The Romance of Violette

by Alexandre Dumas

  I bowed assent.

  “I am too happy, Madame, to be able to do anything for you.”

  “Sir, there was at the milliner's who lives on the ground floor of this house, a young girl who goes by the name of Violette.”

  “Just so, Madame.”

  “She disappeared three days ago. When I enquired of her young friends and the mistress of the house, they one and all replied that they could not say what had become of her. But when I applied to the master and said that I felt much interested in the child; in fact, to a degree that I should employ the police to look for her, he said that he had good reasons for believing that if I applied to you, I could procure the information I require. I trust therefore, you will kindly inform me of her whereabouts.”

  “I have no reason whatever for keeping the child out of the way, especially as you wish her well; but I was wrong no doubt in keeping her from M. Beruchet, who had unscrewed the bolt of her bedroom so as to be able to enter at any time for his own purposes. At two o'clock in the morning the child came here for protection, and I took her in, that's all.”

  “What! is she here?” cried the Comtesse.

  “Not here, Madame; that was impossible. But I had my own bachelor's rooms where I took her.”

  “Will you kindly let me have the address?”

  “With the greatest of pleasure, Madame. Violette has often spoken of you.”

  “She spoke to you about me?”

  “Yes, Madame. She said how good you had been to her; and at the very time when the poor child needs protection so much, I should be sorry to deprive her of yours.”

  “I can can only thank you heartily, and say how happy I am, sir, that the poor child, not having applied to me, should have sought refuge with you.”

  Thereupon I wrote the address: “Rue Neuve Saint Augustin; first floor; the folding doors of green velvet. From me-” and I signed: Christian.

  I was not known by any other name in the house.

  “You will pardon my being so inquisitive, sir,” said the Countess; “but when do you intend calling upon her?”

  “This evening, Madam.”

  “Will she be in this afternoon?”

  “I am certain she will be at home. You will find her, I have no doubt reading Mademoiselle de Maupin.”

  “Did you put that book into her hands?”

  “Oh no, Madam, she reads any books she likes.”

  “I have some business in the Rue de la Paix, after which I shall go to see her.”

  I bowed and escorted the Countess as far as the staircase. I then ran to the window and saw the carriage follow the Rue de Rivoli and turn the corner of the Place Vendome.

  I at once took my hat and ran downstairs and was at the Rue Saint Augustin in a moment. I had the key of the passage, so I entered noiselessly the dressing room, and, through an opening made on purpose, I saw Violette sitting in a kind of easy chair, with no other garments than her chemise and half opened dressing gown, with her book on her knees, abstractedly playing with one of her little rosebuds peering out of the masses of her black curls flowing on her breast. Scarcely was I installed at my post of observation than Violette showed signs of being aware that there had been a knock at the door.

  The young girl stretched out her arm to ring for the lady's maid: she no doubt suddenly recollected that she had gone out, and, rising, she went slowly and noiselessly to the door.

  There was another knock.

  “Who is there?” asked Violette.

  “I; your friend.”

  “My friend?”

  “Yes; the Countess. I come with M. Christian's consent and am the bearer of a note from him.”

  “Oh, then,” said Violette, who knew the voice and recollected our conversation; “you are welcome.” Upon which she opened the door.

  The Countess came in and carefully closed the door.

  “Are you alone?” she asked.

  “Quite alone.”

  “And your maid?”

  “She is at the dressmaker's.”

  “Ah! so much the better; because as I made sure of finding you here, and wishing to spend a few moments with you, I sent away my carriage. I shall take a cab when I leave you. Will you grant me an hour or two in your company?”

  “Yes; with the greatest pleasure.”

  “Are you pleased to see me?”

  “Much pleased.”

  “You little ungrateful one!”

  Meanwhile the Countess took off her veil, bonnet and cloak and appeared in a long dress of black satin, buttoned all the way up with rose coloured buttons. She wore earrings of the same kind of coral.

  “I ungrateful?” said Violette. “Why do you call me ungrateful?”

  “Why? You went and entrusted yourself to a young man, instead of having recourse to me.”

  “I did not know your name, nor your address or number. Don't you recollect that you were to come today to see me at: two o'clock at the milliner's shop?”

  “I did go there, but the bird had flown. It is true that you did not lose by changing your cage. I congratulate you on the one you occupy now.”

  “Do you think this one pretty?” asked Violette.

  “Delightful! When a painter sets himself to decorating an apartment, he does it with such taste!” Then approaching Violette, she said: “Now, dear little one, I have not even kissed you.”

  She took her head with both hands and kissed her lips passionately. Violette instinctively drew back to avoid the kiss, but the Countess kept hold of her.

  “Do look now,” she said, beginning to thee and thou her; “how your charming head is set off by the black satin dress.” And she led her to the mirror placed between the two windows. The beautiful fair locks of the Countess fell over Violette's face and mingled with her black hair.

  “A! I should have liked to be fair-haired,” said Violette.

  “Why so?”

  “Because I think fair-haired women are much prettier than dark ones.”

  “Do you really speak the truth, my jewel?”

  “Oh yes!” said Violette, looking at the Countess with more curiosity than desire.

  “As for me, I am only half a blonde,” said the Countess.

  “How is that?”

  “My eyes and eyebrows are black.”

  “But they are very pretty!” said Violette innocently.

  “Then you think that I am very handsome?”

  “Exceedingly handsome!”

  “You little flatterer!” said the Countess, putting her arm round Violette's waist and drawing her on her lap.

  “But I shall fatigue you.”

  “Never! How warm it is here, little one.”

  “But you are buttoned up as if it were winter.”

  “You are right, I can hardly breathe. If I were certain nobody would come, I should take off my corset.”

  “Have no fear. Nobody will come.”

  “There,” said the Countess; and in a moment she unbuttoned her dress and took off her corset, keeping on only a long cambric undergown and her satin dress, which she partly buttoned up again.

  “And you, do you not feel too warm in your cashmere dress?”

  “Oh, no, see how light it is.”

  It was now Violette's turn to undo the bodice of her gown and appear in her pretty cambric chemise and with her naked feet in velvet slippers. The two globes on her breasts showed admirably under the light texture.

  “But do look at the little witch,” said the Countess. “She is not fifteen yet, and her bosom is larger than mine!”

  With this remark she slipped her hand in the opening of Violette's chemise.

  “How marvellous,” she murmured; “and the nipple is rosy, like a blonde's. Ah, little darling; that is quite the counterpart of the contrast between my fair hair and black eyebrows. Let me kiss this little nipple.”

  Violette looked about her as if she wished to ask for my leave, though she was not aware of my presence. But the mouth of the Countess was at once glued t
o her breast, and not only did she kiss the nipple, but she bit it also, gently using her tongue to good purpose the while.

  Violette could not refrain from giving expression to the pleasurable sensations which she experienced.

  “Ah! see the little imp!” said the Countess. “It is hardly come into the world, and already it seeks pleasures like a grown up woman.”

  “It is the other one's turn now, for it would be jealous if I did not kiss it too.” She took the other nipple which she sucked as she had done the first.

  “Oh, Madame, what are you doing?” said Violette.

  “Why, I caress you, sweet darling. Did you not see from the first day that I was in love with you?”

  “Can one woman be in love with another?” asked Violette, with an innocent look that would have tempted a saint, and, a fortiori, the Countess.

  “You little silly,” she replied. “That is the only good thing in the world.”

  Then in a rage with her dress: “You nasty dress! How uncomfortable it is! I will take it off, shall I not?”

  “Do as you please, Madame la Comtesse.”

  “Do not call me so respectfully 'madame la comtesse',” she cried, tearing off her dress with such impetuosity that she made the buttons fly.

  “But how shall I call you?”

  “Call me Odette; that is my nom de guerre.”

  And her only garment now being the cambric under-gown, she threw herself back on the lounging chair where Violette was reclining, buttoning up her dressing gown to protect herself from the attacks of the Countess.

  “Well, what does this mean, you little rebel?” cried the Countess. “Have you by chance taken it into your head to resist?”

  “Resist whom?”

  “Me, of course.”

  “Why should I resist you? You do not wish to hurt me, I suppose?”

  “No, just the reverse,” said the Countess, divesting her of her dressing gown. “No; I wish to give you pleasure, but then you must allow me to do all I please.”

  “But then… madame la comtesse?”

  “Odette, you mean. Call me Odette, I tell you!”

  “But when you are…”

  “Thou! not you!”

  “Well; when thou art… Oh! I shall never dare to do so.”

  “Thou!… Thou! I say,” she repeated. “Are we not good friends?”

  “Well, yes. That is to say, I am a poor working girl and you are a great lady.”

  “Well! What should that great lady do to be forgiven for being a Countess, you proud little thing? Behold, I am at your knees. Are you satisfied?”

  Indeed, the countess went down on her knees before Violette, who sat in a chair, and gently lifted her chemise in order to gaze upon certain secret charms of which she had caught a glimpse when trying on the drawers. Her eager eyes peered into the arch which her two hands formed in the cambric.

  “Oh! what lovely treasures!” she murmured. “How well made! What round thighs! What a soft skin! What marble was it that you were carved out of, dear Hebe? In Paros or Carrara? And this little black dot! Come, let me kiss it!”

  She imprinted her lips on it.

  “What a nice perfume! Why you little coquette, it is Eau de Portugal!”

  “That is Christian's favourite scent.”

  “Christian? Who's that, I should like to know?”

  “Why, he is my lover,” said Violette.

  “Your lover!… You have a lover?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that lover has had you?”

  “Well! yes.”

  “You are no longer a virgin?”

  “No.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since two days ago.”

  “Oh!!…”

  The Countess uttered a cry of rage.

  “Oh! the little fool!” she went on, “to think she gave her virginity to a man.”

  “To whom else could I give it?”

  “To me! To me! I would have given you your weight in gold for it. Ah!” said she, in a despairing tone. “I will never forgive you for this.”

  And she caught up her stays and dress as if about to dress herself again.

  “What did your lover do to you? He hurt you cruelly; dare you say he did not; dare you say he gave you pleasure!”

  “Oh yes, he did!” cried Violette.

  “That is false!”

  “Such pleasure as I never could have imagined.”

  “That is false!”

  “I thought I should have become mad with happiness.”

  “Hold your tongue!”

  “What does it matter to you?”

  “What! What does it matter to me? Why, it is so much happiness he has robbed me of. I who thought you un-defiled as yet; who wished to initiate you little by little into love's mysteries; I who would have invented for you a new pleasure every day. He polluted you with his coarse caresses! That rough skin, covered with hairs; do you mean to tell me it was pleasant to touch?”

  “Ah! Dear Christian has a skin like a woman's!”

  “Well, I see I have no chance against him! Good-bye.” And mad with rage she put on her corset.

  “Are you going away?” asked Violette.

  “What can I do here now? Nothing. You have a lover! Oh, I suspected as much directly I saw the warmth with which you took his part against me.”

  She dressed herself rapidly.

  “One more fond illusion flown away!” said she. “Ah! how unhappy to wish to uphold the dignity and pride of our sex. I expected so much pleasure with you, you wicked child! I must weep or my heart will break.”

  She fell sobbing on a chair. Her tears were so genuine, her grief so intense, that Violette got up without thinking of putting on her dressing gown, and, half naked, went in her turn to kneel before her.

  “Come, Madame la Comtesse; do not cry so,” said she.

  “What? Madame la Comtesse, again!”

  “Come, Odette, you are unjust.”

  “What, 'YOU' again?”

  “Thou art unjust.”

  “How?”

  “Could I see that you loved me?”

  “You did not see it then, when you called at my house?”

  “I suspected nothing. I was so innocent.”

  “And you are not innocent now?”

  “Not quite as much as I was,” said Violette, laughing.

  The Countess wrung her hands in despair.

  “She laughs at my grief!” cried she.

  “No, I swear I do not. I swear it!” The Countess shook her head.

  “Ah! All is over now! I could forgive, but I shall never forget! But I must not be weak. Adieu! You will never see me more! Adieu.”

  And the Countess beside herself with grief, like a lover who has just discovered the unfaithfulness of his mistress, opened the door and rushed downstairs.

  Violette waited for a moment and listened, thinking she would return; but the angry woman had indeed left for good. Violette closed the door, and turning round, perceived me at the entrance to the dressing room. She uttered a cry of surprise. I burst out laughing, and she threw herself into my arms.

  “Ah! how happy I feel now that I was not naughty!” said she.

  “Did you find it difficult?”

  “Not too much. I must confess, however, that when she kissed my bosom a kind of burning sensation went through my whole frame.”

  “So that, now, I should not have to use violence.”

  “Oh, no.”

  I took her in my arms and seated her in the lounging chair in the same position in which the Countess had placed her.

  “You told her it was my favourite scent. Will you let me try it?”

  “Ah!” murmured she, after a pause, which was more eloquent than all the speeches in the world. “She told me that you gave me no pleasure!”

  “Do you know,” said I, “that the dear Countess wore her war dress? Has she not a nom de guerre? She very actively divested herself of her stays and gown. I thought I should
see her in still more simple costume.”

  “You would have been glad of that, you naughty boy!”

  “I confess that your two bodies side by side would have formed a charming contrast.”

  “A thing you never shall see, sir.”

  “Who knows?”

  “She is gone!”

  “Nonsense, she will return.”

  “You think she will return at once?”

  “No.”

  “Did you not see how angry she was?”

  “I wager that before tomorrow morning she will write to you.”

  “Must I accept the letter if one should come?”

  “Yes; provided you let me see it.”

  “Oh! of course I shall do nothing without your consent.”

  “You promise?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Then I leave you free to act.”

  At that very moment someone tapped softly at the door, Violette knew at once it was the maid.

  My clothes were disarranged, so I ran to the dressing room.

  “Open the door,” I said.

  The maid held a letter in her hand.

  “Miss Violette,” said she, “the negro who came with the lady has just brought this for you.”

  “Does he await a reply?”

  “No, because he asked me to deliver it to you when you were alone.”

  “You know Madame Leonie, that these precautions are quite useless, and that I have nothing to conceal from M. Christian.”

  “Quite so, Miss. In any case, here is the letter.”

  Violette took it; Leonie left the room and I made my reappearance.

  “Well,” I said to her, “you see she did not even wait until tomorrow.”

  “You are truly a good prophet,” said Violette, brandishing the letter.

  Then she sat on my knee and we began reading the Countess' letter.

  CHAPTER V

  “Ungrateful child! Though, when I left you, I swore never to see you again and never to write to you even, my love for you, or rather my folly is, such that I cannot resist. Now mark me, I am rich, a widow, and free. I lived a life of misery with my husband, so I vowed eternal hatred to men, and I kept my vow. If you wish to love me, but mind, only me, I shall willingly forget that you have been sullied by man. You told me that you were not aware that I loved you. My love is such that I take your word for a justification of it-you did 'not know' and I cling to it. Ah! were you only unsullied!… But complete happiness is not to be found in this world. Therefore I am fain to take you such as my bad fortune has ordained.