I finally met the terrible eyes full of anticipation, but still I could not speak. It had been a mistake to speak. I had been safer silent.
Tell me or be destroyed, she said. I will have you returned to the palace as a thief. Can you imagine yourself then? When they are done beating the truth from you, no man will ever look on you again except in horror. Who? Not the tenor, it would seem. What other he?
To say it seemed to be to destroy it, but to say nothing was to be destroyed.
This composer?
At this, she stood, walked over to me, and grabbed for my chin to make me face her. She held it fiercely, waiting for my hands to come down, waiting for my answer. The rings on her fingers against my chin made me wince, and I relented, nodded finally, and the tears I’d kept back until now began.
And now you have become so precious, she said, and let go.
She waved to her maid to bring me a handkerchief.
My girl, please. Now that we have the truth, no more crying. She waited as I calmed and dried my face.
It is time to speak of our little bargain. I’m sure you are anxious to be paid. You were much more attentive than I’d thought possible, but the result of leaving as you did is that you have brought me both more and less than I’d hoped for. Still, now that we have the truth from you, I feel the balance is in your favor, and I’m in your debt. So do not fear; I will not turn you in. But we must plan.
Thank you, I said, and then went to my knees before her. Please forgive me.
Come, this is ridiculous. Get up.
I stood carefully.
What is your name, then? What am I to call you? How long did you deceive the sisters about your voice? Are you even called Sidonie?
No, I said. Call me—call me . . .
Oh, it doesn’t matter, it will only confuse me. We will call you Sidonie a while longer. My driver here has a wife who lets rooms. He will take you where you are staying now, and you will remove anything you have in his presence. He will then take you to his wife’s, and we will install you there until we decide what the terms will be. Do not deceive him; do not try to elude him. Do not disappoint me again. He will return you here tomorrow and report to me on the contents of your room, and then we will have our parley.
I thanked her quietly, ashamed.
Do not be afraid of him. You understand, do you not? I think you do not know what you have done. He is protecting you. You are not safe here in Paris. Perhaps not anywhere in France.
With that, the driver appeared, and they exchanged some words in Italian. He then led me back down to the service entrance to the carriage.
I returned to my room with him. The landlady protested until he explained he was removing me. I pulled out my junk-peddler things, emptied out my coat, and at his bidding, undressed so he could search even the dress. He even checked my shoes for hollow heels. The gold coins left from what Pepa had paid me mocked me, lined up on the bed.
The trail of gold I once hoped to set down had led here.
I bade good-bye to my landlady and went to meet the driver’s wife, who showed me my new room. I listened as I was locked inside, and when she left, I brushed out my hair and I calmed as I reviewed my prospects.
As the Comtesse said, I did not know what I had done. I knew I was still in danger, but it now mattered if I lived or died to the Comtesse. This was new. We were now to discuss terms. My situation had somehow improved. Or so I hoped as sleep took me at last in my strange new bed.
§
In the morning I dressed with dread, after what Euphrosyne had said of dead women’s dresses, and hoped for someone to unlock the door, and for breakfast. Both came. Afterward, we drove off, and I noticed we went away from the Comtesse’s address into a part of the city I didn’t know.
I became anxious, even afraid I was to be killed, when we arrived at a restaurant. The Comtesse came out and joined me in the carriage, having had, it appeared, some previous appointment.
Did you sleep well? she asked me, as the door closed.
Well enough, thank you.
Did you feel safe? she asked, with a smile.
I did, I said.
The driver reports you were honest, and while you had an unusual number of gold coins for a grisette, there was no property of the French empress in your belongings other than that coat. I trusted your tears, she said. But it’s best to check. And now I know you are a little miserly, always a good trait.
I made my face as blank as possible and waited for whatever was next.
Now we may begin our parley, she said. You are an orphan, I recall. Is this true? Do you even have papers?
No, I said. For I did not understand what she meant. What papers?
She laughed. And have you any accounts?
No, I said.
Very well, then. Much as I thought.
This seemed some clear reference as to a method of payment and the possibility of employment. Sensing my chance, I took it.
Yesterday you wondered if you were wasting my talents, I said. You wondered if there was more for me to do for you despite disappointing you.
Yes, she said. She seemed amused.
If I might offer, I said. I would like that very much. Whatever you might require, that you might find for me to do. Given the trouble I’ve caused, I know I couldn’t hope even for something modest, but I hope to repay you if I can.
She nodded. Very well, then, she said.
I allowed myself my first smile in her presence since the day previous.
She rapped on the door to the carriage and shouted an address to her driver.
Here is what I propose, she said. I must think on the rest some more. I cannot allow you to move freely for now. This is for your own protection. But for now, I will continue to play the part of an aunt, an elaboration of our previous little tableau vivant. I will set you up with a dress—we must get rid of this awful frock you are wearing, perhaps immediately—and perhaps teach you some style. The rest will wait for now, and in the meantime, you will continue to be a guest at the room we have let for you with the driver’s wife. Is this agreeable?
It is, I said. Yes.
If anyone asks, you are the driver’s niece from near the Alps. In public, if people address you, say nothing, and I will explain you speak no French. Do you understand? This is what I need you to do for me right now.
I do, I said.
Very good, she said. I was sure you were quick. This protects you also.
As we pulled to a stop in front of an elegant atelier, she turned to me and said, Perhaps someday, when you have the chance, you will tell me who you really are. Though it may never matter.
§
The address she’d shouted to her driver was for the dressmaker Félix.
On this first day I stood in his workshop, the Comtesse promptly introduced me as her driver’s niece, as we’d agreed, and he said, Oh, but I know you, this is certainly Jou-jou of the Bal Mabille. Sister to La Frénésie.
There was an awkward silence as the Comtesse looked to me. I tilted my head as if confused. As if I’d never heard the name. He laughed loudly.
You are the picture of her, he said, if you are not her. I had heard she died at Saint-Lazare, so perhaps you are her ghost? Or her doppelganger? If so, now that she is dead, that is good luck for you; you won’t ever see her. I will check later if you can cancan, though. He winked. His assistants tittered behind him as I shook my head again and the Comtesse told him I knew no French.
I was relieved to be taken behind the screen and undressed. I had heard she died at Saint-Lazare. As I was helped out of my peddler dress, I thought of the apartment on the avenue de l’Opéra, the tenor with my little ruby rose pinned over his heart—would he have kept it and all it contained, then, or would he have sold it all to a peddler? All of my things on a cart in the street.
I was given a muslin shift to wear and brought into a smaller room with an alcove that had mirrors on three sides, and I stood there as he measured me.
You must be the most important driver’s niece in Italian history, Félix said. I have never provided this sort of service to even an intimate of the Comtesse’s.