Madame Couer-Brulant - The Cousins,volume II

“Absolutely! I would love to try this experiment together with you. But, dear little sister, under one condition only. That both of us from time to time… like today, I mean… is that all right with you?”

Julia kissed her sister tenderly.

Dorothy helped her mistress and Madame Vaudrez with their toilet and nobody would have guessed an hour later, when the two ladies received guests in their salon, that they had so completely given themselves to voluptuous pleasures.

A few months later, a small group of gentlemen were sitting in the small salon of one of those exclusive Parisian clubs. They were some famous gentlemen of Paris society, namely de Lyncent de Melreuse, de Laigle, de Resdorff and the Officer of the General Staff, Maxim de Berny.

All these men of the world were sitting, or standing, around the Count de Paliseul, who sat in a leather easy chair telling one of his famous tales. Most men listened to him, smiling, because they knew his habit of exaggeration.

“Oh, this Raoul,” murmured Melreuse, “the most fantastic adventures always seem to happen to him! I envy his powerful imagination.”

“Oh, you don't believe me, gentlemen? Well, I swear upon my word of honor that everything happened exactly the way I am telling it to you,” answered the young man.

“Come on, Raoul, things like that happened in the time of mail coaches and highway robberies, exciting abductions of young ladies, and all that sort of rot. But nowadays! Please, don't make us laugh. Why are you trying to pull the wool over our eyes? But, since you know how to tell a story with such brilliance and passion, we will allow you to go on with your report,” laughed de Lyncent.

“Oh, no, gentlemen! If this is your attitude toward my story, and I swear it is a true story, I prefer to remain silent.”

“Now, now, you don't have to get mad at us!”

“All right, gentlemen,” a few voices spoke up, “since it concerns a true, true story, the first one who interrupts again must pay a fine!”

“We are all ears, friend Paliseul. Continue your story. So far, all we know is that for the past three days you have found among your mail a letter on English paper, written in a very correct style and instead of a seal or initials it was closed with a golden sphinx. We also know that the said letters smelled delicious and were perfumed with a particular smell you had never smelled before. Now, what could be more natural than when you had opened those letters, that you read that the mysterious writer ordered you- if you had the courage and the discretion-to walk at two o'clock in the afternoon on the Avenue MacMahon and to contact there a woman who would give you a calling card with that same delicious perfume and printed with a golden sphinx. That would have to convince you that the woman was sent by your mysterious writer.”

“My dear Melreuse, you will never become Attorney General for France. You have just rattled off what I have already told. Maybe you can become a court stenographer.”

“What do you want, my friend? I am used to the wild stories my children tell their nanny. But come on, Paliseul, I have brought everyone up to date with your story, and now it is your turn to continue with your novel!”

“I'll be more than happy. I went to the secret rendezvous, and despite the fact that I was supposed to walk, I took a cab. I only wanted to see what was going on. But I won't bore you gentlemen with unimportant details.”

“So far, you haven't been doing anything else but that,” someone interrupted.

“The fine, the fine! — Pay your fine!” called the others. “Now please, gentlemen, we have promised to be quiet, and let Raoul tell his story.”

“To fulfill the condition that I had to walk I ordered my coachman to stop in the Rue Tilsit, from where I strolled in the Avenue Mac-Mahon.

“I waited for about ten minutes while I was trying to figure out with whom I was going to be brought in contact. It could be with one of those society ladies who are reaching the dangerous age, and who have to prove to themselves that they are still as attractive as ever. It could be a woman who had heard stories about my reputation in the boudoir, and it could even be a virgin who had become dissatisfied with that state of affairs, and who was now trying to contact me through a matchmaker.

“I began, frankly, to lose interest. My thoughts were turning somber and morbid, because who wants to go through all the humdrum just for a simple lay. After all, the lady in question seemed to be desperate. Lord knows that I have more affairs than my poor manhood can handle.

“But then, suddenly, a thought hit me like a flash of lightning, giving me a ray of hope. I decided not to return to my carriage in the Rue Tilsit, but to wait some more.

“After all, the style of the letter, the elegant paper, and the exquisite and obviously very expensive perfume did not point to one of those sordid affairs we all know so well.

“I had just reached that happy conclusion when my daydreams were disturbed by the arrival of an elegant coach, obviously made in England. The elegant vehicle, pulled by two splendid horses, was driven by a Negro coachman. It drove very quickly, and I could see that the livery of the Negro was black and gold borders and the buttons on his uniform were golden sphinxes.

“The coach stopped suddenly, about twenty paces from where I was standing. I must admit that my heart was pounding a little faster than normal. 'Who could possibly come out of that beautiful coach?' I asked myself.”

“Now, really, my dear Paliseul. We can all fully understand how you felt at this particular moment. But can you please come down to the facts, you eternal blabbermouth. Hurry up with that story!”

“Oh, drop dead. Beautiful needlework has never yet ruined a beautiful gown!”

“He'll never finish that story, if we keep interrupting him,” said de Resdorff.

“As I said,” Paliseul continued, “a lady came out of the carriage. She was of uncertain age, wore a heavy veil, and she was dressed in one of those solid, well made gowns which makes it almost impossible to guess rank or standing. If that is going to be my lady love, I have been had, I thought, and I'll disappear as quickly as I can.

“This thought became even firmer when I noticed that the woman was of the same black race as the coachman.

“The Negress looked me over very carefully, quickly crossed over to where I stood and handed me the promised calling card.

“'Monsieur de Paliseul?' she asked, though it was obvious that the old witch must have known who I was.

“'That's me, Madame.' I answered this unattractive creature coldly.

“'Would my lord the Count please check the perfume, so that he may know that his card is legitimate.'

“'That is not necessary. I believe you at your word, and I hope that you finally will explain this whole mystery to me. I feel as if we are conspirators. Did you at least bring a blond wig and a black mask? That's the only things I forgot to bring with me. I must admit that in this role I am a newcomer.'

“'These little remedies are unnecessary. The wings of love will be enough to cloak us.'

“She had said 'us', and I shuddered at the horrible thought that crossed my mind.

“'All right,' I answered, 'if I have to fight under the wings of the Almighty, there is very little I can do about it. But, my dearest lady, I am not smart at guessing games, and I would be greatly obliged if you would clear up this whole mystery!'

“'With pleasure,' she answered. 'It's the reason that I am here.'

“'Then, please, don't let me wait any longer!'

“'My mission is only to be the go-between.'

“Though I had counted on this, I must admit that I breathed a lot more freely to have her confirm it. At least I did not any longer mistrust her motives, though I became extremely curious and returned to my first assumption. Who would be the lady of society in need of money, in return for which she would be willing to offer me her charms?