First was the interminable luncheon at which Doctor Larrey had set out to enlist Uncle Charles and some of his colleagues into service with the Imperial Guard. Seated across from Aunt Margot—as out of town guests, and relatives of Uncle Charles’, we had been invited to join the table—I watched with alarm as she devoured, with the dexterity of a sword-swallower, a steaming bowl of bouillabaisse, half a capon, an enormous plate of stewed wild boar, a salad and a raspberry tart. At five o’clock in the evening, while I was trying to decide which of my soirée gowns to wear, Uncle Charles appeared at my room at the guesthouse, his arms held open in a gesture of helplessness, to inform me that we would not be attending the ball after all because Aunt Margot was ill. Uncle Charles seemed quite concerned, which was unusual for him.
“It’s probably just indigestion, but she is complaining of a sharp pain high in her stomach, and I’ve decided to bleed her. She’s a bit warm and looks rather flushed to me.”
“I could help,” I offered, alarmed. But Uncle Charles flatly refused, taking it for granted that the sight of so much blood would upset me. He would make do with Françoise or one of the servants from the guesthouse, someone who could hold the basin for him. He told me there was no cause for alarm since the Cavents almost always died of heart maladies. He was merely taking precautions. He would keep me informed.
A short while later, when my tears had begun to dry—tears shed, in all sincerity, for Aunt Margot, but also from the disappointment of missing what was to be my first gala ball—Uncle Charles returned, quite content.
“My sister is feeling much better. She refused to let me bleed her. The indigestion has taken its proper course and the pain has vanished. I’m certain it was only gas. I did warn her. She shouldn’t eat so much. One of these days she’s going to give us a real scare.” Françoise, Aunt Margot’s maidservant, poked her red head through the half-opened door.
“Henriette, your Aunt wishes to see you. And you as well, Doctor Cavent.”
Much to my surprise, Aunt Margot was out of bed, holding a candle up to peer at her tongue in the mirror of the armoire. Upon seeing us enter, she straightened her ample dressing gown and turned around.
“My tongue doesn’t look nearly as bad as you said,” she said to Uncle Charles. “Doctors always exaggerate. Just imagine, he wanted to bleed me!”
“You should be in bed.”
“I feel perfectly fine. Nothing hurts anymore. And anyway, I’ve moved my bowels again. You may see for yourself, if you wish,” she said, waving her arm vaguely in the direction of the folding screen that obscured one corner of the room. “Well, Henriette, don’t just stand there like a statue. It’s getting late, my dear. Don’t you think it’s high time you got dressed for the ball? If you arrive too late there’ll be no one left to ask you to dance. As it is, you’re quite tall for your age, which intimidates the young officers. And you, Uncle Charles, you should be quite finished inspecting the fruits of my intestines. Follow Henriette out, and go change your uniform. You’ve got a sauce stain on your sleeve. Or is it shit?” she said, laughing. “You should take a cue from Doctor Larrey, who is always dressed to the nines.”
“So . . . you’re really feeling all better?” I asked her, taking the candle so that Françoise could help her into bed.
“We should stay, Margot,” said Uncle Charles. “We’ll have dinner together here in your room. That way at least I can be sure that you only have a bit of broth.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Charles. You’re dying to capture some pretty little heart before marching off to war with that Emperor of yours. I’ve already told you, I feel perfectly fine. And anyway, I have Françoise, who fusses over me as though I were made of whipped cream. She’s reading me my favorite novel. Oh, what a rascal, that Valmont! Ah, those were the days!” she sighed. “Enough! To the dance! It’s getting late.”
And so the night had begun. While Uncle Charles went to the hospital to put on his dress uniform, I kissed Aunt Margot goodbye and went to my room to get dressed. In a flurry, I threw open the armoire door and pulled out the first gown that I saw. I did my hair the best I could, powdered my nose, dashed on a few drops of perfume, covered my shoulders with a shawl, put my fan in my purse and went downstairs to wait for Uncle Charles. I had no inkling that, with the same ease with which a child paints a square, a door, two windows and a smoking chimney, my life was about to open up into a new space, into that place of refuge that I would share with Robert.
By the second waltz I had already sunk irremediably into those Levantine eyes. I was astonished that he stayed by my side, that he hadn’t returned me to the green silk sofa where he’d found me. Drenched in sweat, we took turns fanning ourselves, waiting for the military band to start up again and give us an excuse to draw our bodies near once more. Two or three times I glanced about for Uncle Charles, but, grateful for his promotion to Surgeon General, he had reserved his full attention for Doctor Larrey. I was soon holding my second glass of champagne. Then, Robert grazed my lips with the back of his hand and I lost count. Three? Four? Then he said the name of a certain Madame Polidor, recently arrived from Saint-Domingue, and I found myself looking at a fascinating woman with a languid smile and bronzed shoulders. I noted that she spoke familiarly with Robert and it occurred to me that perhaps she had once been his lover, although she was quite a bit older than him. After complaining of the heat and asking us if we weren’t tired of dancing, she invited us to her house to listen to gypsy music.
“I came with my Uncle, Doctor Cavent. We should be leaving soon,” I said quickly, determined not to shirk my duties as a niece.
But everything happened in such an effortless way that, a short while later, while the musicians played an old-fashioned minuet and Robert was leading me to a chair, it was Uncle Charles himself who, arm in arm with Madame Polidor, said that it was only ten o’clock and we should accept the invitation and enjoy some gypsy songs and violin music, of which he was quite fond.
“In that case, it would be best if Robert went with you,” she said, looking at me with amusement. “My house is not easy to find at night. I am so pleased that you’ll come. I’ve invited only a small group,” she added, and, raising her hand to her temple, she turned toward my uncle. “Please forgive my rudeness, Doctor Cavent. The atrocities I witnessed in Saint-Domingue have left me with no manners whatsoever. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Robert Renaud, a good friend to whom I owe a great deal. Among other things, he has helped me organize my modest salon.”
“Charles-Henri Cavent, Surgeon General with the Imperial Guard, at your service,” said my uncle. “Do you serve with Field Marshall Lannes, by any chance?”
“Yes, in the 9th Hussar regiment, stationed at Etaples. I am in Boulogne as an official adjunct to the General Staff.”
“Ah, I do believe I’ve heard tell of you,” said Uncle Charles, winking one of his sparkling blue eyes. “Yes. Very good, very good. We’ll give a sound drubbing to the Austrian. We’ll take Vienna, you’ll see. I’d be delighted if you’d accompany us this evening.”
Suddenly I knew that I was set on a new course. All the old things were already behind me: the little town of Foix with its three towers, Aunt Margot’s château on the banks of the Ariège, the works of La Fontaine and Madame de La Fayette, games with the gardener’s daughters, village festivals, embroidery, picnics in the forest glade where I would talk to the fairies, happy trips with Aunt Margot to Toulouse and Carcassonne, studying