Waltz Into Darkness

22

In the front parlor of Madame Jessica’s house on Toulouse Street, there was a vivacious evening party going on. Madame Jessica’s parlor was both expansive and expensively furnished. The furniture was ivory-white, touched with gold, in the Empire style; the upholstery was crimson damask brocade. Brussels carpeting covered the parquetry floor, and the flickering gas tongues above, in nests of crystal, were like an aurora borealis.

A glossy haired young man sat at the rosewood piano, running over Chopin’s “Minute Waltz” with a light but competent touch. One couple were slowly pivoting about in the center of the room, but more absorbed in one another’s conversation than in dancing. Two others were on the sofa together, sipping champagne and engaged in sprightly chat. Still a third couple stood together, near the door, likewise lost to their surroundings. Always two by two. The young ladies were all in evening dress. The men were not, but at least all were well groomed and gentlemanly in aspect.

All was decorum, all was elegance and propriety. Madame was strict that way. No voices too loud, no laughter too blaring. None left the room without excusing themselves to the rest of the company.

A colored maid, whose duty it was to announce new arrivals, opened one of the two opposite pairs of parlor-doors and announced: “Mr. Smith.” No one smiled, or appeared to pay any attention.

Durand came in, and Madame Jessica crossed the room to greet him cordially in person, arm extended, her sequins winking as she went.

“Good evening, sir. How nice of you to come to see us. May I introduce you to someone?”

“Yes,” Durand said quietly.

Madame fluttered her willow fan, put a finger to the corner of her mouth, surveyed the room speculatively, like a good hostess seeking to pair off only those among her guests with the greatest affinity.

“Miss Margot is taken up for the moment—” she said, eying the sofa in passing. “How about Miss Fleurette? She’s unescorted.” She indicated the opposite pair of doors, leading deeper into the house, which had partially and unobtrusively drawn apart. A tall brunette was standing there, as if casually, in passing by.

“No.”

Madame did something with her fan, and the brunette turned and disappeared. A more buxom, titian-haired young woman took her place in the opening.

“Miss Roseanne, then?” Madame suggested enticingly.

He shook his head.

Madame flickered her fan and the opening fell empty.

“You’re difficult to please, sir,” she said with an uncertain smile.

“Is that — all? Is there — no one else?”

“Not quite. There’s our Miss Juliette. I believe she’s having a tete-a-tete. If you’d care to wait a few minutes—”

He sat down alone, in a large chair in the corner.

“May I send you over some refreshments?” Madame asked, bending attentively over him.

He opened his money-fold, passed some money to her.

“Champagne for everyone else. Don’t send any over to me.”

A colored butler moved among the guests, refilling glasses. The other young men turned, one by one, saluted with their glasses, and bowed an acknowledgement to him. He gravely bowed in return.

Madame must have been favorably impressed, she evidently decided to hasten Miss Juliette’s arrival, in some unknown behind-the-scenes manner.

She came back presently to promise: “She’ll be down directly. I’ve sent up word there’s a young man down here asking for her.”

She left him, then returned to say: “Here she is now. Isn’t she just lovely? Everyone’s simply mad about her, I declare!”

He saw her in the doorway. She stood for a moment, looking around, trying to identify him.

She was blonde.

She was beautiful.

She was about seventeen.

She was someone else.

Madame bustled over, led her forward through the room, an arm affectionately about her waist.

“Right this way, honey. May I present—”

She gasped. The beautiful creature’s eyes opened wide, at the first rebuff she had ever received in her short but crowded life. A puzzled silence momentarily fell upon the animated room.

His chair was empty. The adjacent door, the door leading out, was just closing.