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Degas and Renoir, along with many other artists, writers, and musicians are here.

As are édouard’s mother, Suzanne, and Léon, and édouard’s brother Gène, a pale and nervous man whom, much to Berthe’s horror, Maman has offered up as a suitable husband.

As usual, édouard is absent. Berthe keeps searching the crowd, but now that Edma knows her secrets, she almost wishes he won’t come. Still, she searches.

Degas links his arm through hers. “I hear you are in the midst of creating a scandalous painting. How brave and modern of you.”

At first, Berthe has no idea what he’s talking about and shakes her head in confusion. But she quickly realizes to what he’s referring. “You are always awash in rumors, Edgar. And you should not be spreading whatever nonsense you are alluding to.”

“I don’t mean to be telling false tales, but I believed you were working on a double portrait of your mother and Edma.” His expression is uniquely Degas, a sneer with humor encircling it. “This is not so?”

“It is, but there’s nothing at all scandalous about it.”

“Now it is you who are telling false tales, my dear Berthe. Do you believe a picture of a woman in Edma’s condition will be considered proper?”

“She’s not in any condition.”

“Why are you maintaining this fiction when the truth is widely known?”

“There is no truth for anyone to know,” Berthe counters. Maman has been adamant that they remain mum about Edma’s pregnancy until she returns home for her confinement, and both Berthe and Edma have done as she asked.

Degas bursts into laughter. “Did you honestly believe your mother would tell no one this news? Or that the woman in whom she confided would not tell another? How can you be so na?ve about the world while standing up to it so courageously?”

“You are being most unkind, and I bid you to find someone else to insult. I have duties to perform here. I must converse with the other guests to ensure they have whatever they may need.”

Still laughing, Degas bows. “As you command.”

After he walks away, there’s a touch on her shoulder, and Berthe turns, a polite hostess smile on her face.

It’s édouard, and his expression is sober, which is surprising, as he’s usually his most jovial at a party, when he deigns to attend.

“I’ve been thinking about what I said to you at the Salon,” he tells her as he maneuvers her into a far corner.

“And there’s no excuse whatsoever for my rudeness. ”

As pleased as she is to see him, she appraises him coolly. “No, there is not.”

“I’m so sorry, but I wasn’t myself. The pressure of the moment, the possible sale, the ridicule of my work… I was up. I was down. I was not in my right senses.”

“It sounds to me as if you are making excuses.”

He grabs her hands. “Oh, my Berthe, my Berthe. There are so many things I love about you, but your frankness has to be my favorite.”

She should shake his hands off, especially in a public place, but she doesn’t. “You are insufferable.”

“But lovable, no?” he asks playfully.

“Too much for your own good.” She attempts to keep an edge of sharpness in her voice but is unsuccessful.

“Meet me in your studio in ten minutes,” he whispers.

“We cannot do that,” she says, despite her desire to do exactly as he suggests. “I will not do that.”

“We must,” he pleads. “We have to talk.”

Berthe hesitates, then pulls her hands from his and walks to where her mother is sitting. She settles on the arm of Cornélie’s chair. “What a fabulous evening you’ve created, Maman! Surely a triumph.”

Cornélie beams at her. “Thank you, my darling.” She stands. “I met the most charming young man. Monsieur Faucheux, a banker, new to our city. Come, let me introduce you.”

Berthe allows herself to be led, but turns to see if édouard is watching her.

He is, and he pulls out his pocket watch, holding it up with an irresistible glint in his eyes.

She continues to follow her mother. When she meets the “charming” M.

Faucheux, he is anything but, and after an awkward and inane conversation about the economics of war, she moves on, wondering if ten minutes have passed.

The guests have been imbibing for hours, full of themselves and their conversations, and are unlikely to notice her absence.

She edges her way to the door that leads to her studio, lightheaded with trepidation and eagerness, her breath coming quickly. When she enters the studio, closing the door behind her, he’s looking at the unfinished painting of Edma and Cornélie.

She comes up alongside him, but he doesn’t take his eyes from the canvas.

“It’s as if they’re actually here, so natural and comfortable in their togetherness,” he says softly, almost reverently.

“You’ve captured their bond, their moment, and although they might be Edma and Cornélie, they’re also all mothers and daughters.

Or at least how we prefer to believe all mothers and daughters to be. ”

Berthe is elated, not only by what he’s saying, but by his understanding of her work. “édouard, I, I—”

He takes her in his arms gently, adoringly, as if she were a Russian jeweled egg. He doesn’t kiss her, just holds her. “Your perfume, your light powdery scent, so fresh, so elegant,” he breathes. “Almost as intoxicating as you are.”

“Guerlain’s Violette de Paine,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek into his chest, taking him in with all her senses.

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear. “Truly.”

“And I love you too.” She raises her face to his, and when they kiss, all she feels is happiness. No more fear or trepidation. He’s hers now. And forever. He loves her.

There’s a knock on the door, and they jump apart. “Come in,” she calls, her voice hoarse and a little shaky. It’s Edma.

édouard bows. “I was just complimenting your sister on the masterful job she’s doing with this painting.”

“I agree,” Edma says. “It is already a magnificent work and will grow only more so when it’s complete.”

Berthe looks from one to the other, and the silence grows awkward. “Thank you both,” she says, just to say something.

“Maman is looking for you.” Edma’s tone is casual, but her eyes are darkly serious, locked on her sister’s. “I thought it would be best for me to come find you before she does.”

EDMA RETURNS HOME to Lorient at the end of June, and it’s difficult to know which of the sisters is more upset by their separation.

Cornélie is sympathetic to Berthe’s unhappiness for a day or two, then begins berating her for moping around the house and not eating enough.

“Your sister has a life and will soon have a family, and it is high time you do the same,” she says more than once.

It’s not only the loss of her sister that Berthe is mourning.

Since Edma’s interruption the night of the party, she and édouard have had no chance to discuss their future.

Only a few days later, the Manets left Paris for a rented estate in the Loire Valley and will not be back in the city until the end of August. Usually the Morisots would be on summer holiday also, but Papa must remain in Paris, for he is now the minister of the interior and deeply involved in the government’s negotiations to avert a war with Germany.

The city is hot and dirty, and the stench is horrible. All Berthe’s friends and fellow artists have fled to either the coast or the countryside, but she, as the only unmarried daughter, must remain to look after her parents, although they need no looking after.

She tries to work in her studio, but there is little breeze, and after less than an hour, she’s often faint from the heat.

The house is little better, although there are more windows to open.

She spends miserable day after miserable day lying in her sweltering bedroom with cold compresses on her forehead that turn warm within minutes and drip water down her neck into the pillows.

In July, when the talks with Germany fail and war is declared, everyone floods back into the city to pack up their homes and retreat to England or Portugal or the Mediterranean, some even to America.

The Manets decide to stay in France but are going to the Basses-Pyrénées.

Just before they go, édouard and his brother Gène come to the Morisots home to try to convince them that they, too, must leave the city.

Although their concern is for the whole family, and they claim they came on Antoinette’s urging, Berthe knows it’s édouard’s fear for her safety that’s the real cause of the visit.

She is, of course, elated to see him, but once again, they have no opportunity to be alone.

The brothers are in a great rush, and Papa and Maman are dogged about staying, impervious to their arguments.

Her father cannot leave his post, especially now with war raging, and her mother will not abandon him or her own aging parents.

Papa tried to convince Cornélie and Berthe to go, but Cornélie refused.

After much back-and-forth, Gène says, “If that is your decision, Madame Morisot, we will respect it.” This is his first utterance since he arrived, and Berthe is surprised he’s spoken at all, as he has always appeared to be a silent spectator of life rather than an active participant.

It occurs to her that it’s Gène whom Suzanne should have married, comfortably bonded in their blandness.

“But there’s no reason that Berthe cannot go to Yves in Mirande,” édouard argues.

“There will certainly be no action there, as it’s so distant, and just as certainly there will be action in Paris.

It is completely reckless for her to remain in the city.

And isn’t Mirande where Edma is, now that Adolphe has been recalled?

I understand why you must remain,” he says to Papa.

“But the only safe place for Berthe is with her sisters.”

Berthe wants to stand and step into his arms, to thank him for caring for her so, but all she can do is sit where she is. “My place is with my parents, édouard,” she says as firmly as she can. “My grandparents aren’t well, and it would be remiss of me to leave all the caretaking to my mother.”

“But you need to get out while you can!” édouard’s eyes are beseeching. “What good will you do if you are wounded or disfigured? How will you be able to help anyone then?”

“I wish it could be otherwise, as with so much that is happening these days,” she says, looking at her lap. “But I must stay.”

édouard’s face is an iron mask as he and Gène take their leave, and Berthe has no doubt he’s furious with her. But if she were to abandon her family and something happened to any of them, she would never forgive herself. She can only hope édouard will be able to find it in his heart to forgive her.