§
She took me to a little bistro, where we smoked and had little glasses of wine. We made a strange pair, I knew, talking closely, she in her opera finery, I in my junk-peddler toilette, and soon many of the other tables were watching us. She turned at one point and said to the too-curious audience around us, This is not a show, unless it is a show, in which case give us a coin and she will sing.
Ashamed, they turned back to their conversations.
You can’t return to the Majeurs, she said. If Odile knows you are alive, she’ll be furious. At the least she’ll have you arrested, for it shames her, too. He is still a regular client.
Yes, of course, I said, though this surprised me. Of course, during my absence, the tenor had again become a good customer.
You must go back to this comtesse, she said. Beg for her forgiveness, tell her what you know, and, most important, ask for her advice and protection. You’re in terrible danger. And then she paused, and a little glint came into her eye. This woman, she is one of the great courtesans, after all.
I nodded, uncertain. This I did not know.
Perhaps she will teach you something. She and Giulia Barucci even share a lover, a rich banker. I heard he settled a half-million francs on her.
I let out a startled laugh.
Where did you get these clothes? she asked. Is this what they buried you in?
I shook my head, still laughing. No, no. A junk peddler.
Ah, she said, fingering the dress. This is what they buried someone else in. They’re all grave robbers. Be careful wearing a dead woman’s clothes. Don’t wear them too long. I will see if I can find something I don’t wear anymore until we can get you set up.
She turned to check a beautiful watch made to look like a gold brooch. I must go, she said. But when you want to see me next, leave a message with this barman here; I come in every time I can.
The man behind the bar nodded to me.
This man, I think he wants to marry me, she said. Can you imagine?
Yes, I said, and smiled at the barman. I could. For she had become more beautiful than ever, not just because of her finery.
No, not the barman, she said. The other one, with the carriage. Maybe this one will marry you. She winked and then kissed me twice. Don’t you dare die again, she said into my ear before she let go. And with that, she returned to wait for the carriage he’d send for her at intermission, and I stayed for another drink with the barman before returning to my room.
§
On the fourth day in the Bois, in the late morning, the grand black carriage I knew so well pulled to a stop, and when I saw the Comtesse’s familiar crest on the side, I leapt up and ran to it.
Little girl, came the voice of her driver. Is it you, La Muette? Where have you been?
I kept running to him and smiled as he jumped down and opened the door.
This time I was shown in through the service entrance. Her maid greeted me, a new one I’d not met before, and brought me into the parlor, where the Comtesse sat waiting.
I saw her an instant before she noticed I’d entered. She was seated, her hair bound up and then falling down her back in curls. She wore a simple black muslin tea gown, almost demure except for the way it accentuated her coiffure and bust. Her portraits were now hung all around her on the walls, turning the room into a theater of her expressions, with her at the center. The one I noticed most was a painted photograph I had never seen of her dressed in the nun’s habit I’d first repaired: the Comtesse transformed into a nun, but her face a mask of implacable enmity. Her eyes were hooded and yet also flaring, the whites visible beneath her pupils as she looked up in a mockery of a prayer. This was a face that promised not so much murder as an eternal war waged for a revenge that would have no end.
In the soft light of the room, her face was a pale reflection of this as she gazed into the distance as I entered. I froze in place, not daring to move forward. I had made a terrible mistake in coming here.
She then saw me, and her eyes lit with affection, and she was all concern.
Sit down, sit down. Where have you been? I was stunned to get your note. I thought you were dead. I could not believe it was from you.
A little speech in my head, a lie about how my voice had returned, vanished as I tried to begin it.
You should have come straight to me at once, she said. I was told you had either escaped or were kidnapped or were perhaps murdered. She held a letter out from beside her and shook it once. The paper made a crisp snap.
A search party even went through the woods looking for signs of you, she said, and set the letter down. The Empress was quite fond of her mute grisette and was distraught to lose her. The palace chamberlain had the good grace to write to apologize to me. And yet you are not lost. Instead, you managed something few have managed, to escape from Compiègne.
Here we were both silent.
What a little mystery you are. Perhaps I am wasting your talents, and she laughed as she said this, as if she’d surprised herself. Perhaps you should do more for me. And yet you have disappointed me.
At this, a terrible coldness swept over me down into my bones.
But why the escape? I hope you are here to explain. She called for paper and pen, and asked me to write for her all that had occurred.
There’s no need for that, I said, as the maid entered the room. I didn’t know how to explain my voice, and any further pretense was unbearable. I wanted to be done with La Muette.
She stared, and now she was the one who momentarily seemed frightened.
I took a little pride in that, but only a little.
When I looked up again and met the Comtesse’s eyes, it was as if we were meeting for the first time.
Now we moved into opposite roles. I spoke and she listened.
I passed to her the list of the Empress’s gowns, such as I had been able to keep, and as she read it, I tried to think of what I would tell her.
When she finished, she set it down and said, Explain yourself. Tell me everything.
I did. I told her the story of being given one of the gowns and described it. I told her of how the seconds were not being given out as often and of the complaint of her ladies-in-waiting provoked by the Empress’s attending councils and the lack of invitations to tea. Then the recital, and the interest both the Princess Metternich and the Empress had in a talented young composer, and how I had found him alone in the imperial apartments before the series began. And then last was the tenor and his seduction of me, his game of the dresses, described as if we had no history at all.
I know my escape disappointed you, I said. And I am very sorry for the trouble it caused. But he meant to kidnap me that night. I escaped as he was taking me from the palace.
My dear, how incredible. She rested her chin on her hand. It is astonishing to even hear you speak, but it is all quite puzzling and intriguing. I have a question, given this tenor character who you say was intent on kidnapping you. Why did you not simply alert the guards?
I had no answer ready and fought to think of something.
And why, after eluding him in the dark, did you go to the station and not back to the palace?
I could not return, I managed to say.
Yes, why? What had you taken? Had you stolen something from her?
She pushed at the note as I stayed silent.
What did you steal? she asked. I’m guessing this coat. Or is it in the coat? Sewn into the linings? Somewhere else? What did you take? An earring, a brooch, a pearl?
I took nothing, I said softly, but I could not look at her, and at that, she leaned closer.
A girl like you, there are two reasons you leave your mistress. You either have stolen or you are in love. If you stole nothing, then it could only be love. Who is he, then, who are you in love with?