene, Monsieur le painter!" the balding man of property reached out his chubby hand to pat Andre's shoulder.

"I've already captured the scenery here. Let's go," the painter abruptly packed up his tools and spoke to Edith.

The tall and the short walked in common silence side by side across the bridge, sharing the heavy atmosphere until they reached the archway of the bridge on the other side.

Underneath, four homeless children sat or lay in a pathetic state.

There lay a boy, gaunt and skeletal, with a bloated belly that betrayed a sinister ailment. It was unclear whether he still clung to life, lying unconsciously on the ground in a deathly pallor.

Nearby, a pair of siblings huddled together, their faces caked with mud.

Further off, another little one remained alert and gazed longingly at the lucky fellows who had received the angel's louis d'or. He made no attempt to fight for or beg for his own share, whether from lack of courage or simply because hunger had left him too weak to move.

The footsteps of the painter came to a halt.

"Wait here for me," he said hastily as he turned into the bakeshop at the end of the street.

When he returned, he held in one hand a four-pound loaf of white bread, and in the other a large bucket of milk. With a box cutter, he sliced these into several portions and distributed them among the little paupers under the bridge.

The scraggy children awakened one another, consuming the provisions with a mix of caution and voracity.

Edith accompanied the young painter in silent contemplation of the scene.

--------------

"You said just now that you were penniless," Edith teased with studied casualness as they strolled slowly toward the river.

"This is the payment I received from a milliner two days ago for designing a promotional card. Plus the change your aunt Mrs.Percy gave me for the sketch yesterday," replied Andre. "It was just enough to cover my board expenses for the next few days, maybe a bit would be left to supplement some paint."

Edith grew silent for a moment.

"You are truly an oddball," she muttered.

"I feel guilty towards them," Andre said, his eyes downcast with a pained expression.

This surprised the young girl.

"Why would you feel guilty? If anyone should feel guilty, it's those aristocrats. I once saw a noble lord publicly whipping a little girl who blocked his way. As for the lady who just gave her alms, I've also seen a lot. But I'm well aware that it's not a miracle. When they stoop down to hand money to those children, it's nothing different from their carefully choreographed movements when dancing at a ball, just to show off their dainty figures." With a childish voice, she spoke these words.

The painter lowered his head to meet the girl's gaze, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions.

Was he amazed by her intelligence or her soul? He couldn't tell.

"You're right. What these children need, must not be pity," he turned his head and murmured.

"But I used to think a girl of your age would yearn for that kind of upper-class life. Don't you ever envy them?"

"Me?" The petite tossed her head lightly. "I don't envy anyone. I am just Edith, I only want to be Edith."

"And I envy you, Edith." It was the first time she heard Monsieur le painter speak in such a tender tone.

The girl's chestnut hair was still mixed with puerile blonde strands, one mischievous lock flew onto her cheek. The artist gently pushed it behind her ear.

It was a gesture of an adult to a beloved child, but at that moment he truly regarded her as an equal.

"Hurry and set up your easel, or you'll end up drawing stars," Edith stuck out her tongue.

The sunset was indeed coming to an end.

Andre began to work while idle Edith played by the river, splashing around, chasing after dragonflies.

After a while, when she ran past the painter, she slowed down and turned to him, coincidentally meeting his sight.

"Wait, Edith, stop moving!" the painter suddenly shouted.

"What's wrong?"

"Please, just for a moment, don't move, okay?" Andre's brush flew fast and made a rustling sound.

Edith shrugged and reluctantly cooperated, feeling utterly bored.

"Done," the painter smiled with satisfaction.

Curious, Edith ran over and saw the image of herself captured:

With only a few strokes, the girl's bright smile was frozen on the canvas. Her iconic little freckles, the braids that flew up in the wind, nothing was left out.

"You paint so well!" Edith exclaimed excitedly, "Can I have this one? I want to take it home and show it to Margot! Let her see that I have my own portrait too!"

"No, leave this one to me please, okay? I'll paint a better one for you later." He entreated.

"Aw, meanie." She couldn't bring herself to plead any further when she heard how sincerely he requested it.

"Aren't you painting the sunset?"

"Sunset can be painted anytime," he smiled and pointed to the nearby rock, "Come over and chat with me for a while."

"You've got something to ask me?" Edith happened to feel tired from running and flopped down.

"Do you hate...I mean, do you dislike, the nobles?" Andre asked haltingly. It was clear that this question had been on his mind for a while.

"Huh? Are you still reflecting on what I said earlier?" Little Edith was sort of surprised.

"Dislike the nobles? Surely there are good ones among the nobles, like my best friend Marie-Charlene in the countryside. It's a pity that her legs are unwell, always having to sit in a wheelchair so she can't play with me. But when the boys in the village gang up on me, she helped me out! She's the daughter of Lord Saint-Clemont who manages our land. Everyone has to listen to her! But of course, she listens to me."

As she talked of this proud friendship, the little girl became in full flow, her eyebrows dancing up and down.

Andre listened quietly, using the eyes of a painter to examine her amber-like bright pupils, the wide bridge of her nose that wrinkled when she smiled, and the mauve veins under her sunburned rosy skin.　　

***Author's notes***

①The tiny illustrations at the top of each chapter were drawn by midjourney according to the snippets of my novel～
I hope they would help with the imagination!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Vote/comment to buy Andre food for the next days!