Father has always known how to choose the precise knife with which to stab you in your weakest spot. I glared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A thin smile appeared on his lips, and he deduced that he was correct. “Or did you just hand it to her as you did when you were younger?”

“You’re enjoying this,” I said, chalking my palms and wiping them on my thighs.

“I have no opinion one way or the other on the matter, although you know how I do enjoy chaos.” His tone changed, low and grave, like a warning. “This is a lesson for you, Cecile. Where your sister is concerned, one day you will need to fight for what is yours.”

His comment lingered long after he’d left.

After practice, Doro found me. “The painter was looking for you,” said Doro’s puppet. “They left.”

“They?”

“Esmé and her fly.”

My heart sank. “Together?”

“He said that you’d know where to find them.”

Buoyed by Father’s words, I decided that today I would claim what I felt was mine. I threw on my best dress, a blue chiffon drop-waisted number, and allowed my hair to cascade down my back in ringlets. As I left, I found Doro standing by the door again. Once, on a dare from Esmé, I tried to take him with me, absorbing his essence. It nearly killed me, sending me to bed for weeks with a raging fever.

When I stepped onto the street, I realized that the circus had, indeed, moved. It took me a moment to orient myself. No longer on the Left Bank, but now in Montmartre. I caught the omnibus to Boulevard Saint-Germain and then walked to Montparnasse. It had been a nice stroll, but it had taken me nearly two hours.

When I reached Le Dôme Café, I didn’t see them sitting at the bar or in the café. An uneasy feeling set in. I walked the two blocks to Émile’s apartment. As I opened the door in the landing, I heard Esmé’s voice coming from the rooms upstairs. Then the beginning of a song from Émile’s phonograph, “Oh, How I Miss You Tonight.” My instinct told me to turn around and return to the circus, but I’d led her to him, insisting he paint her.

I ascended the stairs and knocked on the door. Inside, I heard a furious scrambling and giggling. They were drunk. Placing my ear to the door, I heard the sliding of clothing as it was arranging back on bodies. My heart sank. I was too late.

Not long ago, I had been in that room; my clothes had been on that floor. I’d been a fool to think he cared about me. Tears began to flow down my cheeks as I turned and began down the stairs, my legs hurting from the earlier walk.