I only nodded, knowing he would see my answer. The shape under his pencil spread down the page.
Satin, velvet, chantilly, point d’Angleterre, sable, ermine, fox, red and white nutria. Gold thread and silver. Ostrich and peacock and pheasant. Jet, garnet, glass. The dresses I was ordering, some would take months to finish. The way the other women in the rest of Paris lived made its way in front of me for my regard: tea gowns, visiting dresses, afternoon gowns, riding suits, robes de chambre. I would rarely if ever use an afternoon gown, for example, preferring the quiet of my apartment in the afternoon and receiving no one then who would ask for such a formality from me. I was not a member, precisely, of polite society. I did not have the needs the rest of them did. But tea gowns were another thing; I had not thought of tea gowns in some time.
The most extravagant of these would cost what I could earn singing in a year. I loved to think of the different elements to be trained by Félix’s thirty seamstresses’ hands, buttons and silk made to practice until the shape was right.
I knew my dress orders would be seen as gluttony, but appetite was an excellent disguise for motive. I did not ask about her on my first few visits, only observed to see if I would see her. I did not. After two weeks without a sighting, I went to where his appointment book lay open. Félix exclaimed and ran to my side. Yes, my dear? he said, placing himself between me and it.
I think two more, I said to him. A visiting costume and another gown for evening.
I glanced down at it for the name I knew would be there.
Nicchia. I had seen this name on some of her correspondence. Only her intimates knew it.
He saw me see it. Ah, he said. Do you know? How your teacher has fallen? She comes to me in her old clothes and asks me to mend them or take them out. I do it, of course, for love of her and for who she once was, but she has asked that I don’t book appointments alongside her as it shames her, though it is a great problem for me. For her as well.
He paused. She spends almost no money here now, he admitted.
I raised my eyebrows pityingly.
Have you seen her since your return? Or, rather, tried? She refuses all. He turned the book away from me. Ah, but you cannot see any more of what’s here, you naughty child. Do you know the problems you all create? So many of you who cannot be seen near each other. Tell me, are you having any affairs? You must tell me right now. For I must know. I cannot book you alongside the wife of the man you are seducing.
I shook my head gently.
Very good. He looked over the book again. But you know, he said, she will be so happy to see you, of course. You were like her daughter, I think. Here, he said, doing what I had not even asked. Allow me to reacquaint you. And he wrote my name into the book beside hers.
When the day of the appointment came, I entered and heard her quietly greeting the vendeuse, and from the entrance, through a corner mirror, I could observe her. She was dressed in one of her favorite costumes, though it now fit poorly. She still had a commanding presence but seemed lost, like a sleepwalker in a dream.
As she spoke, I could hear she had lost most of her teeth.
She was asking for an alteration to one of her gowns, and the vendeuse was examining it. I could see she was impatient not to have the dressmaker pay attention to her himself. She looked around then to see him smiling as he motioned toward me.
Her eyes blazed as I came into view.
This was a fatal mistake, I understood at once. The air in the shop went thin with it, and Félix stood frozen in place, humiliated. Though not as humiliated as she.
So, she said. You. You wanted to see me this much? Call on me tomorrow, then. Come for tea. And with that, she drew herself up to something like the imperious height she had once commanded, and left.
I went back to the Place Vend?me at the appointed hour. The young woman I remembered took my card and showed me in without any further explanation.
All was painted black, all was hung with black, and there was almost no light to speak of, only enough to see my way. The Comtesse lived inside a permanent night of her own making.
I was shown into a salon and seated, and candles were lit. To my shock, as the light came up off the chandelier, the Comtesse was already seated in front of me.
I did not remember you until I saw you, she said. It was so long ago, and so many things have happened. What is it that brought you to my door, however? I would know.
I handed her the book. She took the candle nearest her and held it up.
This? she asked. I know nothing of this. But you can be sure I soon will.
I believed her, as when she lied, she usually suppressed emotion instead of inventing it. All her rages were sincere.
Have you kept to our agreement? she then asked.