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unsure how to explain.
    He threw back his head and laughed. “You wonder why I treat a fallen woman like a human being, when good society shuns her.”
    My cheeks burned. “I don’t see why that’s funny.”
    “It’s not funny, I’m sorry.” His voice shifted, serious yet kind. “I don’t give a damn about good society, Rachel, and it’s not my place to judge you. Oh, it’s easy for the high-and-mighty to say it’s immorality, or laziness, or lust that drives women to prostitution, but I’ve never thought that way. No matter how good or noble a woman may be by nature, if she has no means and is not protected by her family, she is in great danger of being drowned in the pool of prostitution. Such women should be pitied and protected, not condemned.”
    “I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anybody to—”
    He held up his hand. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean, I won’t—I can’t—condemn you or anyone else for the circumstances in which you’ve found yourselves. Besides, you’re not like other filles I’ve known. You’ve picked up the rough language and all the rest, but it’s not who you are, not really.”
    “Who am I?” I asked and clasped the glass bottle tightly.
    “One of the few people who treats me like a human being instead of some odd foreigner.” He changed position to sit beside me, so close that his arm touched my shoulder and I could smell the paint on his clothes. “One of the few people here I like spending time with. That I’d like to spend more time with.”
    “I like spending time with you too,” I said, and meant it. “I truly am sorry, Vincent, about what I did. I’m sorry if I—”
    “It’s nothing,” he interrupted. “I’ve been busy anyway, too busy to be working on a portrait. I’m moving into my new house, and it’s taking up my time and money.”
    “Your new…?”
    “The yellow house here in Place Lamartine, on the corner next to the grocery shop.” He pointed to the other side of the square. “I’ve been renting it since May, using one room as a studio, but there wasn’t any furniture and it needed repairs I couldn’t afford. My uncle Cent died recently and left Theo an inheritance, so Theo sent me three hundred francs. I’ve bought some furniture, begun fixing it up, and I’m hoping to move in a few days.” He sighed happily. “It’s one thing to roam from place to place as a free-spirited lad of twenty, but a man of thirty-five should have his own house.”
    “Is that how old you are?”
    “You thought I was older, didn’t you?” He was right: the lines on his face and the creases around his eyes had fooled me. “You’re just une petite yourself.”
    “I’m not that young. I’m twenty-one.”
    He reached for my hand with another sigh. “I remember twenty-one. I was a different man then. You have years ahead, but one day you’ll wake up and wonder where they went. Don’t let the things you want escape you.”
    I resisted the urge to pull my hand away. “Your new house—is it a big house?”
    “Not very, but there’s good light, that’s the important thing. Not a bad price, either, fifteen francs a month.” He paused and looked shy. “I was wondering, would you mind helping me settle in? The house could use a woman’s touch. I could show you all my paintings, too.”
    Françoise’s voice muttered in my ear: “First he says he’s short of money, then he invites you to his house. That’s how it starts.” All I’d be doing is cleaning and tidying things up , I told the voice. I’d be back for the evening business .
    “I think you owe me that,” Vincent added with a teasing glance, and I had to smile. I told him I’d love to help, and he exclaimed, “Splendid! Are you feeling better? Shall I walk you back?”
    Now I did pull my hand free, as politely as I could, and I stood to brush grass from my skirt. “I’m fine, thank you, stay and finish your picture.”
    “Until next time, then.” He