“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!
“Give me a prompt reply. I shall await your letter as a condemned one, on death's threshold awaits a reprieve.
ODETTE.”
Violette looked at me and we both laughed.
“Well” I said to her; “it is clear she does not mince matters.”
“She is mad!”
“Yes. Mad with love for you, that's as plain as a pikestaff. What shall you do?”
“Why, I shall not reply.”
“No such thing. You must reply.”
“What for?”
“Why, you would not like to be responsible for her death?”
“Ah, Monsieur Christian, you wish to see the Countess in a state of nature!”
“But you know very well that she hates men!”
“Yes, but you will make her like them.”
“Now, hark you little Violette, if you do not like it…”
“No. Only promise me one thing.”
“What's that?”
“You will not make complete love to her.”
“What do you mean by complete love?”
“I allow you to use your eyes, your hands, your tongue even! But I keep the other thing for myself.”
“I swear it!”
“On what?”
“On our love. And now let us think of her ladyship's letter. The situation which she offers you is not to be despised.”
“I leave you? Never! You may dismiss me from your home; you may send me adrift. Since I came to you of my own accord, you have a perfect right to do so. But I would rather die than leave you.”
“Then let us say nothing more about it.”
“Then we must find some other means.”
“I think so too. You must write this.”
“What?”
“Take the pen.”
“Never mind. The Countess would willingly pay a louis for each of your mispelt words.”
“Then, if I write twenty-five lines, it will cost her twenty-five louis?”
“Never you mind. Now write away.”
“-il write.” Violette took the pen and thus wrote from my dictation:
“Madame la Comtesse:
“I fully understand that a life such as you offer me would be happiness; but I have been too hasty, and if my present life is not happiness, I have at least found some tinge of it in the arms of the man I love. I would not leave him for any consideration in the world. He would perhaps be soon reconciled to my loss, for they say that men are changeful; but as for me, I know that I should henceforth live in sorrow.
“I am grieved to give you such a reply. You have been so good to me that I love you with all my heart, and if we were not kept apart by social distinctions, I should wish to be your friend; though I can understand that you would not much care to have for your friend a woman you would have liked for a mistress.
“In any case, whether I see you again or not, I shall ever keep in my remembrance the sensations which I experienced, the kiss that you imprinted on my bosom and the impression of your breath when your mouth touched my body. When I think of that kiss, I close my eyes and sigh-I feel happy… I ought not to mention this for it looks very much like a confession. But I do not speak now to the beautiful Countess; I speak to my dear Odette!” and I added, still dictating:
“Your little Violette, who has given away her heart, but keeps her soul for you!”
“No,” said Violette, throwing down her pen. “I cannot write that!”
“Why?”
“Because my heart and my soul are yours. Perhaps you do not wish them to be so any longer; but I cannot take them away from you now.”
“Ah! my darling!”
I took her in my arms and kissed her again and again.
“Ah!” said I. “I would give all the countesses in the world for one of those fine hairs which stick to my moustache when-”
Violette put her hand on my lips. It was not the first time that I have noticed that, like refined natures, she would allow me to do anything, enjoyed it too, but had an instinctively chaste ear.
I often found this delicate anomaly among women who have inquisitive eyes, a ready mouth, sensual olfactory nerves, and clever hands.
“Well,” she asked, “what are you going to do with this letter?”
“I shall send it to the Countess.”
“Through the post or by messenger?”
“If you wish to have an answer tonight, send a messenger.”
“She will not reply.”
“The Countess not reply! Nonsense! She is fairly hooked on now, and cannot withdraw.”
“Send it by messenger then. You cannot realize how much all this affair amuses me. I am impatient for an answer.”
“I am going to send it. I have company tonight at my house, and shall be here at nine o'clock. Should a letter come, do not reply before I arrive.”
“I will not even open it.”
“That would really be asking too much of you.”
“You can ask anything except asking me to love you no more!”
“Then I shall be here at nine,” said I, with a couple of kisses.
“I shall expect you.”
I closed her lips with a third kiss and left the room.
At the corner of the Rue Vivienne I met a commission-naire and gave him the letter with the necessary instructions.
I was so impatient to see the answer that at a quarter of nine I made my appearance at the Rue Neuve Saint Augustin.
Violette came to me with a letter in her hand.
“You cannot reproach me with being late,” said I, pointing to the clock.
“Is it for me or for the Countess that you made so much haste?” said Violette, laughing.
I took the letter and put it into my pocket.
“Well! What are you doing?”
“That's all right. We have plenty of time to read it; we can open it tomorrow morning.”
“Why not before tomorrow morning?”
“So that you may foe sure that I come for you and not for the Countess.”
Violette threw her arms round my neck.
“Do I know how to kiss well?” she asked.
“No one could do it better.”
“It was you who taught me.”
“Just as I taught you that the tongue is not only used for speech.”
“But mine has not been used as yet for any other purpose, except the part it takes in kissing.”
“The countess will show you that it can be employed in other ways.”
“Let us read the letter.”
“You wish it?”
“I beg of you.”
“Well, wait till nine o'clock.”
“Ah! you know,” said she, “if you put your hand there, I shall never hear the clock strike.”
“I think we had better read the letter at once then.”
We were both very eager to be acquainted with the contents of the letter, so I broke the seal and read as follows:
“Dear Little Violette:
“I do not know whether the letter I received from you was penned by you, or whether it was dictated to you, but if it is really yours, truly you are a little imp. On leaving you at three o'clock I vowed I would not write to you. On receiving your letter I vowed again I would never see you more, and I read half of it while protesting that I would not break my vow. But lo! your-style is quite altered in the second part of the letter, you little imp. You now speak of the sensations you experienced. At the very first word the veil which I had thrown upon my recollections is torn aside. I see you lyi
ng on the couch. I am now pressing to my lips the rosebud of your breast which meets my mouth half way. I can now hold your letter with one hand only. My eyes are getting dim!
“How foolish I am! I can now do nothing else but murmur your name and repeat: 'Violette, you ungrateful little flower which brought me so much sorrow, such as you are, I long for you… I must have you… I love you.”
“But no, it is not true I hate you, I will not see you again; and I curse my hand, over which I had no longer any control. I curse the passion which guides it! I take up again the letter which slipped out of my fingers as they clung to the pillow of my couch. I read that line where you recall the sensation of my breath on your form; I see that dark and perfumed spot for which I longed, and on which I was about to imprint my lips, when one single word… But I do not hear now what you said; I do not remember now; I will not remember; all my memory is in my eyes. Heavens! what beautiful thighs! what a splendid form! How pretty must be all that I could not see!… And now for the second time… No, I will not. I am mad! for tomorrow I should be ashy pale; I should look ugly! Ah! you pitiless charmer! No; I will not do it! Violette, your mouth… your bosom… your… Oh, gracious! When shall I see you again?
Your own,
ODETTE,
“Who is quite ashamed of herself.”
“Well” said I, “that is what I call passion, or I am much mistaken. I must make a sketch of you both at the supreme moment.”
“Monsieur Christian!…”
“Come, tell me what you will say to her?”
“You know very well that you dictate, and that I have only to hold the pen.”
“Then write as follows”:
“Dear Odette,
“Christian leaves me at nine o'clock in the morning; I then take my bath. You invited me to take a bath with you. I now propose that you should take one with me, though I cannot guess what pleasure you expect to derive from it.
“I have not the slightest idea of what love between two women may be; you must, in this respect, initiate me into the mystery. I am wholly ignorant, to my shame be it said.
“But with you I am sure I shall soon be proficient, for I love you.
Your, VIOLETTE.”
She sealed the letter and called Leonie.
“Give that to a messenger,” she said.
“And mind you have it sent this evening,” I added.
“Trust to me for that, the letter shall be delivered tonight,” replied the maid, and thereupon she left the room.
But she soon returned.
“Miss Violette,” said she, “the black servant of madame la Comtesse inquires whether there is a reply to his mistress' letter. Shall I give him the one you just handed to me?”
“Yes, give it to him without a moment's delay.”
Leonie left the room, this time for good.
“Well, she was in a great hurry, this charming Countess,” I said.
“Do what you like, I leave you free to follow your own inclination.”
“Very well. Meanwhile I shall make you as happy as I can.”
CHAPTER VI
The next day, at five minutes to nine, Violette was in a bath perfumed with verbena, and I in a cupboard in a corner of the room, whence I could see and hear everything. All traces of my presence had disappeared, and the sheets had been changed and sprinkled with eau-de-Cologne.
At exactly nine o'clock a carriage stopped at the door.
A moment later, the Countess was ushered in by Leonie, who left and closed the door, which was instantly bolted by the Countess.
The bathroom was lighted up by a lamp in a rose-coloured vase of Bohemian glass, which shed a soft and discreet light.
“Violette! Violette” cried the Countess, “where art thou?”
“Here, in the dressing room,” replied the young girl.
The Countess sprang across the room in three strides, and stopped at the door.
Violette nearly stood up in the bath, showing her Nerean-like form, with arms outstretched.
“Oh! my darling!” cried the Countess, throwing her self into her arms.
She was clad in a long blouse of black velvet, fastened at the neck by a large diamond and held at the waist by a Russian belt woven with gold, silver and cherry-coloured silk.
She began by pulling off her boots and her rose-coloured dress, unfastened her belt and divested herself of her blouse.
Under the black velvet blouse she wore a cambric peignoir, edged with Valenciennes round the neck and cuffs.
She then slipped off the peignoir and appeared in a nude state.
The Countess was a truly splendid woman; the type of Diana the huntress. Her chest was more fully developed than her breasts; her waist was as pliant as the stem, of a tree that waves in the breeze; the parts below were perfection, and lower still might be seen a mass of luxuriant and reddish hair, which resembled flames shooting out of a crater.
She went to the bath and wished to enter it.
But Violette stopped her.
“Ah! Let me feast my eyes upon your charms,” said she. “You are so beautiful!”
“Do you really think so, sweet darling?”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Look on, then, look on! that I may feel the burning sensation of your eyes upon me. See, all this is yours! See! My eyes, my mouth, my bosom…”
“And this pretty bouquet also?” asked Violette.
“Oh yes! That especially!”
“What a beautiful colour!” said the young girl. “Why is it not the same as that of your chevelure?”
“Why should not my chevelure be of the same colour? Why am I a woman not fond of men? Because I am a compound of contrasts. Come, sweet love, make room for me, that I may feel my heart beat against thine.”
The bath was long and there was room for both. The Countess stepped in and sat beside Violette.
The water, as transparent as crystal, allowed me to see everything.
The Countess entwined herself with snake-like movements round Violette; she passed her head under her arm, took a little bite there, and put her lips on Violette's mouth.
“Ah!” she said, “at last you are mine, you naughty child, and now I shall be revenged for all the tortures I endured for your sake.
“Approach your mouth, your lips, your tongue. When I think that it was a man who first gave you a kiss of that kind; who taught you to return it, I am half inclined to strangle you!”
And like a serpent shooting its head forward, the Countess darted kiss upon kiss, while her hand fondled Violette's bosom:
“Oh, darling breasts, my sweet ones!” murmured the Countess. “It was through you that I lost my head; it is you who have made me mad with passion!”
And she caressed them, half closing her eyes, throwing her head back, and breathing hard.
“But do speak to me, rapture of my soul!” she said.
“Odette, dear Odette!” murmured Violette.
“How she does say that, the little frigid thing. She says it as she would say 'Good morning!' Are you not afraid that your own Christian would hear you? Wait, wait, and we shall add a sharp to the key to make the note half a tone higher.” And her hand slipped from the bosom to the hips and thence lower still; but at that stage it stopped as if hesitating.
“Do you feel my heart throbbing against your breast? Ah! If it could kiss your own as my mouth presses your lips!… if it could!… Do you feel anything?”
“Yes,” murmured Violette, who began to feel the forerunner of pleasure. “Yes! Your finger, is it not?”
“You are so young, so little experienced, that I can hardly find the darling little love nipple which gives the flower of life to all nature! Ah, now! Here it is!…”
“How soft your finger is! What a gentle and delightful touch.”
“Shall I do it faster, more vigorously?”
“No, no! It is quite nice as it is.”
“But your own hands; where are they?”
“I told you
that I knew nothing and that you would have to teach me.”
“What? Even teach you how to have a sensation?”
“Oh, no! That will come… will come of its own accord. Odette!… Dear Odette!… Odette!…”
The Countess caught up the remainder of the sigh in a kiss.
“That's right,” said she. “It is not enough to be able to speak a language; you must use the right accent, too.”
“I am a willing pupil,” said Violette, “I ask for nothing better than to learn.”
“Then let us leave the bath. I cannot put my head under water; and I have to add something in speech to my demonstration.”
“Yes,” said Violette, “there is a fire and warm towels.”
“Come,” said the Countess, “I will wipe your body dry.”
She came out dripping with the glistening drips of water, beautiful as Thetis, proud like her. She thought she had vanquished her rival-that is, your humble servant-and looked quite triumphant.
Violette. borne in her arms, cast a glance towards me as if to say: “All that I am doing is in obedience to your orders.”
All the curtains were drawn and the room was lighted up only by the glitter of the fire.
Both came to the fireplace shivering. But the Countess thought only of Violette. I could hear her, while plying the towels, praise the parts of the form on which her hand rested in turn. Each received its share of caresses, of eulogy. The neck, arms, back, shoulders, breasts-all came, so to speak, in chronological order. As for herself, the heat of her person sufficed to dry her skin. Violette remained passive under the caresses of the Countess.
Now and then the Countess would upbraid her.
“But you do not think my breasts are beautiful? I suppose so, since you will not kiss them. Do you not find my hair soft enough for your pretty fingers? I must tell you that I am all afire, and that presently you must in your turn, return all the pleasure I give you.”
“But, dear Odette,” replied Violette, “you know very well that I am a little ignoramus.”