Yes, at Baden-Baden, I had been inside it also—but there he had made up for abuses like this. We had returned to those old ways in some way, I feared, as well as to Paris, and I could not foresee a happy end.
I dressed to go out and take a walk. I dressed simply, still in the style of the Baden-Baden camp, as if the clothes might keep me there at least in spirit. I added a parasol, hat, and gloves, for it was now summer. As I stood there, about to exit, the doorbell rang. I was nearest to it and opened the door to find the tenor there.
The piano is out of tune, I said to him by way of greeting as he bowed deeply and I offered my hand.
Forgive me, he said, as he stood. I’ll be sure it’s seen to at once.
Thank you, I said.
Are you . . . headed out? He asked this in a lightly incredulous voice.
I am, I said. I am so sorry. Please excuse me. I must go. But Lucy and Doro can bring you whatever you might need for refreshment while I am out. I won’t be long so you may wait or return for me, as you like. I have no dinner plans.
We stood there as he took this in, unmoving.
Shall I tell them to set one more place? I asked.
His face darkened as he looked up to answer me.
Apologies, mademoiselle princesse. I should have sent a card to say I was coming. It was rude of me.
I do belong to you, I said. But we both prefer it, I think, if it feels as if I belong to you of my own free will, yes?
Yes, he said. His smile returned to his face.
So then, I said. Let us have this as we would prefer it. Escort me, I said. It was a long way, and I would walk. I waited expectantly, like a lady might, and he offered his arm.
Where shall we go? he asked. He set my hand in the crook of his arm.
Let us go to the Garnier, I said. For old times’ sake. I would like to see if there has been any progress.
Construction has been halted, he said. Due to the cost of the war. A lack of funds. There had been some complaints in the newspapers about the cost of the Empress’s diamonds. She had promised to buy fewer of them. Soldiers are more costly than an opera house. For now. And that is as it should be.
And with that, we went out into the street.
§
The sun was low in the sky, a gold light on the gold leaf of the Garnier. I wondered if they would peel the gold off to make coins for war.
The Garnier rose grandly, covered in the busts and names of famous men, and surrounded, of course, by those black-iron dragon’s-teeth fences, the imperial N E N E N E, and the bronze muses with their lanterns.
I studied the nearest muse’s face carefully and wondered who had posed for it.
With time, it had become less bitter, this life; the tenor had come to feel more like my companion, the man who kept me safe, fed, clothed, and even educated in exchange for what he needed from me, which was that I would not leave him. This life with him, this enclosure, the fine clothes, the fine apartment, the fine meals, all would be fine, fine, fine, and yet none of it moved me. I already knew to take my pleasure from among his pleasures, certainly, but those moments were like trying to dine from the crumbs off his meals, snatched as I could while he ate well from all of life.
I had learned to hope for a certain future during my time spent with Pauline and her circle; this was all that had made this life bearable. Here in Paris, alone with him, I could only feel the madness of his mission and that doom it seemed he sought for us both. There was some final scene he hoped to enact, and I could not apprehend it. I could only feel him arranging us on this stage to his purpose.
The tenor had said nothing since our conversation at the door. He raised an eyebrow as I looked his way and turned to face me.
How did you find Baden-Baden in my absence? he asked.
Like many, I gambled, I said.
Did you win? he asked.
Sometimes, I said. Enough to have an appetite for it now.
He nodded at this.
Careful of your appetites, he finally said. They make for poor masters.
Yes, I said. I’ve masters enough.
Here another expression came over him, new in this light, which turned to copper as the sun set farther. I’m too fond of you, he said.
I had never expected him to say this.
Is it a fondness? I asked.
Take care, he said. For it is.
I reached to his cheek and placed my hand there, and he ducked his head down against it.
Men often complain of the wickedness of women. Of how we delight in what power we have over their hearts. But they reign over everything else, so of course, they grudge us this, should we ever come to rule over this thing the size of their fist. I had to restrain in myself the urge to laugh at him, at the idea that he loved me, that he truly loved me. And yet, as he had granted me my little freedom, or my illusion of it, to follow my whim to go outside, to refuse his immediate physical gratification, the idea that he perhaps did love me filled me for a moment with something like tenderness.
I harshly corrected myself.