Indeed, the countess went down on her knees before Violette, who sat in a chair, and gently lifted her chemise in order to gaze upon certain secret charms of which she had caught a glimpse when trying on the drawers. Her eager eyes peered into the arch which her two hands formed in the cambric.
“Oh! what lovely treasures!” she murmured. “How well made! What round thighs! What a soft skin! What marble was it that you were carved out of, dear Hebe? In Paros or Carrara? And this little black dot! Come, let me kiss it!”
She imprinted her lips on it.
“What a nice perfume! Why you little coquette, it is Eau de Portugal!”
“That is Christian's favourite scent.”
“Christian? Who's that, I should like to know?”
“Why, he is my lover,” said Violette.
“Your lover!… You have a lover?”
“Yes.”
“And that lover has had you?”
“Well! yes.”
“You are no longer a virgin?”
“No.”
“Since when?”
“Since two days ago.”
“Oh!!…”
The Countess uttered a cry of rage.
“Oh! the little fool!” she went on, “to think she gave her virginity to a man.”
“To whom else could I give it?”
“To me! To me! I would have given you your weight in gold for it. Ah!” said she, in a despairing tone. “I will never forgive you for this.”
And she caught up her stays and dress as if about to dress herself again.
“What did your lover do to you? He hurt you cruelly; dare you say he did not; dare you say he gave you pleasure!”
“Oh yes, he did!” cried Violette.
“That is false!”
“Such pleasure as I never could have imagined.”
“That is false!”
“I thought I should have become mad with happiness.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“What does it matter to you?”
“What! What does it matter to me? Why, it is so much happiness he has robbed me of. I who thought you un-defiled as yet; who wished to initiate you little by little into love's mysteries; I who would have invented for you a new pleasure every day. He polluted you with his coarse caresses! That rough skin, covered with hairs; do you mean to tell me it was pleasant to touch?”
“Ah! Dear Christian has a skin like a woman's!”
“Well, I see I have no chance against him! Good-bye.” And mad with rage she put on her corset.
“Are you going away?” asked Violette.
“What can I do here now? Nothing. You have a lover! Oh, I suspected as much directly I saw the warmth with which you took his part against me.”
She dressed herself rapidly.
“One more fond illusion flown away!” said she. “Ah! how unhappy to wish to uphold the dignity and pride of our sex. I expected so much pleasure with you, you wicked child! I must weep or my heart will break.”
She fell sobbing on a chair. Her tears were so genuine, her grief so intense, that Violette got up without thinking of putting on her dressing gown, and, half naked, went in her turn to kneel before her.
“Come, Madame la Comtesse; do not cry so,” said she.
“What? Madame la Comtesse, again!”
“Come, Odette, you are unjust.”
“What, 'YOU' again?”
“Thou art unjust.”
“How?”
“Could I see that you loved me?”
“You did not see it then, when you called at my house?”
“I suspected nothing. I was so innocent.”
“And you are not innocent now?”
“Not quite as much as I was,” said Violette, laughing.
The Countess wrung her hands in despair.
“She laughs at my grief!” cried she.
“No, I swear I do not. I swear it!” The Countess shook her head.
“Ah! All is over now! I could forgive, but I shall never forget! But I must not be weak. Adieu! You will never see me more! Adieu.”
And the Countess beside herself with grief, like a lover who has just discovered the unfaithfulness of his mistress, opened the door and rushed downstairs.
Violette waited for a moment and listened, thinking she would return; but the angry woman had indeed left for good. Violette closed the door, and turning round, perceived me at the entrance to the dressing room. She uttered a cry of surprise. I burst out laughing, and she threw herself into my arms.
“Ah! how happy I feel now that I was not naughty!” said she.
“Did you find it difficult?”
“Not too much. I must confess, however, that when she kissed my bosom a kind of burning sensation went through my whole frame.”
“So that, now, I should not have to use violence.”
“Oh, no.”
I took her in my arms and seated her in the lounging chair in the same position in which the Countess had placed her.
“You told her it was my favourite scent. Will you let me try it?”
“Ah!” murmured she, after a pause, which was more eloquent than all the speeches in the world. “She told me that you gave me no pleasure!”
“Do you know,” said I, “that the dear Countess wore her war dress? Has she not a nom de guerre? She very actively divested herself of her stays and gown. I thought I should see her in still more simple costume.”
“You would have been glad of that, you naughty boy!”
“I confess that your two bodies side by side would have formed a charming contrast.”
“A thing you never shall see, sir.”
“Who knows?”
“She is gone!”
“Nonsense, she will return.”
“You think she will return at once?”
“No.”
“Did you not see how angry she was?”
“I wager that before tomorrow morning she will write to you.”
“Must I accept the letter if one should come?”
“Yes; provided you let me see it.”
“Oh! of course I shall do nothing without your consent.”
“You promise?”
“I give you my word.”
“Then I leave you free to act.”
At that very moment someone tapped softly at the door, Violette knew at once it was the maid.
My clothes were disarranged, so I ran to the dressing room.
“Open the door,” I said.
The maid held a letter in her hand.
“Miss Violette,” said she, “the negro who came with the lady has just brought this for you.”
“Does he await a reply?”
“No, because he asked me to deliver it to you when you were alone.”
“You know Madame Leonie, that these precautions are quite useless, and that I have nothing to conceal from M. Christian.”
“Quite so, Miss. In any case, here is the letter.”
Violette took it; Leonie left the room and I made my reappearance.
“Well,” I said to her, “you see she did not even wait until tomorrow.”
“You are truly a good prophet,” said Violette, brandishing the letter.
Then she sat on my knee and we began reading the Countess' letter.
CHAPTER V
“Ungrateful child! Though, when I left you, I swore never to see you again and never to write to you even, my love for you, or rather my folly is, such that I cannot resist. Now mark me, I am rich, a widow, and free. I lived a life of misery with my husband, so I vowed eternal hatred to men, and I kept my vow. If you wish to love me, but mind, only me, I shall willingly forget that you have been sullied by man. You told me that you were not aware that I loved you. My love is such that I take your word for a justification of it-you did 'not know' and I cling to it. Ah! were you only unsullied!… But complete happiness is not to be found in this world. Therefore I am fain to take you such as my bad fortune has ordained.
“Well, if you will love me; if you are willing to forsake him, if you promise never to see him more-I will not say I will give you this or that; but I say: what is mine, shall be yours; we shall live together; my house, my carriage, my servants, shall be your own. We shall never leave one another. You shall be my friend, my sister, my darling child. You will be more than that-you will be my adored mistress! But you must be mine entirely. I am too jealous! Otherwise I should die!