Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “If what you say is true Madame, it is a match that will decidedly benefit the Salvagnacs, but what of the marquis? What can he hope to gain?” Tollaincourt wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps he grows tired of his long exile and wishes to find a way back to court? Though the marquis’ own lineage is impeccable, the baron perhaps has the one thing in abundance that takes on increasing import these days,” Madame de Talonge suggested. Of course, money has to be at the root of it. The marquis’ fortune is large enough in its own right, but to buy his way back into the good graces of the court will take an enormous fortune indeed. But whom will he buy, and to what purpose? He must know the risks to himself and his family should he seek to return to court. Could the return of the marquis to Versailles, be what that worm Ginestas wishes to discuss? Madame de Talonge wondered silently.

  “Perhaps you are right, Madame, but his thoughts may also be turning toward his youngest son, the Chevalier d’Argentolle. He is also approaching the age where considerations of his future will begin to be of increasing import,” Tollaincourt reminded everyone.

  “What a subtle and penetrating mind you possess, dear Tollaincourt,” Madame de Talonge said with unconcealed admiration. The Vicomte de Tollaincourt bowed graciously in receipt of the compliment, unable to resist a smile of delight as he contemplated what it would be like to kiss the pretty little mouth of Madame de Talonge and penetrate her with more than just his intellect.

  “There can be no accommodation with those who corrupt the purity of our blood. The Chevalier d’Argentolle is no better than the slaves in the field, despite his pretty clothes and fine manners,” Madame Dupluie declared.

  “Mesdames, Mademoiselle, Monsieur. What is all this talk of corruption? I thought I was the expert on that subject?” Monsignor Arnaud said affably as he arrived to join the party, enlarging the gathering with his presence and his intellect.

  “Ah, just the man we need! We were just discussing the Chevalier d’Argentolle, the youngest son of the Marquis de Blaise. Were you not in charge of his education before he was sent to France?” Tollaincourt asked the aging but still energetic priest.

  “I was indeed, Monsieur, and still am, though I confess his intellect now far outstrips my ability to keep up with him,” the priest said.

  “Such false modesty, Monsignor, particularly in making such an impossible comparison. Your scholarship and knowledge of languages is well known. What could such a person as he possibly have achieved to equal you in the least?” Madame Dupluie replied, certain that the priest’s statements were made only to flatter an important patron.

  “You have met the chevalier?” Arnaud asked skeptically.

  “Not directly…nor would I wish to. But from what I have heard…” Madame Dupluie began.

  “Perhaps then your opinions should await experience enough to give them more weight than the thin air of blind conjecture, Madame. I exhibit no false praise when I speak of the boy’s capacity of mind, nor as a servant of the Lord am I prone to exaggeration out of habit. I judge based only on what I have observed of young Nicolas. You have but to give him a book today and he is master of it tomorrow and can quote in brevity or at length from any passage you may ask him to recall. Show him a map or a figure and it is committed at once to his memory, and as for languages…” Monsignor Arnaud stopped to chuckle.

  “I used to quiz him by asking him questions in any one of three different languages. He would have to respond according to my whim, in the language I chose. Naturally I selected the choice that I believed to be most difficult for him. I admit in his youth I did trouble him at length with my methods, but now he has turned the tables on me entirely, having at last acquired more languages than I have been able to master and a greater facility than I in those that we have in common. I have been trying for some time to get Monsieur de Blaise to commit his future to the Church, but so far without definitive success. Mark my words and the opinions of his teachers at Brienne -- young d’Argentolle is destined to make something of a reputation for himself, whatever the debates on the fine points of his ancestry. Even there, let me assure you that in all that matters -- of bravery, honor, character -- he is entirely his father’s son; and in beauty, wit, and generosity of soul, he is his mother’s. I have rarely encountered a lady of such refinement, gentle manners, or delightful mien as she, nor a more beautiful one in all aspects, despite what she has suffered,” Father Arnaud declared definitively.

  Madame Dupluie scowled in silence, unable to refute the direct observations of the priest, though she still refused to believe the level of capability ascribed to the chevalier and scoffed at the merit credited to his mother. Monsignor Arnaud recognized at once the recalcitrant look of doubt on the face of Madame Dupluie, it being an all too common sight in his particular line of work.

  “I shall happily agree with you entirely, Monsignor. Though I should also declare the dear lady before me the equal of any I have ever met in all the qualities you wish to ascribe with such illumination, only to the delightful Madame de Blaise,” Tollaincourt said, ostentatiously kissing the hand of Madame de Talonge as he prepared to take his leave to mingle with other guests, having had his fill of Madame Dupluie and her opinions. As he lifted his head from the performance of his obeisance, he noticed a commotion at the entrance to the salon at the late arrival of the couple whose names had been on more than a few pairs of lips.

  “Ah! How fortunate for you, Madame Dupluie. Since you feel so strongly about the company you keep, you may now express the wholeness of your feelings directly to Madame de Salvagnac yourself, for here she is now,” Tollaincourt said in parting, nodding toward the entrance to the salon before heading off in the general direction of the billiards room.

  “Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne de Salvagnac!” Casimir intoned, announcing the arrival of the guests about whom all present shared either an interest or an opinion. The Salvagnacs made their way into the room, bearing the careful scrutiny of the existing company with casual aplomb. How delicious it feels to be so noted, Madame de Salvagnac thought to herself, feeling her spine tingle with excitement as she entered the salon of the Comtesse de Talonge on the arm of her husband. Madame de Talonge stepped away from Monsignor Arnaud and the Dupluies, moving forward to greet her newly arriving guests, the other attendees to her salon watching intently to see how the newcomers were to be received.

  “There you are at last, my dears. I am indeed honored to welcome you today. News of your good fortune has travelled well before you. How pleased I am for you both. The comte is a splendid match for dear sweet Julienne,” Madame de Talonge said pleasantly, embracing Madame de Salvagnac as the baron bowed low in greeting.

  “My dear friend, I am more than thankful for the warmth of your reception. I had rather feared you might be cross with me instead, which is why I insisted on making the long trip here despite the press of other commitments, so that I might speak to you directly and in the utmost confidence of what has occurred,” Madame de Salvagnac whispered. Madame de Talonge seemed mollified enough by this olive branch to continue her outward show of affection and amity.

  “Monsieur de Salvagnac, your friend Tollaincourt awaits you in the billiards room. Will you be good enough to lend me your dear wife for the present?” Madame de Talonge said, not waiting for the baron to reply. Taking Madame de Salvagnac by the arm, she led the baronne toward her private rooms so that they could speak in confidence. Once they were behind closed doors, the curtain of outward pretenses was lifted and the conversation began in earnest.

  “Well, Madame, how comfortably the crown of hypocrisy sits upon your brow. The Comte de Marbéville for Julienne? I congratulate you. It is indeed an undeniable coup and only a short time ago I would have considered it unthinkable based on your erstwhile assertions to me and many others who considered themselves your friends. Of course none of us, those of your so-called intimates, saw it coming, and you did not deign to confide even in me on such an important matter. To think I was actually naïve eno
ugh to believe all the things you said against Blaise and what was it you called her? Ah yes, I remember now; his ‘black harlot,’ wasn’t it? Well now you have her for a relation, so what pray tell does that make you besides patently deceitful and a hypocrite as well? How amusing we must seem to you now, those of us who were foolish enough to accept your words as truth and to love you!” Madame de Talonge said acidly.

  “Oh, my dear sweet Charlotte, I beg you to temper your passion and grant me leave to explain. I wanted to tell you, to confess everything in my heart to you as I have in all else, but in truth it was my husband’s doing this time, not mine,” the baronne pleaded, approaching her friend in an effort to salve the wounds the comtesse no doubt felt at not being privy to her plans.

  “For once he appears to have acted without my prompting in such a matter. Of course I had my reservations and I still do, but need I remind you, my precious Lottie, that Marbéville’s mother was French? It was only after her death that the marquis went astray,” the baronne pointed out.

  “So that makes it palatable what you’ve done? You have betrayed your friends, your word, and all the assurances you have given us. Need I remind you the lengths to which I have gone to support you, despite the power and influence of the marquis and his clique of friends? Now you make us all look like the grandest of fools and dupes. Why should we -- nay, why should I -- trust you now or even speak to you?” Madame de Talonge said hotly. The baronne seemed completely unperturbed by the heat of Madame de Talonge’s speech or her accusations. In fact, the increase in her friend’s temper appeared, in an odd way, to excite her.

  “I knew you’d be cross, Lottie; that’s why I wanted to come to you today and explain myself, to beg you on my knees to forgive me. I know I’ve acted selfishly. Please allow me to make it up to you. Of course I shall do anything you wish,” the baronne purred, approaching from behind to place her arms tenderly around the waist of Madame de Talonge, pressing herself gently against her.

  “And how do you propose to erase the enormity of your deceptions? How can I be sure I’m still your dear sweet Lottie?” Madame de Talonge pouted seductively, leaning back into the baronne’s embrace.

  “I shall convince you of it most earnestly and sincerely,” Madame de Salvagnac whispered back, her lips almost caressing the ear of her friend.

  “And perhaps a little gift from me to you of, say...ten thousand livres...might help to ease your injured feelings?” the baronne said, kissing the comtesse gently on the neck, and then behind the ear.

  “And what of our friends? What are we to say to them?” the comtesse said airily, closing her eyes as she allowed the baronne’s hands to stray persuadingly across her midriff.

  “Would a thousand for each troublesome meddler suffice? I shall give the whole lot to you at once, my dearest, and you may dispense it as you wish,” the baronne promised. Madame de Talonge let out a light laugh, caressing Madame de Salvagnac’s long soft hands.

  “Oh how I do love your money, dear Agnès,” the comtesse purred.

  “Of course you do. That is why we get along so well; we are birds of a feather, you and I,” Madame de Salvagnac declared, allowing her hands to wander upward from the comtesse’s midsection toward more enticing delights. Madame de Talonge broke away from her friend’s embrace, rearranging her appearance to her satisfaction as she prepared to return to her guests.

  “Twenty thousand livres, Agnès, and in gold. That’s the price of my duplicity and your redemption,” Madame de Talonge said flatly, seeing the look of astonishment on the face of Madame de Salvagnac at the huge sum demanded.

  “But don’t worry, dear Agnès, for that I’ll do more than redeem your reputation amongst those that matter,” she purred, caressing Madame de Salvagnac’s face gently with the back of her hand.

  “For that sum, my sweet, I shall do what’s truly needed,” she whispered, kissing Madame de Salvagnac softly on the lips to seal the bargain, offering her just the briefest taste of her long serpentine tongue before she withdrew to a more discreet distance.

  “For that sum I shall redeem even the marquise herself,” the comtesse declared.

  “Do what you must, but can you not stay with me a little longer?” the baronne pleaded, eager for more than just the samplings of affection she had been shown.

  “Come back and see me when you have the sum I require; then I shall know that your heart is true. I promise then I shall send all my servants away and we can be together just the two of us, for an extended visit,” Madame de Talonge purred. Taking the baronne’s hand gently in her own she kissed it tenderly, guiding the baronne’s palm across and then underneath the delicate lace that concealed her full soft bosom, directing the baronne’s long elegant fingers to gently caress her nipple, which stiffened at the touch. The baronne closed her eyes in bliss, trapped by the delicious pleasure of so exquisite a sensation.

  “Remember my price,” the comtesse said flatly, withdrawing the baronne’s hand and turning abruptly on her heel to leave the room.

  The Baronne de Salvagnac watched her go with a forlorn sigh, turning to regard herself reproachfully in the mirror, knowing that she was impossibly trapped in a liaison most dangerous, against which she was powerless to fight. How on earth am I to convince my husband to part with such a sum? she thought to herself. Never mind your worries; you always find a way in the end. Just remember the sweetness of the reward, a more insistent voice urged. Taking courage from that happy promise, Madame de Salvagnac checked her appearance a final time in the mirror before going out to join her hostess and the rest of the waiting guests.

  *

  “Dear Nicolas. No, there’s not enough feeling in that. Nicolas, my sweet. Oh, that sounds too much like the latest novel. My most dear Nicolas. Oh, that won’t do at all! It’s my first love letter and I want it to be just so!” Sérolène exclaimed, sighing in frustration. Closing up her desk, she made her way to her uncle’s library, happy to find it deserted as usual. Perhaps here I’ll find the inspiration I seek. It’s fortunate that my uncle and aunt have gone to pay a call on Madame de Talonge, so that at least I’ve no fear of being disturbed, she thought, searching through the tidy shelves of books for the particular tome she sought.

  “Ah, there it is! This is the one,” she said softly, taking out the anthology of poets that Nicolas had been reading when they had first met. Sitting down in the same chair that she’d first discovered him in, she flipped slowly through the pages, searching for words that would adequately express her feelings.

  “This one’s perfect!” she exclaimed after a lengthy search, settling in behind her uncle’s desk to begin her letter again. Retrieving paper, quill, and ink, she studied the words of the poet Pierre de Ronsard again and again, adapting them to the particular sentiments of her own young and eager heart.

  My dear beloved. I don’t know the proper way to begin, nor to express all the affectionate feelings I have for you. But remembering the tender moment when our lips first touched, I have in these few lines below, attempted to make Ronsard speak for your La Bouhaire.

  Embrasse-moi, baise-moi, serre-moi,

  Haleine contre haleine, échauffe-moi la vie,

  Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie

  Mon amour veut tout sans nombre,

  Mon amour n'a point de loi

  Du crépuscule à l'aube j’attendre

  Mon amour ne veut que toi[2][2]

  How I miss you and think of you every day. I pray you feel the same and have not forgotten me. Forever your dearest,

  Sérolène

  She regarded her handiwork a final time before folding it most carefully and sealing it in an envelope. Hiding it securely in the bodice of her gown, she began to make her way back to her room, intent upon finding a suitable place to conceal it until she should have occasion to have it delivered to the object of her affections. But how on earth am I to accomplish that? she wondered, her spirits beginning to deflate as she considered the many obstacles to completing the last a
nd most important step of her task.