Read Online The Academie by Susanne Dunlap - Free Book Online Page A

even while married to my brother.”
    “How can that be? When Hortense is so—”
    “So virtuous? I wouldn’t assume her appearance and her character to be one and the same.”
    This is as close to a direct insult to Hortense as Caroline has come with me.
    It seems impossible that it was only a week ago that my mother and I made the trip from Paris to Saint-Germain. My life has changed so dramatically since then. I’m not certain that what I have learned is everything my mama hoped I would learn, but the lives the young women lead in France are certainly much more interesting than in Virginia.
    Caroline is quiet on our way, and so I have a little time to reflect. I asked Hortense last night about the Marquis de Valmont, thinking she might confide in me that—although he is younger than she is by a year—she is in love with him. But instead, she thought I was the one who is fascinated with Valmont. “Oh, no!” I protested. “I just saw you speaking with him, and he appears so sad in a way.”
    Hortense sighed. “He has reason for sadness. He has a great talent that his family will not permit him to exercise, and so he must do it in secret, during stolen hours of the night, with only a few candles to illuminate his work.”
    She told me that he is an artist. I immediately thought of the empty space on the wall of the school’s drawing room. “Perhaps we can persuade Madame Campan to commission a painting,” I suggested.
    Hortense’s laugh surprised me. “Even if he does not gointo the army, Madame Campan would hardly encourage him to take up a trade.”
    “So how is he to support himself then?” I asked. In Virginia, young men become apprentices, or study the law or doctoring. Everyone has to earn a living, even if they come from a wealthy family.
    “Perhaps you can save him,” Hortense said, a strange look in her eye.
    I smiled and our conversation ended, but I have been intrigued since then to discover what she means by me saving someone like the Marquis de Valmont.
    After an hour or so we pull up at a fine house in the Rue du Rocher, a short way down from the church of the same name. There are three carriages outside, none bearing crests but all looking as though they are preparing to depart. We enter only to be stopped at the door.
    A plump older woman dressed in black scurries up to Caroline and greets her with a kiss. Caroline turns to me and says, “I’d like to introduce my American friend, Mademoiselle Eliza Monroe. Eliza, this is my mother, Madame Bonaparte.”
    I curtsy, but Caroline’s mother hardly pauses to glance in my direction. Instead, she takes hold of Caroline’s shoulders, pulling her down to her level and talking directly into her face.
    “We must go to Malmaison at once. At once!”
    Caroline stands upright and shakes her shoulders, as if shooing away a bothersome fly. “Why?” she asks, not making any effort at politeness or affection.
    “Because your brother is there, and so are... others.”
    “Which others?”
    “Barras. Captain Charles... the rest.” Madame Bonaparte makes a face as though she has tasted something sour. The names mean nothing to me, but judging from Caroline’s expression, they are not popular with her family.
    “I see. Then we must go at once.” Caroline turns to me. “Eliza, the servants will take care of your bag. Don’t remove your cloak. We depart immediately.”
    Instead of climbing back into the fiacre, we make the two-hour trip out to Malmaison in a much more comfortable private carriage. Caroline and I sit next to each other, with her mother across from us. Caroline’s brother Joseph and another young man climbed into one of the other carriages and left before we were quite ready to go.
    Almost as soon as the motion of the vehicle is steady, Madame Bonaparte closes her eyes and leans into the corner of her seat. Within minutes, she is snoring softly.
    “I detest Malmaison,” Caroline says. “It’s in a terrible state of repair. Or it