While I was speaking, he removed his coat, waistcoat and necktie, which he hung on the back of a chair.
“You are here tonight,” I continued. “For this alone I am grateful, regardless of what you do afterwards. We have so little time left. Let us not throw it away.”
“Let us not indeed. I, for one, intend to enjoy myself.” He sat on the bed. “Why are you so demure? You proposition me, and then you say that you are grateful for my visit, but you have not kissed me, embraced me, undressed me. I have yet to feel your hands and lips caress me.”
As much as I wanted to draw closer to him, I could not bring myself to cross the few feet that separated us. Everything I had said or done, or failed to do, had only driven him further away from me.
“I am tired of waiting,” he said at last. “Since you do not want to do anything on your own, I will prompt you. First, I want a good look at you. Hurry now.”
He watched me undress. He remained seated on the bed in silence, showing no emotion. It cost me great effort to remove each article of clothing under his eye. At last I was down to my chemise. I looked up at him.
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is not good enough. I want to see you standing naked before me.”
I took a deep breath and slipped the chemise over my head. I could not meet his eye.
“There is no need to be shy,” he continued. “You are beautiful like this. Come here.”
He reached for my wrist and made me sit in his lap. He slowly explored my breasts, my stomach, the inside of my thighs with his fingers. I kept my eyes on his hands, larger than any I had seen, dark against my skin. He encircled my waist with both of them.
“Stop shaking,” he said. “I will not hurt you. I want only to have you, as you say, more thoroughly than any man ever had you. Nothing worse.”
Pierre-André kissed me deeply, deliberately, as he had done the first time by the river, years earlier. The memory of that day rushed to me, so vivid that it was real. I could sense the heat of that June afternoon under the shade of the little wood. I was astonished to feel the same emotions anew. I kissed him back, hungry for him.
At fifteen I had not feared him. I had lain on the pebble bank by the Cère River, ready to let him take me. I had trusted him. I had loved him. He had loved me too, I was sure of it. I was also sure that he would have me arrested in the morning. I no longer cared. We were united again. The past and present were one. The future did not exist beyond the next few hours.
I wrapped my arms around his chest and rested my head against his neck. My lips caressed the smooth skin there, then moved up to rub against the roughness of his chin and cheek, and down again to feel the firmness of the muscles under the open collar of his shirt. He seized my head between his hands and kissed me more urgently.
“Now,” he said.
“Oh yes, now.”
He laid me down gently on the bed and, keeping his eyes fixed on me, rose to undress.
Naked, he looked still taller and stronger. The breadth of his torso tapered to a slender, muscular waist. His body was the same copper colour as his face and hands, with a narrow line of black hair running down the middle of his chest and stomach.
His arms closed around me. I was his. The promise made and breached years ago was fulfilled. His passion became mine. Through the night I clung to him as to life itself, to the last hours of my freedom, so few, so brief, so precious.
At last, Pierre-André drifted off. I watched him, fighting sleep as long as I could. Time was slipping through my fingers. I too must have dozed. He was shaking me by the shoulder. There was a faint hint of dawn in the sky. It was all over. Now that the time had come to be brave, fear had returned, like a fist in my stomach. I huddled against him, my eyes closed, to steal a few more moments of warmth and safety.
“Oh, please,” I whispered, “not yet.”
He shook me again, more forcefully. “Gabrielle, enough of this. I have to go. Awaken if you still want me to help you.”
“What did you say?” I asked, startled.
“Did you not hear me?”
“I cannot believe it.”
“You are wrong. I mean it.”
“How will I ever repay you?”
He looked at me coldly. “You already did. I took you with great pleasure and will leave you without any regret. I do not need your gratitude, Gabrielle. After today, I want nothing more to do with you. Do you promise never, for any reason, to seek me again?”
“I do.”
“It is half past five now. I arrive at the Courthouse at seven and do not want to change my habits today. I need to go to my lodgings first. I will meet you in an hour in front of your Section. Be on time, because I will not wait a moment longer.”
He rose, poured water from the ewer into the basin and washed briefly. He ran his hands on his face, gathered his clothes and proceeded to dress. I did the same. I had put on my stockings and was tying my garters. They were the ones I had embroidered a few years earlier with forget-me-nots and a G crowned by a Baron’s coronet. Pierre-André, tying his cravat, was looking at them.
“Show me your garters,” he said.
I handed him one of them. He ran his forefinger on the monogram and coronet.
“Has it occurred to you that you could be searched if you were arrested? How would you explain this, Citizen Labro? Give me the other one.”
He put them both in his waistcoat pocket. I tied on plain black garters.
“Should you have any other things emblazoned with this kind of aristocratic rubbish,” he said, “now is the time to discard them. It makes no sense for me to take risks on your account if you do not pay attention to your own safety.”
“You are right. I will be careful.”
“I am starving,” he said. “Let me have some bacon and eggs before I leave.”
Meat and eggs were beyond my means. I now bought the cheapest bread, a brownish mixture of corn, oats, potatoes and, according to some, sawdust.
“I have only river water and bread to offer you,” I said, “but if you wait a minute, I will run downstairs to buy something better at the inn.”
Pierre-André glanced at the half-loaf on the table. “No, thank you. I have no time to waste. I will have breakfast at the Courthouse.” He looked around. “Do you intend to stay in this hovel? There is no fireplace and it is right under the eaves. You will catch your death here this winter, especially if you do not eat properly.”
“This is all I can afford until I can sell my diamonds. Even living like this, I will see the end of my savings before long.”
I regretted these words as soon as I saw him search his pockets. He found an assignat of fifty francs, which he left on the nightstand. I took his hand in both of mine and pressed it to my cheek and lips. He withdrew it.
“I told you I do not want your gratitude,” he said. “Use the money to buy decent food. Half past six in front of your Section.”
68
I was waiting for Pierre-André well before the appointed time in front of the Marseilles Section. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him arrive precisely at half past six, wearing the black suit of his judge’s uniform, but without the cape or medal and with a regular hat. He did not greet me, barely looked at me and pushed me by the shoulder in front of him as we entered the building. He paused to pull out of his pocket and tie around his waist a tricolour sash fringed in gold, the emblem of his functions at the Municipality. A crowd was already gathered in the waiting room where I had spent many hours a few days earlier. He spoke to the guard on duty, who disappeared into an office and, a minute later, invited us to enter. The Secretary rose.
“Greetings and fraternity, Citizen Judge,” he said. “What brings you here?”
“Sit down, Citizen Secretary. This woman tells me you are giving her some trouble over her Civic Certificate. There is no reason for it. I know her; she is a good Patriot.”
“Yes, that’s right, I recognize her. She says she came from Cantal last July
, but she can’t produce a passport or even a baptismal record or a residence certificate. Her papers were stolen, supposedly. She says she’s the widow of a cheese merchant, but, if you want my opinion…”
“No, I do not want your opinion. As I believe I told you already, I know her. You would not doubt my word, I am sure.”
“Nobody would, Citizen Judge. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that we need to see some evidence of what she says. Who’s going to explain to the President of the Section that I gave her a Civic Certificate without any proof ?”
Pierre-André rested both of his hands flat on the desk and threw his weight forward until his chest was only inches from the face of the officer. He lowered his voice. “You have all of the evidence you need right in front of you, Citizen Secretary. Are you telling me that you disregard my testimony?”
The Secretary drew back and muttered indistinct apologies.
“Fetch the President immediately,” continued Pierre-André in a louder tone.
“I didn’t mean any offense, Citizen Judge. Come to think of it, there can’t be a better proof of Citizen Labro’s story than your word.”
The Secretary took out a portfolio with a shaky hand and retrieved my incomplete certificate. He crossed out “adjourned until production of further evidence,” signed it and handed it to me.
“Now, Citizen Labro, all you need to do is go next door for the President’s signature.”
Pierre-André took the piece of paper from my hands and held it in front of the Secretary’s face.
“So you want this woman to walk around with a certificate full of your scribblings?” he asked. “It would be worse than none at all. One would think that she carries a forged document. Give her a clean one. I will keep this one and destroy it myself.”
The Secretary opened his mouth, but after a look at my companion, said nothing and hastened to prepare a new certificate. Pierre-André reviewed it and slapped the man in the back with such cordiality that he almost fell off his chair.
“Thank you for clearing up this matter so quickly, Citizen Secretary. When good patriots receive their Civic Certificates, it makes it easier to detect and punish the enemies of the Nation.”
We went to the next office, where the President of the Section, sitting with several other men at a long table, also recognized Pierre-André, chatted with him for a minute, signed my certificate without looking at it and affixed to it the seal of the Section. I had received in less than fifteen minutes what I had waited and begged for in vain for hours.
Once on the street, I turned towards Pierre-André. He was no longer there. Towering above the crowd, he was already walking away. He had left without taking leave of me. I followed him at a distance in the direction of the river until I turned towards Rue de l’Hirondelle.
I could now fetch Aimée. With the precious Certificate in my pocket, my step felt quicker and lighter. I ran up the stairs to Louise’s lodgings. When Manon opened the door, no words were needed. There was a smile on my face which nothing could repress. She cried with joy and we embraced. Aimée was waking. A new period of hope and happiness opened before me. Even my financial distress did not seem so dire anymore. Thanks to Pierre-André, I now had fifty francs in my pocket. Two months earlier, I would not have stooped to pick up that assignat if I had dropped it on the street, but as Pierre-André had observed the night before, times had changed. Now that I was in possession of the Civic Certificate, I could find work to support us. Manon herself was still without a place.
“Louise knows a laundress who needs a servant, Madam,” she said, “but it’s backbreaking work for very little pay. You wouldn’t be able to do it for more than a couple of days without exhausting yourself. It’d break my heart to see your beautiful hands wrecked by those harsh soaps. Even I, after having been Your Ladyship’s maid, have refused that offer.”
“Manon, please stop addressing me as Your Ladyship. Those titles can only create trouble for both of us. Why not call me Citizen Labro? It is my official name now. And we cannot afford to be too fastidious about the work we can find.”
“It will not feel right to call you Citizen. I will try, though. As for work, I would hope to find you something like sewing or embroidery.”
“I have enough money to last a couple of months if I am careful, but I am more than ready to take any kind of work. Embroidery is less in demand these days, but sewing would suit me.”
Aimée and I returned to our garret. I stopped by the porter’s lodge to show Marcelin my Civic Certificate.
“Good,” he said, returning it to me. “I knew you couldn’t be an aristocrat. You’re too decent a person for that.”
I seized Aimée’s hand and hastened towards the stairs.
“You had a visitor last night,” he continued, “that great hulking fellow.”
I turned around, looking straight at Marcelin. “He is a cousin of mine.”
“Is he? He calls at odd hours for a cousin. Not that I mind, Citizen Labro. He must be on good terms with the authorities since you received your Civic Certificate.” Marcelin grinned. “He may visit you every night if he likes. You did what you had to do, that’s all. It’s the result that counts, like they say.”
I hurried upstairs. When I pushed open the door to the garret, tears came to my eyes. I was reminded of the night. How I wished Pierre-André had said that he still loved me, that he wanted to see me again. Now I realized that I loved him, that I wanted to see him again. In his arms, I had felt more than pleasure, more even than happiness. I had felt that we should never be parted. Then I chastised myself for indulging in such thoughts. Of course he did not want anything to do with me. He had put himself at risk to secure my Civic Certificate, a service I would never be able to repay. What right had I to hope for more? Once again destiny was tearing us asunder.
69
On the following Sunday, Aimée and I enjoyed a luncheon of boiled beef stewed with lentils and carrots, which I had purchased at the inn. It was a celebration, the first Sunday after I had obtained my Civic Certificate. We had nearly finished our meal when I heard a familiar step and a knock at the door. I ran to open it. It was indeed Pierre-André. In my confusion, I made a deep curtsey, my forehead almost touching the floor, as I had done before the Queen on the day of my presentation. Then I remembered what he had said about the marks of servility inherited from the Old Regime. My embarrassment increased. I rose in haste and gestured to him to enter. I still could not find any words to greet him.
“Diou sia çains,” Pierre-André said. It is the traditional blessing in the Roman language, “God be here,” that one speaks in Auvergne upon entering a house. I felt my eyes burning. I had not heard it in five years. It meant more to me than anything else he could have said. It was an expression of his respect, his goodwill, his remembrance of the old days and the old country.
He was looking intently at Aimée. “This must be your daughter.”
“Yes. She is called Aimée.”
I wanted to tell him that I had named her because of him, because that was the term of endearment he had used with me. Yet I could not. Aimée herself did not know it.
“She looks just like you,” he said, “except for her colouring.”
I was grateful that he did not mention her father. “Would you like to share our meal?” I asked. “I used some of your money to buy meat. No matter what you say, I will never be able to thank you enough for your kindness.”
“I already ate, thank you. Can you take this child away? I need to speak to you.”
I put Aimée’s cloak on her shoulders and hastened to take her to Manon’s.
“My goodness, My L—I mean, Citizen Labro, what’s the matter?” she asked. “You look so pale. You’re not going to be arrested again, are you?”
“I cannot tell yet, Manon. Something unexpected has happened.”
My head spinning, I hurried back to the garret. Pierre-André was sitting on his haunches, looking out the dormer. He rose and looked at me. F
or a moment, we were both at a loss for words.
“What a surprise this is,” I managed to say at last. “You did not want to see me again.”
He smiled. “True. I did change my mind more than once in the course of our recent acquaintance. Can you not guess why I am here today?”
“No.” Indeed the wild hope that he had returned because he wanted me had entered my mind. Yet I dared not believe it, let alone say it.
“When I came here the other night, Gabrielle, my intention, or so I believed, was only to humiliate you, to take my revenge for your abandonment of me.”
“I know. I was convinced that you would have me arrested in the morning.”
“Some idea you have of me! Why did not you tell me to go to hell?”
I had nothing to hide from him now. “I did not want to die without being yours, if only for a few hours.”
He had walked to the other end of the room and turned slowly to me. “So you let me take you, believing that I was so depraved as to send you to jail after enjoying you all night.” He shook his head. “I meant only to treat you like a whore and to leave as soon as I had enough of you. That was my first mistake. When I found you in this garret, in your plain black dress, stripped of your rank, of your luxury, of even the hated name of your husband, I saw the Gabrielle I had met by the river.”
He sat on a chair and drew me to him. “I had yearned for you all these years and you gave yourself to me wholeheartedly. I could not abandon you to your fate. Yet after I had decided to help you, I resolved never to see you again. It seemed easy enough while I was still in your bed, feeling you, warm and soft, against me. I had not begun to miss you yet.”
Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel Page 44
