Madame Couer-Brulant - The Cousins,volume II

The onlookers had to admit that this delicious pair of breasts was as white as the arse they had just viewed. They practically rolled on the floor, roaring with laughter.

“I don't know what you want, gentlemen,” Felicitas said, “but you are in my house and I advise you to scram before I call the police.

And you, you bastard,” she turned to de Paliseul, “pick up your pants and don't let me ever see your face again. It's out… you hear… out! No more free screwing for you.”

De Paliseul scrambled hastily into his clothes, and Felicitas threw a robe over her disarrayed clothes. She rang a bell, and the old man showed up again.

“You're fired, you miserable old scum,” Felicitas screamed, throwing a half-crown at the old man, which he picked up hastily. “Your last job is to throw out these fine friends… if you can use that word!”

The old man led them crisscross through a series of dark corridors and hallways, down the stairs, and finally the members of the club found themselves in a little dark alley behind the Rue Charles V.

“So that was your gorgeous houri!” Again the friends broke out in a salvo of laughter. “We knew that you had a terrific imagination, de Paliseul, but to make a magical palace out of that dump, and a gorgeous creature out of a common whore takes quite a lot!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” de Berny said, trying to calm down the storm, “let's admit that she had a pair of beautiful breasts, and her buttocks weren't bad, either. I must admit that her language was not very ladylike, but one can't have everything for free.”

“I think I'm going out of my mind,” de Paliseul cried.

“I don't think so, my friend. After all, it is impossible to describe a face which was hidden behind a mask. Besides, every good doctor for the insane can tell you that the excitement and the intrigue will put things in your mind that are as real for you as if they had truly happened.”

This was not exactly the consolation de Paliseul needed at the moment.

“Poor de Paliseul, you've been tricked. Your imagination has ascribed qualities to a rather overaged courtesan, or possibly some rich old woman who couldn't possibly snare anyone without resorting to a bagful of tricks.”

“And then,” number three added, “the possibility does exist that you were the only man capable of satisfying an old whore.”

The three broke out in tremendous laughter again.

“I've gone crazy… I must have gone crazy!” de Paliseul hailed a cab, and before his three club fellows could say anything else, the carriage drove away.

A few days later, in a duel, one of his friends wound up with a piece of lead in his shoulder, all honors were settled, and the routine in the Club de Topinambours was as of old.

It seemed that the entire episode had been forgotten. But it only seemed that way, because a terrible thirst for revenge had taken root in de Paliseul's heart, and he swore an oath that those who had made such a fool out of him would have to pay dearly for their fun.

Meanwhile, Maxim de Berny had seen to it that his two friends also took a cab to their homes and, when he was sure that nobody followed him, returned to the home in the Rue Charles V, where he found Evergreen and Dorothy still in a hilarious mood.

“Well, what did you think of Dorothy's acting?” Florentine asked.

“It was marvelous, Dorothy! What an act! Oh, dearest Evergreen, if you could only have seen how she greeted us! You have a marvelous behind Dorothy.”

“Your Lordship is joking.”

“Not at all, Dorothy and as proof of my admiration, here are ten gold pieces.”

“Your Lordship is too good. For this amount I am entirely at your service.”

“I thank you, dear girl, but I wouldn't want to abuse your hospitality.”

The ladies got what they asked for and, when Maxim had finished they practically rolled on the floor with laughter. Especially when they heard that de Paliseul seriously thought about consulting a doctor for the insane.

Do we have to say that this pleasant evening ended with Maxim's eager lips between Florentine's shuddering thighs?

Archaeologists insist that the castle of La Bidouze was built in the early twelfth century.

It is nestled halfway into the mountains and it rules the river and the valley beneath it. From a distance it gives the impression of an enormous eagle's nest.

The parents of Don Jose de Corriero had lived and loved here; their son was born and brought up in the old castle, and his bones were now resting in the chapel with those of his parents and forebears.

From the outside, the building looked stern and foreboding. Generations of owners seemed to have concentrated on the interior of the castle. It was loaded with antiques: furniture, tapestries, paintings, and the library contained books that would have caused much mouth watering among librarians.

Julia waited impatiently for the arrival of her lover, not only because her body cried out for him, but also because she wanted to create some order into the accumulation of generations of her late husband's forebears. She was therefore terribly disappointed when, instead of her beloved Michael, a letter arrived from him, informing her that an old aunt of his was on her deathbed. As tenderly as possible the young artist wrote that he loved the old lady dearly and, though he missed Julia terribly, he had to go to Nimes and see his aunt before she died. He begged her to understand and promised to join her in a couple of days.

Julia, who now had nothing else to do but wait for her lover's arrival, undertook various short trips through her new domain.

Then, unexpectedly, the caretaker of the castle died in a hunting accident. He left his little eight-year-old daughter behind. The poor child's mother had died in childbirth, so Julia decided to take care of the girl.

She had already noticed that no one in particular took any notice of the child, and made up her mind that she would take the girl with her to Paris.

“I have no children of my own,” she told Dorothy. “I am rich, and I owe it to the child to see that she gets a good education.”

“Madame is right,” Dorothy answered. “If nobody takes care of this little tomboy, she will come to no good.”

Julia took care of the little girl as if she were her own. Of course, the memory of her own youth, and the excellent care she had received from Aunt Briquart, may also have played a role. The girl took to her immediately, and she followed Julia like a shadow.

One day, when they returned from one of their excursions, they saw a little boy sitting along the side of the road. It seemed that the child was very ill. He could have been at the most only twelve years old.

Julia got out of the carriage, asking him what was the matter.

“I am hungry.”

“Poor child,” Julia said. “Claire give the boy your breakfast, and then run inside to get Dorothy.”

“What's your name?”

“Pedro.”

“Are you Spanish?”

“I think so.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“And where do you live?”

“Nowhere.”

“How did you get here?”

“They put me in an orphanage.”

“And?”

“I didn't like it.”

The boy sized up this beautiful lady and he obviously decided that he could give her a little bit more information.

“I ran across the border, and I've been begging ever since.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yes, and now I'm sick.”

Julia looked at the boy. He was good looking, well developed for his age, though he was rather skinny. But with proper care and feeding, he promised to become one of those beautiful types which have made the men and women of Andalusia famous all over Europe. Meanwhile Dorothy had arrived and in a few short words Julia told her what she had heard. The women decided to keep the boy at La Bidouze, at least till he had recuperated from his illness which Dorothy quickly diagnosed as plain starvation.