The Magician's Wife by Brian Moore Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t wake you earlier,’ the old maid said. ‘The doctor advised that you be allowed to rest.’
    ‘Was the doctor here?’
    ‘Yes, with your husband, Madame. They looked in some time ago. Monsieur is dining now. He said he will come to see you before the concert this evening. How is Madame? Are you feeling better?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said. But she did know. The nausea had passed. She no longer felt cold. The sickening sights of that afternoon were now a memory. I’m well, but if I’m to be allowed to go home, I mustn’t say so.
    ‘Thank you for the tisane, Françoise.’
    ‘Rest now, Madame.’
     
    When next she woke it was to find her husband kneeling by her bedside, stroking her hand. And at once, looking at his worried face, she saw that side of him she could not ignore: despite his self-absorption, his inability to understand her loneliness, her boredom, despite his inordinate ambition, he loved her.
    ‘How are you, darling?’
    How can I lie to him?
    ‘Better,’ she said.
    ‘I can’t forgive myself. I didn’t know what had happened until I came back here after the shooting party. I looked for you at the game tally and when they said you’d already gone back I admit I thought you’d done it to spite me. Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I should have taken better care of you.’
    ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t watch those animals being killed.’
    ‘Well, at least, now, we know what to do,’ he said. ‘They will be having a stag hunt on Saturday and afterwards there’s some sort of hunting ceremony. I’ll speak to Deniau. We will make your excuses.’ He got up from his kneeling position. ‘And I have good news, darling. You and I and Deniau are to be received in private audience by the Emperor on Friday. So we can relax and have a pleasant holiday until then. I hear we’re to have a theatrical evening tomorrow. The Théâtre Français, no less. Let’s hope you’re well enough to enjoy it.’ He bent over her and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep now. Good night.’

Chapter 3
    The court theatre, large as any in Paris, was lit by thousands of wax candles, creating a brilliant, romantic glow, which set off the jewels and gowns of the ladies in the audience. The Imperial Loge, designed in the shape of a shell, reached from the first tier of boxes to the last seats of the parquet. Their Majesties’ seats were in the centre of the Loge with lady guests and the most important gentlemen of rank placed beside and behind them. Other gentlemen sat in the parterre and circulated throughout the theatre between the acts. In addition to the Emperor’s guests a large house party from a neighbouring château had been invited to fill out the audience.
    Now, in a sudden hush of conversation, the Empress appeared in the Imperial Loge, followed by the Emperor, smiling, his fingers touching the long ends of his waxed moustache. At sight of Their Majesties everyone rose, ladies curtsying, gentlemen bowing. Their Majesties bowed in response. The Master of Ceremonies gave the signal and at once the curtain rose. The scenery had been brought in from Paris. The principal actors were the great Coquelin, Madeleine Brohan, and Madame Favard, all members of the Théâtre Français.
    Emmeline, wearing the most beautiful of her West gowns, sat in the second tier of boxes. Looking around her, she was enchanted by the setting, the jewels, the gowns, the sense that, despite her feelings of hostility, this evening would be one of the great occasions of her life. Almost from the moment the play began, she was caught up in the story enacted on stage. Coquelin and Madeleine Brohan became for her the living incarnation of the characters they played. The play itself was moving: she wept, her lace handkerchief wet, as she watched the story unfold. At the entracte , her husband and Colonel Deniau joined her in the box. They too seemed transformed by the evening. Even Lambert, to whom a theatrical performance had