Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  At last he lowered his eyes, which effectively released her from his spell. She became aware again of the beating of her heart and the rhythm of her breathing, as if these were gifts restored to her solely by the force of the stranger’s will. She felt an unaccustomed sense of vertigo, as if the taut ribbon of time that connected all things had been snipped in two and then tied loosely back together.

  “You startled me, Monsieur! May I ask who you are and what purpose you might possibly have here? My uncle’s library is off limits to everyone,” she said, recovering herself at last.

  “Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I did not mean to frighten you. I often lose myself in my reading and become unaware of my surroundings. My father always scolds me for it, but forgives me nonetheless. Should your compassion prove even a hundredth part of your beauty, it would still afford surfeit enough to grant the pardon I beg of thee,” the stranger said, bowing low before her. He waited expectantly for her to extend her hand for him to kiss, but it was a privilege which she prudently refused to allow, as they had not been formally or properly introduced and he had not made his name, rank, or background known to her.

  “Is that my uncle’s book?” she asked accusingly, ignoring his attempt at apology, in an effort to reestablish her control over the encounter.

  “If this is your uncle’s library, then yes, I suppose it must belong to him. Have you read it? It’s quite an amusing anthology of romantic poetry through the ages. I confess I have always preferred historical works myself. Indeed I will even go so far as to say I had never before understood the point of most such sentimental musings…until now,” he said, regarding her intently.

  “Mayhap if you were to sufficiently apply yourself, your appreciation might improve commensurately with your understanding,” she said disdainfully, wondering how many books he likely consumed in a year and concluding from the broadness of his shoulders and the shallowness of his flattery, that the number could be counted easily upon one hand.

  “My deficiencies are numerous, Mademoiselle; that I readily concede, but I assure you that today both my appreciation and my understanding have taken a most dramatic and unalterable turn for the better,” he said.

  “Oh? And what, may I inquire, has occurred to allow such an uncommonly rapid improvement in your situation, Monsieur?” she asked, smiling sweetly to lessen the sting of her condescension.

  “I have met you, Mademoiselle, and that has changed everything,” he said, fixing her again with that particularly penetrating gaze of his. She felt her cheeks flush with warmth, the beating of her heart so loud in her ears that she could hardly hear herself think. Does he consider me so vain or so foolish as to be swayed by such common flattery? Perhaps I am young, but I am not to be so readily deceived or impressed, she reflected with indignation.

  “You presume too much, Monsieur. As you are perhaps unaccustomed to the particular quality of society that prevails in this house, I shall take no offense at your words. On the contrary, I shall be pleased to offer you a measure of clemency and will not inform my uncle of your impertinence, provided that you should be gentlemanly enough in future to keep such unwelcome declarations to yourself, and that you return at once to wherever it is you have strayed from. As a further courtesy, and so that our discourse should conform to the requirements of our respective stations, henceforth, you may address me properly as Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse,” she said, her grey-blue eyes flashing with pique.

  She had delivered more subtle rebukes in her time, but she felt that this impudent young man needed taking down a peg or two. I shall have to speak to the steward to ensure that these aspirants are kept downstairs in Uncle’s antechambers where they belong. How dare he come begging to my house and then with cavalier disregard for the gulf in our stations, deliver such impudent sentiments to me, as if his pleasing looks could ever be a substitute for the family, rank, or connections that he most certainly lacks, she reflected hotly, her back stiffening in indignation.

  “If it should please you to make your way back down to my uncle’s anteroom, you may attend him there to beg for whatever particular favors you seek. I should be happy to call for the assistance of the servants to guide you if you cannot find your way,” she offered, turning her back on him to take up the bell which would ring for the lackeys to come to her aid at once. You might be the handsomest man on earth, but that does not make you a gentleman, nor does it entitle you to try and pay meager court to a lady of quality. If you know what’s best for you, you had better be on your knees in apology when I turn around, before I have you thrown out and you lose for good whatever position you had hoped to achieve by coming here in the first place, she reflected angrily, turning back toward him with the expectation of receiving his contrite apology. To her complete consternation however, he began instead to laugh -- deeply, richly, honestly, which she found oddly endearing and immensely infuriating at the same time.

  “A third time I ask you for your forgiveness, Mademoiselle, this time for my impertinence. You have every right to be cross with me. Though my speech may lack the eloquence of a practiced courtier, I beg of you to stay your hand a moment and allow me the honor of presenting myself to you. I am Nicolas Étienne Alexandre Hyacinthe-Christophe de Montferraud, Chevalier and Vicomte d’Argentolle, and I am entirely at your service,” he said, performing an elegant bow before her. She was so surprised to learn of his true identity, that the summoning bell fell from her hand, landing on the top of the cabinet from which she had taken it with a clang.

  “Then you are not here to see my uncle for a position?” she asked contritely.

  “Not at all, Mademoiselle. My father the Marquis de Blaise and my brother the Comte de Marbéville are here at the invitation of Monsieur and Madame de Salvagnac and the rest of this great household -- to which, by your gentle nature and kind advice, I take it you belong?” he asked.

  “Oh….yes, Monsieur le Vicomte,” she replied, bending gracefully forward to return the chevalier’s bow with a full curtsey of her own, suddenly very embarrassed in the aftermath of her most ill-advised tirade and the patently erroneous presumptions which had preceded it. The son of the Marquis de Blaise? she thought in horror, her mortification growing by the second. She had misjudged things frightfully and she feared her aunt’s stern censure for it, especially since the Baronne de Salvagnac had warned her and her cousines that they were to have special guests and they must all be on their best behavior.

  “Thank you for your explanation, Monsieur, but I fear it is I who must now ask for your forgiveness…for my unpardonable behavior toward you,” she said apologetically.

  “You would need to have committed a fault, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse, to require my forgiveness. I assure you that I have no cause to reproach you. In fact, I confess that you leave me with sentiments of only the most sincere and heartfelt admiration,” he replied gallantly.

  “You are very kind to be so indulgent with me, Monsieur; again I thank you. May I inquire, however, as to how you came to find yourself here? This is my uncle’s private library you see. No one is allowed in here without his permission...not even I,” she confessed.

  “I see… well, I was shown to the adjoining sitting room by the steward at the behest of Madame de Salvagnac, while my father and brother were received separately. He said I was to remain there until someone came to retrieve me, but I found the door to this library ajar and couldn’t help myself coming in for a look. If such a delightful place is indeed proscribed then I must consider myself fortunate that it was you and not someone else who found me here. If I must now return to my place of exile, I beg that my banishment be only from this place and not from your company. In this matter however, as in all things, I am your knight to command and shall do as you bid me,” he replied.

  “In that case, I should be honored if you would keep me company,” she said with a smile, happy for a chance to put a decidedly better foot forward. He offered her his arm, which she took elegantly with the lightest of touches, her gloved finge
rs upon his forearm. Walking by his side, she allowed herself to be led toward an ornate chaise longue where she lowered herself gracefully to sit, despite the weight and grandeur of her splendid gown. The chevalier remained standing, placing himself slightly behind her in respectful attendance.

  “Are you comfortable enough? Might I bring you another pillow, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse?” he offered courteously.

  “I am quite comfortable, thank you, Monsieur -- and my name is Sérolène. Sérolène Adélaïde Isabelle de Saint-Giresse de La Bouhaire. The rest, well….I suppose now you already know,” she said.

  “How very glad I am to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire,” Nicolas said with a bow, reaching to kiss the now proffered hand of his hostess.

  “You do me too much honor, Monsieur.”

  “That would not be possible, Mademoiselle. But perhaps I may do you a small service?”

  She was puzzled by his offer until he nodded in the direction of her stockinged, shoeless feet. Her ears and neck flushed pink with embarrassment. Somewhere in their encounter she had dropped her slippers. He retrieved them from where they lay near the chair he had been sitting in and returned to her with them. Kneeling down, he held each slipper before her in turn so that she could comfortably place her small and finely formed feet into them without his hands having to touch her person directly, thereby preserving her modesty.

  “And please, Mademoiselle, I’d prefer to be called Chevalier, or just Nicolas, if you don’t mind. Though I understand it may seem too familiar,” he said.

  “All right, Nicolas -- if you wouldn’t mind calling me Sérolène …in exchange,” she replied. He nodded his thanks as he completed his task of re-shoeing her and again stood, moving to a more discreet distance to attend her.

  “Forgive me my presumption, but may I ask what happy coincidence brought you here, Mademoiselle? I should have thought you’d be downstairs enjoying yourself with everyone else.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but in truth, Monsieur, I generally prefer the company of books to the society of strangers. I can’t think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon or an evening than lost among the contents of this library,” she said.

  “I know precisely how you feel! Why, at school I was often teased for my bookish ways,” he said with a laugh.

  “You, bookish and teased? You do not at all seem the sort to have merited the former or brooked the latter. May I ask where it was that you attended school, Monsieur?”

  “Brienne-le-château, in Champagne; at the military academy, to be exact.”

  “Oh, do tell me something of your experiences there. It’s not often that I have a chance to speak to someone who has been away from the Colonies for any considerable length of time. You must have had so many interesting adventures. At what age did you begin your education in Brienne?” she asked eagerly.

  “I was eight when I left to begin my studies, though I turned nine before I began my first term.”

  “How difficult it must have been for you to be sent away at such a tender age. I’ve heard that conditions at such schools can be quite austere. I can’t at all imagine living under such a Spartan regime. Did you not find yourself wishing and longing for home?”

  “Very much so, Mademoiselle, but one has no other recourse but to adapt. Even well into my second year I remember how unsettled I felt, hearing the whimpering of the youngest boys at night, still pining for their mothers and the comfort of their soft beds. In time though, it all grows dim. Even the memories of your loved ones’ faces begin to fade,” he said wistfully.

  “How brave of you to have endured such a thing.”

  “I was no less homesick than the rest; just more determined not to let it show. My years at school were principally an exile of sorts. At least, that’s how I came to look at it. I was no more welcome among my schoolmates than I am in this great house,” he said without bitterness.

  “Exile? I’m afraid I don’t understand at all, Monsieur.”

  “Well, Mademoiselle, it was made quite clear by Madame de Salvagnac when we arrived, that she had not expected, nor did she welcome my presence here. Voilà, my place of banishment; albeit a much more comfortable one than I endured at Brienne. No matter, though; I understand that there are greater concerns at stake tonight. As a second son, one gets used to such treatment,” he explained. Sérolène looked down in embarrassment.

  “You must forgive my aunt, Monsieur, whose sanctions and temperament govern this house. She means well, I assure you. Her heart is very good, but her actions on occasion do not adequately reflect the character that those who know her well have come through long experience to recognize and rely upon,” the vicomtesse declared apologetically.

  “Well, I suppose it is rare to find a heart generous enough to welcome everyone. The history of the Caesars tells us that as men we are born to conflict -- if not against other nations, then amongst ourselves. Those who counseled peace and tolerance more often than not ended up as saints or martyrs; sometimes both,” Nicolas observed.

  “Oh, yes. You had mentioned to me your love of great and dusty antiquity,” Sérolène quipped, making gentle fun of Nicolas’ rather long-winded sermonizing.

  “Why, Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire, I do believe you have seriously neglected your Latin, for how else would you come to call ‘dusty’ such lively and interesting history as Livy and his fellow sages have handed down to us?” Nicolas deadpanned.

  “I have heard the histories of Rome referred to as many things, Monsieur, but lively and interesting are not among the words I can recall ever being used to describe them,” Sérolène said, unable to contain a gentle burst of laughter.

  “Let the disparagers of Rome read the Greeks then. Why, I can hardly get three volumes into Thucydides before my eyelids begin to feel as heavy as stones,” Nicolas said with a laugh of his own.

  “Three volumes? Most can barely plow through the first few chapters. How different you are from what I had imagined, Monsieur. I had not on first glance taken you at all for a scholar,” Sérolène said gaily.

  “Yes, it does not help that I have the physique of a stonemason, I suppose,” he said with a laugh. Sérolène blushed, recalling the heritage she had initially consigned him to.

  “Come now, confess. What did you take me for before I introduced myself? Son of a smith is the most common supposition,” Nicolas said, rightly guessing at the reason for the vicomtesse’s delightful coloring. Sérolène giggled guiltily at having her own thoughts about Nicolas so easily discovered.

  “All right, I confess it; I thought perhaps cooper or smith might indeed suit you. I admire your good nature to bear such false presumptions so well. Tell me Monsieur, how is it that you are such amusing company? If your brother and the marquis are half as agreeable as you are, I should think I’ve made a dreadful mistake in hiding from everyone.”

  “So that’s what you were doing, wandering around here by yourself in such elegant attire. How naughty of you, Mademoiselle, to deprive us of such splendid society,” Nicolas scolded good-naturedly.

  “Well, had I known how much I should have enjoyed your company I would not have been so mischievous,” Sérolène confessed.

  “Then I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake, as my father and brother are far more agreeable and interesting than I. However one looks at it, I must be considered the most fortunate to have encountered you by chance.”

  “Perhaps fortune smiles upon us both, Monsieur, and to your earlier point, I’ll admit my Latin is not as fresh as I should like it to be. I must also confess to having only read your beloved Thucydides in translation. In the convent they teach us only enough to allow us to properly recite our prayers. A basic knowledge of Latin is therefore considered entirely adequate for the education of most girls. Greek is of course deemed entirely superfluous to the needs of our minds or the requirements of our sex. Still…do you really enjoy spending so many hours buried in such august and severe tomes, when there is so much to keep
you more happily engaged?” she asked with genuine interest.

  “Well – what, pray tell, would you recommend so that my mind should be better occupied, Mademoiselle?”

  Sérolène gave him a long, considered glance before she replied, understanding that her counsel would reflect as much about her own sensibilities as it would upon what she imagined might be his areas for improvement. But how much am I willing to reveal of myself? she considered, for the first time not wholly certain of the answer.