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.