The Colonel's Nieces

CHAPTER TEN

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 MacMahon.

“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 manner 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?

“'My mistress,' the Negro woman continued, 'is a foreigner.'

“'Who does not come from this country?'

“'It is as your Grace says, and I can also see that you are in a very humorous mood.'

“'And who of the great minds of Montmartre or Belville has taught your mistress the subtlety of our beautiful French language?'

“'Madame,' she continued, 'belongs to the high aristocracy of her county, and because of her position she cannot afford to have intimate connections in her own circles, if I may say so.'

“'You may. Your explanations are a little bit obscure, but I think that the gist of it is perfectly clear.'

“'Your Grace does understand what I am saying?'

“'Completely. What is Madame's name?'

“'Pomegranate Flower.'

“'I'll be damned, if you will pardon the expression. That is a name as burning hot as the sun of Andalusia. And it is obvious to me that anyone with a name like that is incapable of loneliness, Miss…”

“'Felicitas, at your service, Count de Paliseul.'

“'Is your mistress beautiful, young and witty? You do not have to tell me whether she is a blonde or a brunette. Her pseudonym tells me that she must have the dark eyes of a woman of Madrid, and her hair is black as the feathers of a raven.'

“'That is indeed a wonderful guess, Monsieur. And I might add that she is one of the most beautiful women in Paris. Moreover, she is only twenty-five years old.'

“'That is the age when the fruits are juiciest, Miss Felicitas.'

“'Unfortunately, she must be very careful in combining her personal desires with the conventions of society.'

“'You must admit, Miss Felicitas, that this desirable creature is taking a tremendous risk. Can you imagine what would happen if I were not a man of honor?'

“'As far as that is concerned, my lord… my mistress knows you very well.'

“'Well, now that's the limit! This beautiful stranger knows me?'

“'Absolutely!'

“'Pooh!'

“'Oh, yes, she has known you for almost two years.'

“I must have looked very incredulous, but Miss Felicitas told me so many intimate things from my private life that I could no longer doubt that the unknown beauty from that far country knew me through and through.

“'In that case,' I answered, 'I can only be very grateful to Madame Pomegranate Flower that her beautiful eyes have fallen upon me, and that she has considered me worthy of being her companion.'

“'Yes, but there is one more thing.'

“'And that is?'

“'That you must give your word as a noble-, man never to try and find out who she is.'

“'Discretion is my noble virtue. I accept that condition, and I add to it that, if I ever were to meet Madame Pomegranate Flower socially, I would never give away that I know her, unless she greets me first.'

“'That is still not enough. You must also promise never to try to remove the domino mask which she always wears.'

“'Now, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of! Your mistress, I am sorry to say, must have lost her mind during her travels. She greatly desires, if I am to believe you, an intimate friend and even then she in-' tends to wear a veil or a mask?'

“'Yes, but only as far as her face is concerned.'

“'Aah… only her face?'

“'Yes!'

“'And what about the rest?'

“'That might, if the circumstances are proper, be unveiled.'

“'Good. I hope that this will make up for not being able to see her lovely face.'

“That Paliseul is the worst bandit I ever heard,” groaned de Melreuse.

“I agree. Completely without shame. It's positively indecent,” added de Laigle.

“A fine for both of you,” exclaimed de Lyncent. “You two have promised to shut up! Come on, Paliseul, don't let us wait. Your story is getting very interesting.”

“'Do you mean to tell me,' de Paliseul continued, 'that Madame Pomegranate Flower would show herself to me without any clothes on?'

“'Did Eve when she talked to the snake in the Garden of Eden wear any costume?'

“'No, she definitely did not. What you say makes a lot of sense and I promise happily to do whatever you have asked me. But I must admit that I am burning with desire to see this divine goddess, who, if she is incredibly beautiful as you say, dares to show herself in her natural state.

“'In that case all I have to do is invite Your Grace in the name of my mistress for a light supper. I will be here promptly at nine o'clock tonight to drive Your Grace to the home of my mistress.'

“I already had an engagement for that particular night, but the adventure was too exotic to pass up. I promised the black chambermaid that I would be there on time, at the same time thinking what exactly was going to happen.

“It did not seem that it was a matter of money, for it had not even been brought up. My beautiful paramour-to-be seemed to know me very well, and therefore, she should have known that I can be had for flowers and candy, which really aren't very valuable. Was this woman merely eccentric, or was I about to be ambushed?

“I decided that the latter possibility was not at all impossible, and I decided to carry a gun with me.”

“Oh, my dear God.-Sometimes his imagination goes too far! Jesus, man, we are living in the nineteenth century! Things like that just don't happen any longer. You may have some money, but you aren't worth all that trouble.” murmured a voice in the background.

“At exactly nine o'clock”-de Paliseul decided to ignore the nasty remark-“I was at the same spot on the Avenue MacMahon, and a few minutes later the equipage came speeding along the empty boulevard. The golden sphinx was painted on the door, and I must admit that it seemed to me that the Negress was painted black, also.

“I had barely seated myself, when she drew the curtains, and it was impossible for me to see where we were driving. We must have been riding crisscross through the city for at least a half hour when I suddenly heard a whistle. I shivered.

“'Don't be afraid,' said my companion smilingly. 'The coachman is deaf and dumb and this is the sign for the doorman to open the gate. We have arrived.'

“And indeed, I could hear the creaking of a heavy iron gate, and the coach drove through some sort of tunnel. We stopped in front of a large, marble staircase with hand forged railings. It was a very expensive estate.

“Enormous vases of porcelain were placed everywhere, filled with fresh flowers. It gave the place a festive look which was enhanced by the many lanterns which lit the entire front of the building. But, gentlemen, I am afraid that I am tiring you with my long story. Maybe I'd better stop.”

“That is like interrupting a serial in a newspaper. To be continued-just at the moment that it gets spicy. Come on, Paliseul, let's hear the rest of it.”

“Fine with me, but let me catch my breath first.”

“Waiter, bring something to drink for our friend here! I think that he was hinting at our lack of hospitality. And we can't hear a sexy story from a parched throat!”