Chapter 125

“Um, who are you…?”

The man looking down at Clarette had rare, reddish-orange eyes. His thick, curly hair, nearly covering half his face, was brown.

He seemed to be in his early thirties. His clothes were shabby, especially his worn-out coat, which was almost like a rag.

He was very tall, so Clarette felt as if she was looking up at a tree.

‘What kind of person is he? Is he a beggar?’

Perhaps a beggar had slipped into the crowded cathedral during festival week.

But the man, contrary to his appearance, didn’t smell bad. Instead, the basket he carried gave off a delicious aroma.

He stared at Clarette for a while, then suddenly spoke.

“Are you Clarette Sollier?”

“Yes, I am…”

As the man guessed her name, Clarette became even more wary.

Do beggars in Genoa also visit art museums? Did this man see her portrait at the National Art Museum?

Just then, the man took something out of his picnic basket and handed it to Clarette. She flinched, fearing it might be a weapon, but her eyes widened as she saw what it was.

He offered her a golden slice of apple pie.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“No, not really.”

“You must be hungry. You only ate a little bread.”

“No, I’m really fine.”

His hands were clean, but Clarette wasn’t naive enough to eat food from a stranger.

She kept refusing, so the man tilted his head, puzzled, and brought the pie to his own mouth.

“What a waste. This is expensive. It’s really tasty.”

“Um, who are you…?”

Clarette asked again, as the man showed no signs of leaving.

“Ah, Mr. Garnier!”

A priest’s shout rang out from afar, and both of them turned their heads. The approaching priest was the one who had urged Clarette to wear the brass brooch yesterday.

Running breathlessly as if he’d spotted a VIP, the priest ignored Clarette and focused only on ‘Mr. Garnier’.

“Oh, you’re early! We’ve been waiting for you. Shall we go see the Archbishop together?”

“I didn’t come early to see him.”

“But the Archbishop has been waiting for you for a long time. You promised to paint a mural for the cathedral in Royen. We need to continue that discussion…”

The priest’s attitude toward the man was completely different from how he treated Clarette. Watching the man respond indifferently, Clarette was surprised by the revelation.

‘This man is a painter…?’

While the man kept eating his apple pie, the priest asked anxiously,

“So, where will you work on the festival painting? The Archbishop has prepared a special spot for you.”

“Oh, I’ll paint here.”

After finishing the pie, the man licked his fingers and gestured to Clarette.

“Here. Next to this young lady.”

“What?”

Both the priest and Clarette asked in surprise. The priest was speechless, so Clarette voiced her objection.

“Sorry, but this is my spot. It’s not very spacious, so wouldn’t another place be better?”

But the man went to the back, brought his bag and easel, and returned. The priest, unsure what to do, checked,

“Do you two know each other?”

“No, it’s my first time seeing him.”

Clarette answered firmly, but the man chuckled as if amused by her reaction.

“Hey, so cold. We can get to know each other from now on.”

It took less than a minute for him to set up his easel and folding chair. Judging by his skill, he really was an artist.

“Well then… I’ll tell the Archbishop we’ll arrange a meeting later. Mr. Garnier, let me know anytime if you change your mind.”

“Yeah.”

The man replied absentmindedly, rummaging through his bag. The priest left with a regretful look, leaving only Clarette and the man.

“So, who are you?”

Clarette asked suspiciously. The man took out sketching materials and looked at her. Through the messy brown curls falling over his cheeks, his reddish-orange eyes glinted meaningfully.

“I’m Maxim. Maxim Garnier.”

“Garnier… Maxim… Ah!”

Clarette realized his identity and gasped softly. Images from the National Art Museum in Genoa flashed through her mind.

“‘Maxim’? Are you that ‘Maxim Garnier’?”

“Yes.”

“The handsome genius painter, master of mythological painting, that Maxim?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t seem like it.

Clarette couldn’t believe it and looked at his rough appearance.

For such a famous Maxim Garnier, his hair was so shaggy she couldn’t even see his face properly. And despite being a wealthy painter supported by the imperial family, his clothes were a mess.

“Why that expression? You think I’m lying?”

“Yes.”

Clarette answered sharply, and Maxim pouted as if offended.

“Why? I think I’m pretty good-looking.”

He claimed so, then boldly brushed his bangs aside to reveal his face.

Clarette paused as she finally saw Maxim’s bare face. He had thick eyebrows, double eyelids, and a high nose—an archetypal, strikingly handsome man.

“…Why do you hide your face with your hair?”

“I’m growing it out. I’m into long hair these days.”

Maxim tousled his hair again. Clarette looked at the pie crumbs caught in his hair with pity.

“You should check in the mirror.”

“Oh, is something stuck? Take it off for me.”

Maxim casually leaned his head toward her. As Clarette reluctantly tidied his hair, Maxim muttered with his head bowed,

“Clarette, I saw your painting at the Moerven exhibition.”

“What?”

Maxim spoke quietly, looking at the floor.

“The portrait of Duke Valentin, the one in a military uniform.”

Clarette was startled by the unexpected topic. As she hesitated, he continued calmly.

“So I remembered your name. I really liked that painting.”

“So, Mr. Garnier, you didn’t see me at the National Art Museum…”

“Oh, I went to see Thiago Salto’s portrait yesterday. I was curious what you looked like.”

Maxim’s words were a shock to Clarette. He had noticed her as an artist from the beginning.

He remembered her not because of Thiago’s painting, but because he’d seen Clarette’s own work.

After finishing tidying his hair, Maxim looked up and met Clarette’s eyes. His smiling lips released a voice filled with passion.

“Amazing, the technique you used in Duke Valentin’s portrait. Blending light by time of day. How did you make the paint? The green was so clean and vivid. Will you tell me what you mixed? And the way you portrayed the texture of the uniform…”

Clarette was bewildered by such attention from a fellow artist. Especially since that artist was the empire’s greatest mythological painter, Maxim Garnier.

As she was speechless with emotion, Maxim suddenly asked,

“By the way, I didn’t know Duke Valentin was really that handsome. Where can I see him in person? I wonder if he looks like the painting.”

“His Grace will come here with me tomorrow. Shall I introduce you?”

“No need for introductions. I’ll just observe.”

“Observe…?”

“Yes. I’m only interested in his looks.”

Maxim’s response felt refreshing to Clarette.

Normally, artists would want to connect with high-ranking nobles like Duke Valentin.

Perhaps painters supported by the imperial family were different.

‘It should be fine to bring Lionel here tomorrow, right? He probably won’t mind. There’s no reason he would dislike Mr. Garnier.’

Maxim seemed eccentric but not a bad person. He was, in fact, a truly renowned artist.

“Well, today…”

He whistled and returned to his easel.

“I’ll just paint next to you. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Clarette no longer felt uncomfortable around Maxim. As she quietly nodded, he picked up his charcoal with a pleased face.

Without hesitation, his graceful hand began the master’s sketch.

* * *

Jeremy’s sister, Justina, led Lionel to a small chapel a little way from the cathedral.

Inside, worshippers filled the chapel, praying and singing for Saint Hubert’s festival.

“This should be fine.”

Justina stopped in a shaded corner of the chapel’s backyard, without entering the building.