The Oracle Glass by Judith Merkle Riley Read Free Book Online Page A

flourish, “the gateway to the adored, the artisan of my happiness—or despair—Mademoiselle Geneviève, may I present to you two of the companions of my life’s journey: this honest-looking fellow in the threadbare coat is Jean-Baptiste Gillet, better known by his imprimatur as the Griffon. He is soon to grow celebrated as the publisher of my collected works, when I have written them.” The tall fellow with the droll face bowed by way of an answer.
    â€œNow, this soberly clad fellow beside him is neither a widower nor a Jansenist divine, but Florent d’Urbec, called Cato the Censor by those who know him best. He understands everything and approves of nothing. He believes in the universal applicability of the geometric method of proof, applying it equally to the fortunes of the state, the playing of cards, and the courting of young women.”
    The dark-haired young man in the ill-fitting provincial suit bowed deeply, with a flourish of his untrimmed, broad-brimmed hat.
    â€œThe geometric method?” I asked, somewhat taken aback.
    â€œIt is irrefutable,” he announced, staring at me with impudent, intelligent black eyes. “From the geometric method, I intend to create a universal science of prediction.” He had a fiercely aquiline nose, intense, serious brows, and black curls that fell about his ears in anarchic disarray, as if he had simply clipped them off himself with scissors to save the cost of a barber. But it was his smile that annoyed me most: a wicked, lazy, arrogant smile, as if he were the only clever person in the world. I’ll show him, I thought.
    â€œOh, are you Cato?” I addressed the arrogant young man. “Author of Observations on the Health of the State ? I’d always imagined you to be a gouty old gentleman.”
    â€œMademoiselle, it is a mark of the frivolity of the times that you should imagine only the elderly capable of seriousness of purpose,” he said, mocking me with his dark eyes. I was furious at his condescension.
    â€œBut really,” I said aloud, “do you think it appropriate to argue so consistently by analogy to the body in the case of an entity so very different in composition as the state? For example, the functions of the heart as discovered by the Englishman, Monsieur Harvey, are not at all those previously attributed to—” Monsieur Lamotte drew back and stared at me as if he had discovered a viper underneath his pillow.
    â€œHa, Lamotte, you’ve found another learned lady. I thought you were done with précieuses ,” the Griffon broke in.
    â€œMonsieur Gillet, I am no précieuse , for I call everything by its right name and not by flowery disguises, Monsieur printer of scurrilous pamphlets.”
    â€œPlease, Mademoiselle, you have wounded me. I spread enlightenment.” Griffon put his hand on his breast.
    â€œThe Sign of the Reading Griffon? Supposedly printed in The Hague? The griffon of The Hideous Crimes of the Abbé Mariette ? The Unspeakable Acts of the Possessed Sisters of Loudon ? And La Putaine Errante ? Those you call enlightenment? Surely, then, it is you that is the précieux .” D’Urbec turned and looked at me appreciatively, then looked back at his friend, the printer, and laughed.
    â€œSo, Gillet, you must cry ‘ touché! ’ She has caught you fair, this excessively well-read little lady!” exclaimed Cato as he clapped the Griffon on the shoulder. “And you, poor friend, I see by your eyes you fear the divine sister may also be corrupted by the possession of a mind. Consider this, my friend—honest speech is to be commended in a woman, it being the rarest of feminine virtues.” He folded his arms and looked me up and down with a sarcastic eye. I glared at him. He saw my glare and laughed again. “Mademoiselle, I must inform you that an intelligent woman has the key to my heart. Especially one who has, of her own