The next day, Lionel took Paty to Renoir's studio near Saint-Georges Street.
Renoir was no longer the poor painter he once was; his studio had also moved from Montmartre Hill to the 9th arrondissement, near the Opéra Garnier.
Hearing Lionel's intention, Renoir looked at Paty, who stood beside Lionel, a little shy with clear eyes.
He was almost immediately captivated.
Renoir walked around Paty excitedly, rubbing his hands:
"My God, Lion! Where did you find such a pearl! Look at these contours, the texture of her skin in the light... and those eyes! Pure, yet full of vitality! This is exactly what I've been looking for!"
Without hesitation, he went to his desk, grabbed a pen, quickly scribbled a note, and handed it to his assistant:
"Deliver this to Mr. Andvrip's residence immediately. Tell him I'm very sorry, but I cannot accept the commission for his daughter Miss Irene's portrait. He should find someone else!"
Lionel was somewhat stunned:
"Andvrip, the banker? Irene? How old?"
Renoir scratched his head:
"About 8? Or 9? Who cares, I'm not painting her anyway, I don't like her father's attitude."
Lionel gasped, then advised,
"Pierre, perhaps Paty's portrait could wait a little..."
Renoir waved his hand dismissively and said,
"Don't mention that banker! All he wants is a portrait that satisfies his vanity. He wants me to paint his daughter as a stiff porcelain doll. But your little Paty..."
He looked at the little girl again, his gaze burning:
"She inspires me! Art is not about copying reality; it's about capturing the brilliance of life! She has a light about her, Lion, do you understand?
A light that shines from her soul! To capture such light, it's worth turning down ten bankers' commissions!"
Paty's cheeks flushed crimson from Renoir's lavish praise, and she felt flustered, but inwardly, it was as if she had drunk a small sip of warm honey water—sweet and comforting.
Since Renoir valued it so highly, Lionel also felt that the painting should be made even more perfect.
He took Paty to 'Printemps Department Store,' and despite Paty's loud protests, insisted that the saleswomen there choose a suitable, yet not overly luxurious, outfit and a few accessories for her.
When Paty emerged from the fitting room in her new attire, even passing customers in the department store couldn't help but praise her.
The new clothes fit well and were appropriate, highlighting her gradually developing beautiful features while preserving the innocence befitting her age.
Paty looked at herself in the mirror, almost not recognizing her own reflection.
————
The day of the painting session was a bright and sunny autumn afternoon with crisp air.
Renoir had Paty sit on a high-backed chair in front of a window, with a casually draped deep red velvet cloth as the background, which perfectly complemented her light-colored dress and delicate skin.
The sunlight streaming in from outside cast a soft halo around her, making the wisps of hair on her forehead appear almost transparent.
While nimbly mixing paints, Renoir guided Paty in a relaxed tone:
"Good, excellent! Just like that, relax, Paty... Imagine you're listening to Debussy play the piano, or thinking about your bread almost ready to come out of the oven..."
Paty was initially a little nervous, her body stiff.
But Renoir was in no hurry; he first quickly sketched the rough outline on the canvas with a charcoal stick, and then picked up his brush, dipping it into rich pigments.
His brush danced on the palette, making light 'tap-tap' sounds, and then, as it met the canvas, a 'swish-swish' sound, sometimes brisk, sometimes gentle.
Lionel sat quietly on a sofa a little further away, observing the scene.
He had previous experience with sitting for a portrait and knew it couldn't be finished in one session; Paty would need to come back at least three or four more times.
His mind was on something else: Since 'Little Irene' had become 'Little Paty,' would this painting still become so famous?
Lionel gazed at Paty.
Under Renoir's gentle guidance, she gradually forgot the painter's gaze.
Her expression became natural and serene, a faint smile unconsciously gracing her lips.
Her always-clear eyes, now reflecting the light from the window, appeared exceptionally bright, as if filled with a silent anticipation for the future.
Lionel smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly.
What did it matter how much 'Little Paty' would be worth in the future?
At least at this moment, it was priceless.
Renoir was also completely immersed in his creation, sometimes squinting to observe carefully, sometimes stepping forward quickly to add a few strokes to the canvas, then stepping back to examine the effect.
Occasionally, he would hum an out-of-tune song or murmur to himself in admiration:
"Yes, that light!... This touch of cream color is marvelous... Look at the blue-purple hues in this shadow..."
The only sounds left in the studio were the friction of brush against canvas, and the distant rumble of carriages occasionally drifting in from outside the window...
Time flowed slowly amidst the scent of turpentine and paint.
After an unknown period, Renoir finally let out a long breath and put down his brush and palette.
His face showed fatigue, but even more so, excitement:
"That's all for today. The first layer of underpainting and the main relationships are laid down, look!"
Lionel stepped forward——
On the canvas, the image was far from complete, more a foundation of color blocks and light and shadow; yet Paty's charm, posture, and the warm atmosphere enveloped by soft light were already clearly discernible.
Especially her eyes, though details were yet to be etched, seemed already imbued with life.
Renoir said sincerely,
"She's a perfect model, Lion. Patient, serene, and... she has a calming presence. I will meticulously complete this painting. It may not be my grandest work, but it will certainly be one of my most sincere."
When they left the studio, the setting sun had already painted the Parisian sky a magnificent orange-red.
Although Paty had held a pose for a long time and was somewhat tired, her spirits were unusually high.
She carefully held the new clothes she had changed out of, as if cradling some peerless treasure.
She looked up at Lionel, her eyes sparkling with a brilliance even greater than the setting sun:
"Young Master, today... it was like a dream."
Lionel gently stroked her head, his heart filled with warmth.
He responded softly,
"This isn't a dream, Paty. This is just the beginning. Your journey is still long."
——————
Just as all of Europe was eagerly anticipating a duel between ladies, Dr. Norman Macleod, editor-in-chief of 'Good Words' magazine, was shouting.
"Which bastard did this!"
"This is blatant piracy!"
"Call the police! Call the police! Get Scotland Yard to arrest them!"
On his desk lay a pamphlet with a plain, even crude, cover.
Bold letters on the pamphlet read:
'A Study in Scarlet'
(End of Chapter)