“Well, I’d seen a few of his works and thought they showed promise. He was new to Toronto, didn’t have much money or many connections. This seemed perfect. He could teach part-time, make some money, meet some people.”

His voice faded away. All that energy, all that force of personality, seemed spent and the quite magnificent man deflated. The very thought of Professor Norman seemed to sap him of life.

“It was a mistake,” the professor said. He was quiet for a moment, casting his mind back to that time. “Norman wasn’t fired for his crazy beliefs, you know. We were a very liberal institution then. Though his theories weren’t approved of, and the students had no respect for him. His appearance didn’t help.”

“He looked crazy?” asked Reine-Marie, and, unexpectedly, Professor Massey laughed.

“We all looked like lunatics. He looked like a banker. A prosperous banker. Everyone else was sorta seedy, or at least tried to be. It was the uniform of the time. Now we all try to look successful, respectable.”

He gazed down at his clothing, then over at seedy Ruth.

And Reine-Marie wondered if that canvas on the easel would have been so blank had Professor Massey not been so respectable.

“Why was he fired if not for this tenth muse theory?”

“I was on the Board of Governors and we agonized over it. Norman wasn’t violent, at least not yet. That’s the problem, isn’t it, with these things? Hard to fire someone on suspicion they might do something.”

“But what made you think he’d become violent?” asked Reine-Marie.

“We just didn’t know. He had outbursts, verbal. He shook with rage. I tried talking to him, but he denied there was anything wrong. He said that real artists are passionate, and that was all it was. Passion.”

“You didn’t believe it?”

“He might’ve been right. Maybe real artists are passionate. Lots are nuts. But the issue wasn’t whether he was a real artist, but if he was a good teacher.”

“What made him angry? What would set him off?”

“Anyone who disagreed with his tenth muse theory. And anything he judged to be mediocre. The two went together in his mind. Unfortunately, as the year went on he became more and more unbalanced. We didn’t know when he’d go over the edge, and who he might take with him. We had to protect the students. But we didn’t act in time.”

“There was an incident?” asked Reine-Marie.

Beside her, Ruth was no help at all. Reine-Marie wasn’t even sure she was listening. There was a goofy smile on her face as she watched Professor Massey.

“Not violence,” said the professor. “Not physical anyway. Without telling anyone, or getting the college’s permission, Sébastien Norman created the Salon des Refusés.”

“Clara Morrow told us about that. But what was it?”