hall.
“So?” Dubon asked.
“So?” she replied, taking off her gloves and handing them to Luc.
“I hear you were visiting Madame Fiteau.”
“Yes, well, you need not look at me like that. I’ll tell you about it at lunch.”
Indeed, once settled at the table, she was eager to recount her exploits. She had given in her card at the Fiteaus’ with a small note of comfort scribbled on it and, to her surprise, had been ushered in for an audience with the general’s wife.
“I think she was so relieved to see someone. Her own sisters are staying away. Can you imagine that?”
“Barbaric.”
“It’s hardly her fault.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant visit. She is in a horrible state. Part of her really can’t believe it happened. She denies that the young man even gambled.”
“But she must have known. Your brother said the general had refused to keep paying the debts.”
“Maybe he never told her.”
“Maybe. Seems a bit improbable. She’s a powerful woman.”
“You wouldn’t have said that today. Just a shriveled old lady. A terrible thing to lose a child.”
“He wasn’t a child. He must have been twenty.”
“For a mother they are always children. I wish you could help them, François.”
“How could I help them?”
“Find out what happened …”
“Their son shot himself because he couldn’t pay his latest debts.”
“His mother doesn’t believe that. Or at least, maybe part of her knows he was gaming, but she says he was inveigled, trapped somehow in some kind of plot. I told her you could try to find out what happened.”
“You told her what?”
“At least, you could find out to whom it was he owed the money.”
“Geneviève, if young Fiteau owed someone a lot of money, whoever it is will now make himself known to the general.”
“If he dares.”
SIX
Madeleine answered the door wearing an afternoon dress in a flattering shade of rose that she often favored and accepted from Dubon with half-mocking protests the box of chocolates Lebrun had procured that morning.
“Goodness, you must think I do nothing but sit at home devouring bonbons. You will make me fat, dear … No, no I was out this afternoon, with Lucie. We went to the gallery finally. We were entranced, the figures are so lifelike, you would almost think they’d come off the walls and talk to you. We spent so long there, we didn’t even have time for tea. Shall I make us some now? I picked up a few cakes on my way home—or perhaps you would just like to eat chocolates,” she concluded with a giggle.
They ate tea and cakes happily together—although Dubon himself preferred a glass of wine by that hour of the day—and proceeded to the bedroom. Later, as they lay under the covers, a seemingly sleepy Madeleine raised the topic of the chocolates again.
“You are so good to me,” she sighed as she patted him gently on the thigh. “I am always grateful for your generosity.”
“Um.” Dubon assumed this was a reference to his sexual manners and didn’t feel it required much response.
“The chocolates are a lovely treat …”
“Oh, the chocolates. It’s nothing,” he said, but Madeleine was not to be dissuaded.
“No, it’s very good of you. Not every man is so attentive. The chocolates, that lovely necklace at New Year’s. You are very good.” She paused before adding, “But you know what they say, man cannot live by chocolate alone.”
Dubon laughed. “You’re becoming a wit, are you? Looking to start a salon?”
“Well, I hardly have the space here, do I?” Madeleine pointed out, gesturing around the bedroom.
“Most ladies hold their salons in the salon, not in the bedroom,” Dubon replied. “I guess you might squeeze in a few poets or two next door, perhaps a duchess, hmm? A painter, you have to have a painter for it to be a true salon.” Despite his joking tone, Madeleine seemed to consider the topic seriously.
“No, there’s not enough space.”
“Do you really
“So?” Dubon asked.
“So?” she replied, taking off her gloves and handing them to Luc.
“I hear you were visiting Madame Fiteau.”
“Yes, well, you need not look at me like that. I’ll tell you about it at lunch.”
Indeed, once settled at the table, she was eager to recount her exploits. She had given in her card at the Fiteaus’ with a small note of comfort scribbled on it and, to her surprise, had been ushered in for an audience with the general’s wife.
“I think she was so relieved to see someone. Her own sisters are staying away. Can you imagine that?”
“Barbaric.”
“It’s hardly her fault.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant visit. She is in a horrible state. Part of her really can’t believe it happened. She denies that the young man even gambled.”
“But she must have known. Your brother said the general had refused to keep paying the debts.”
“Maybe he never told her.”
“Maybe. Seems a bit improbable. She’s a powerful woman.”
“You wouldn’t have said that today. Just a shriveled old lady. A terrible thing to lose a child.”
“He wasn’t a child. He must have been twenty.”
“For a mother they are always children. I wish you could help them, François.”
“How could I help them?”
“Find out what happened …”
“Their son shot himself because he couldn’t pay his latest debts.”
“His mother doesn’t believe that. Or at least, maybe part of her knows he was gaming, but she says he was inveigled, trapped somehow in some kind of plot. I told her you could try to find out what happened.”
“You told her what?”
“At least, you could find out to whom it was he owed the money.”
“Geneviève, if young Fiteau owed someone a lot of money, whoever it is will now make himself known to the general.”
“If he dares.”
SIX
Madeleine answered the door wearing an afternoon dress in a flattering shade of rose that she often favored and accepted from Dubon with half-mocking protests the box of chocolates Lebrun had procured that morning.
“Goodness, you must think I do nothing but sit at home devouring bonbons. You will make me fat, dear … No, no I was out this afternoon, with Lucie. We went to the gallery finally. We were entranced, the figures are so lifelike, you would almost think they’d come off the walls and talk to you. We spent so long there, we didn’t even have time for tea. Shall I make us some now? I picked up a few cakes on my way home—or perhaps you would just like to eat chocolates,” she concluded with a giggle.
They ate tea and cakes happily together—although Dubon himself preferred a glass of wine by that hour of the day—and proceeded to the bedroom. Later, as they lay under the covers, a seemingly sleepy Madeleine raised the topic of the chocolates again.
“You are so good to me,” she sighed as she patted him gently on the thigh. “I am always grateful for your generosity.”
“Um.” Dubon assumed this was a reference to his sexual manners and didn’t feel it required much response.
“The chocolates are a lovely treat …”
“Oh, the chocolates. It’s nothing,” he said, but Madeleine was not to be dissuaded.
“No, it’s very good of you. Not every man is so attentive. The chocolates, that lovely necklace at New Year’s. You are very good.” She paused before adding, “But you know what they say, man cannot live by chocolate alone.”
Dubon laughed. “You’re becoming a wit, are you? Looking to start a salon?”
“Well, I hardly have the space here, do I?” Madeleine pointed out, gesturing around the bedroom.
“Most ladies hold their salons in the salon, not in the bedroom,” Dubon replied. “I guess you might squeeze in a few poets or two next door, perhaps a duchess, hmm? A painter, you have to have a painter for it to be a true salon.” Despite his joking tone, Madeleine seemed to consider the topic seriously.
“No, there’s not enough space.”
“Do you really
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