The Colonel's Nieces

CHAPTER SIX

Travel broadens the mind and is in general — a delicious pastime, if one can afford it. But no matter how enthusiastically one has greeted the marvels spread throughout the four corners of the world, only when Paris appears on the horizon again does that feeling of peace descend upon the soul.

Paris, city of laughter, city of love. The gathering place of genius and fool, the only place in the whole wide world where you can be sure, no matter what your tastes, to find a group of people just like you.

The little home on the Rue de Courcelles was beautifully decorated in honor of the return of its mistress. Dorothy had sent a telegram to Baptiste and all the servants had turned out to greet the Count and his loved one.

It was so elegant and cozy that even Gaston was wowed when he and Julia crossed the threshold of that pretty room where he and she had tasted the delights of their sweet ecstasy. He took her in his arms and held her passionately.

“You are mine, aren't you, Gaston,” said Julia pleadingly. “Tell me, my lover, let me hear it from your lips. It sounds so sweet to be reassured that you love me now and forever.”

“Until my dying breath, my dearest.”

And his lips, searching for love and passion, sealed his promise to Julia in a most convincing manner.

Alas, the best laid plans often go awry. People may make them, but the decisions are more often than not made by fate.

The Parisian life had taken hold of the Saski-Saniska household, and Gaston began to spend more and more time with his friends, and less and less with Julia. Julia barely noticed that his visits to their little love nest were few and far between. Her dearest friend, the Baroness de Sambreval, was seriously ill, and Julia spent much of her time taking care of the old lady. Little by little the intimate ties between herself and her lover were loosening.

The young woman would come home so worn out and tired that she really did not mind being alone in bed. As a matter of fact, she welcomed the temporary absence of Gaston's amorous demands.

Gaston still loved no one else but Julia. Not a single other woman had succeeded to take her place in his heart and soul, though many had tried. But a terrible rival was gaining ground ever so slowly, day by day. Gaston had an overriding passion for gambling. It had temporarily been relegated to second place as long as his passion for Julia was blazing hot. But circumstances beyond the control of either one had dimmed the glow. Gaston took Julia for granted, which is one of the gravest mistakes that can be made in any love affair, whether the ties are made in Heaven or not. Julia, who loved the Baroness almost as much as she did her aunt, did not notice the imperceptible changes. Gaston lost enormous sums of money without telling Julia. Then, worried, wishing to recoup his losses, he went farther, losing even more. This is the way of the world. Once the loser is down, he is being stepped upon. Soon, Gaston found himself deeply in debt, his fast friends leaving him one by one.

At the same time, Julia lost her friend. The old Baroness died in her arms, imploring the girl to take care of her poor friend. Don Jose had never left her side and, overcome with grief, the old man was crying on his knees, next to the bed, his head buried in the covers.

Poor Don Jose! The death of his former mistress, who had become his lifetime friend, was a rude blow for him. He might not have been able to survive it, had it not been for the tender loving care Julia bestowed upon him.

The Baroness' heirs ordered the sale of the beautiful mansion on the Boulevard Saint Michel, but the General could not stand the idea of seeing all the little objects and furniture that meant as much to him as it had to the Baroness scattered to the four corners of the earth.

“Would you like me to buy back the poor Baroness' home?” asked Julia. “For your sake. Then we won't have to change anything that's in it.”

The General was an immensely rich Spanish nobleman and he accepted Julia's proposal enthusiastically. The young woman, employing all her diplomacy and skill, negotiated the entire affair in her name. That had been Don Jose's wish.

“When I die dear girl,” he told her, “I want you to remain the owner of my treasures. Who would respect it better than you?”

And, every day, as had been his habit for so many years, the old gentleman would arrive in the salon, finding Julia ready to receive him with his customary cup of chocolate and reading the latest news to him from the Parisian gossip sheets. The affection which he had felt for the girl since the first day he had met her slowly changed into adoration. To him, this young and beautiful woman was the incarnation of goodness. He began to look upon her with the fierceness of a true Spaniard, as if she were the Madonna herself. And he noticed every little cloud which had settled upon her brow. And with the jealousy that marks possessiveness, he wanted to know the reason for them.

And, for some time now, the clouds had become more and more frequent. Julia had been concerned about Gaston's strange and preoccupied attitude. One morning, instead of waiting for their usual meeting at the mansion on Boulevard St. Michel, the Viscountess Saniska was announced at the home of Don Jose de Corriero.

“What is wrong, dear child?” he asked, very worried about this sudden change in habits.

“I don't know what it is, but something terrible is going on. Gaston came home last night and he was very upset. He was pale and very quiet. Then, suddenly he took me roughly into his arms and practically raped me. Afterwards, he fell into a fitful sleep and kept tossing and turning, mumbling about death, gambling and dishonor. I am afraid. I don't know what to do. Please, come with me and have lunch with us this morning.”

“Give me time to get dressed, and I will come with you.”

Two hours later, coming home for lunch, Gaston found himself face to face with Don Jose.

Extending his hand to the visitor, unable to hide his surprise, “Here at this hour, General? And all alone? Where is Julia?”

“She is crying while waiting for you. I sent her upstairs to dry her eyes.”

“Julia crying? Why?”

“That's what you are going to tell me, I hope. Look, Gaston, by now you must know that Julia can only be happy when you are. Well then, it appears to me that there is some sort of trouble brewing between you two. I don't know what it is, since she has no idea what the cause could be. It is clear to her, the instincts of a woman in love are very sharp, my dear boy-that something is wrong. I love her as if she were my own daughter, and I cannot bear to see her unhappy. We are both men of the world, so don't beat around the bush. What is the matter?”

“It's a fairly simple thing. Last night I lost one hundred and fifty thousand francs. I do not have that much money. I have had bad luck ever since we returned to Paris. And if Isaak Kaponski cannot give me the loan tonight, there is nothing I can do lest what one is expected to do in such a case. Understand, dear General, that my only collateral is what I fall heir to upon my aunt's death. And, if she finds out about Julia, there would not be any inheritance. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly! Only, have you thought of the fact that you do not have the right to take your life as long as Julia is not your legal wife?”

Gaston shrugged his shoulders. “What good are beautiful sentiments at a time like this? I love Julia more than anybody else. But, if she had not become my mistress, she would have become the mistress of someone else. Isn't that the destiny of French women who are both beautiful and poor?”

“My dear Count, you are undoubtedly under terrible pressure, or, by God, I would forget about my age and make you regret what you have just said. I shall pretend not to have heard a word of the whole conversation other than that you need a paltry hundred and fifty thousand francs. Under the condition that you shall never gamble again, I will see to it that your debt will be paid. My lawyer shall take care of the necessary arrangements.”

“You would do this for me?”

“I would do this for Julia, and consider it already done. Now, let's reassure your dear Viscountess, who loves you more than you deserve. In matters of love we can never equal a woman, my dear Count.”

“That's very well possible, General.”

Julia entered the room and she soon noticed that the threatening thunderclouds had cleared.

“Look at your penitent,” Don Jose told her. “I have heard his confession and I have absolved him on the condition that he obtains your forgiveness for having made you cry.”

“You have cried? Oh, you naughty girl,” Gaston murmured tenderly, “can you ever forgive me?”

“But what was the matter? I would like to know.”

“A little gambling debt, dear. But thanks to Don Jose everything is settled. Unfortunately, I have to leave and see the noble lady Athena, the Countess Saski, who lately has been very reluctant to part with her money.”

“What? You are going to leave us again?”

“It takes great diplomacy and personal care to soften the mood of my headstrong aunt. Don't worry dear, it's the first time we have been separated since we were married.”

“I'll come with you.”

Gaston swiftly looked at the General. The old man had turned pale and Julia realized how much her presence in Paris meant to the old man who had been so generous to her lover.

“Darling,” Gaston said tenderly, “at this time of the year, the plains of Poland are a sad sight, indeed. Saski Palace would depress you terribly, and that would be a shame.”

“You are right as always, darling,” said Julia, and turning to the General, “my good friend, you will keep me company. We shall have lunch and dinner together… we'll sit by the fireside and talk about him.”

“Two weeks at the most, darling, and then I'll be back.”

“Take your time, young man, take your time,” the General said with a sad smile. “I can be trusted. I promise to take good care of her.”

Several days later, a carriage loaded high with luggage drove up before the steps of the somber castle. The old majordomo solemnly announced the arrival of His Lordship, Gaston, Count Saski, to his mistress.

Meanwhile, the coachman was unloading the carriage, and he smiled when the remnants of a bouquet of violets and a silken perfumed handkerchief fluttered from the carriage to the frozen ground. Embroidered in the corner of the handkerchief was a nude little boy, armed with a bow and arrow.

He remembered the stopover in Warsaw where the Count had visited an old flame of his. Katinka had given him her maidenhood, and since she was the first girl he had ever embraced, Gaston Saski had a special weakness for her. Aunt Athena had rewarded the girl handsomely, under the condition that she would never come farther east than Warsaw. The girl Katinka, who was sweet and loving, but not beautiful, had bought herself a flower shop and did an excellent business.

“Kate,” the Count had said, when he stopped off at her place, “will you keep me company till we have reached the castle? I'll have the coachman drive you back to your home, and my aunt will never know that you have broken your promise.”

Kate was ready and willing, and under the furs they delighted in one another's bodies, keeping warm and comfortable, barely noticing that outside it was thirty degrees below.

Snow covered the earth-the trees looked like ghosts shaking their shrouds-and from time to time a snarling wolf scurried away, howling in frustration at the jangling sleigh-bells. In the steamy atmosphere under the fur heap, mouth to mouth and cock to cunt, Gaston and Kate forgot that the one had ties in Paris and the other in Warsaw.