Chapter 141: Chapter 141

The excuse of an opera engagement couldn’t have been more convenient. That very night, the Royal Academy was hosting an extraordinary performance. Levasseur, recovering from a serious illness, was making his comeback in the role of Bertram. The announcement had drawn a glittering crowd of high society, everyone who was anyone would be there.

Like most wealthy young men of his social circle, Morcerf had his own reserved seat in the orchestra section. He could always find space in at least a dozen premium boxes occupied by friends and acquaintances, plus he had access to the shared VIP box. Château-Renaud rented the seat next to his, while Beauchamp, working as a journalist, could go anywhere in the theater he pleased.

Tonight, the minister’s private box had been given to Lucien Debray, who offered it to Count de Morcerf. When Morcerf’s mother declined the invitation, he forwarded it to the Danglars family, mentioning he’d probably stop by during the evening if they accepted. The ladies were thrilled, they accepted immediately.

For wealthy people like the Danglars, who loved showing off their riches while secretly pinching pennies, a free luxury box was irresistible. However, Danglars himself had protested against appearing in a government minister’s box, claiming his political stance as an opposition party member made it inappropriate. So the baroness sent word to Lucien Debray to escort them, since it would be scandalous for her and her daughter Eugénie to attend alone. With Debray, her mother’s lover, joining them, Eugénie could ignore any gossip. That’s just how society worked.

The curtain rose to a nearly empty theater. It was a peculiar habit of Parisian high society to never arrive on time, the first act always played to sparse attendance. Those who did arrive early were too busy watching for new arrivals to pay attention to the stage. The constant noise of opening and closing doors, combined with the buzz of conversation, drowned out the performance.

"Look," Albert said suddenly as a first-tier box opened. "Isn’t that Countess G?"

"Who?" asked Château-Renaud.

"What kind of question is that? I should be offended you don’t know! Everyone knows Countess G."

"Ah, right," Château-Renaud replied. "The beautiful Venetian woman?"

"Exactly." The countess spotted Albert and smiled, waving at him.

"You know her?" asked Château-Renaud.

"Franz introduced us in Rome," Albert explained.

"Well then, do for me in Paris what Franz did for you in Rome?"

"Shut up!" someone in the audience shouted. This demand for quiet had zero effect on the two young men, who kept talking.

"The countess was at the races at the Champ-de-Mars," said Château-Renaud.

"Oh damn, I completely forgot about the races! Did you bet?"

"Just fifty gold coins."

"Nautilus. I bet on him."

"But there were three races, right?"

"Yes. The Jockey Club prize race was particularly interesting, a gold cup. Something very strange happened."

"Oh, shut UP!" the audience interrupted again.

"An unknown horse and rider won. Nobody had even noticed them."

"Absolutely true. Nobody had paid attention to a horse registered under the name ’Vampa’ or a jockey called ’Job.’ Then at the last moment, this magnificent reddish-brown horse appeared with a tiny jockey, about the size of your fist. They had to stuff at least twenty pounds of weights into the rider’s pockets to meet the minimum weight requirement. Even with that handicap, he beat Ariel and Barbare by three full lengths."

"Did anyone find out who owned them?"

"You said the horse was registered as ’Vampa’?"

"Then I know more than you do. I know who the owner is."

"SHUT UP!" the audience roared. This time the angry tone made the two young men realize the command was directed at them. They turned around leisurely, scanning the faces around them as if challenging someone to confront them directly. When no one stepped forward, they turned back to face the stage, pretending to focus on the performance.

At that moment, the minister’s box opened. Madame Danglars entered with her daughter, escorted by Lucien Debray, who attentively helped them to their seats.

"Ha!" said Château-Renaud. "Here come some friends of yours, viscount! They’re trying to get your attention."

Albert turned just in time to receive a gracious wave from the baroness’s fan. Mademoiselle Eugénie barely bothered to glance away from the stage, her large black eyes showing little interest in anything. Read full story at novel·fire.net

"Listen, my friend," said Château-Renaud. "I can’t understand your objection to Mademoiselle Danglars. Setting aside her lack of noble ancestry and lower social rank, which I don’t think you care much about anyway, she’s an incredibly beautiful woman!"

"Beautiful, certainly," Albert replied, "but not my type. I prefer someone softer, gentler, more feminine."

"Ah," exclaimed Château-Renaud, who at thirty felt qualified to act like a father figure to his younger friend. "You young people are never satisfied! Your parents have chosen you a bride built like Diana the huntress, and you’re still not happy."

"That’s exactly the problem, that comparison terrifies me. I’d prefer someone more like the Venus de Milo. But this hunting-obsessed Diana, constantly surrounded by her nymphs, makes me fear I’ll end up like Actaeon, torn apart by her hounds."

Indeed, one glance at Mademoiselle Danglars confirmed Morcerf’s assessment. She was beautiful, but her beauty was too bold and striking for refined tastes. Her jet-black hair seemed rebellious against styling. Her eyes, the same dark color, were framed by well-shaped eyebrows that unfortunately held an almost permanent frown. Her entire face projected an air of firmness and determination, qualities that seemed unfeminine to many. Her nose looked like it belonged on a sculptured goddess. Her mouth, perhaps slightly too large, displayed perfectly white teeth made more striking by her bright red lips against her naturally pale skin.

But what really gave her that masculine appearance Morcerf disliked was a large dark mole at the corner of her mouth, much bigger than typical beauty marks. It emphasized her self-reliant, independent expression.

The rest of Eugénie’s appearance matched her face. She truly resembled Diana, as Château-Renaud noted, but with a more proud and determined bearing. As for her accomplishments, the only criticism was that they were too scholarly and masculine for someone so young. She was fluent in multiple languages, an excellent artist, and wrote poetry and music. She claimed to be devoted to musical study and worked with intense dedication alongside a schoolmate, a talented young woman from a poor family who showed promise as a singer.

Rumor had it that one of the day’s leading composers took an almost fatherly interest in this friend, encouraging her to develop her voice, which could become a source of income and independence. However, this advice made Mademoiselle Danglars determined never to be seen in public with someone destined for a theatrical career. The banker’s daughter was happy to practice with Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly during the day but took great care not to appear with her socially. Still, though not officially received as a friend at the Danglars mansion, Louise was treated far better than a typical music teacher would be.

The curtain fell shortly after Madame Danglars entered her box. The orchestra left for the customary half-hour intermission between acts, giving the audience freedom to walk around the salon and lobbies or visit each other’s boxes.

Morcerf and Château-Renaud were among the first to take advantage. For a moment, Madame Danglars thought the young viscount’s eagerness meant he was rushing to see her. She whispered this expectation to her daughter.

Mademoiselle Eugénie merely shook her head no and, with a cold smile, directed her mother’s attention to a box on the opposite side, where Countess G sat, and where Morcerf had just appeared.

"So we meet again, my traveling friend!" cried the countess, extending her hand with warm friendliness. "How wonderful that you recognized me so quickly, and even more wonderful that you visited me first."

"I assure you," Albert replied, "if I’d known you were in Paris and had your address, I would have called on you already. Allow me to introduce my friend, Baron de Château-Renaud, one of the few true gentlemen left in France. I just learned from him that you were at yesterday’s races."

Château-Renaud bowed to the countess.

"Were you at the races, Baron?" the countess asked eagerly.

"Then can you tell me who won the Jockey Club prize?"

"I’m sorry, I can’t. I was just asking Albert the same thing."

"Are you very curious to know, Countess?" Albert asked.

"The name of the winning horse’s owner?"

"Extremely curious! You see, but wait, do you actually know?"

"Excuse me, ma’am, but you were about to tell a story. You said ’you see’ and then stopped. Please continue."