The Porcelain Dove by Delia Sherman Read Free Book Online Page A

ordinary, and furthermore, mignonne, when we showed him your portrait, he seemed quite bouleversé, declared he'd never seen anything so exquisite in his life, and desires me to tell you that he lives only to make you his own."
    Here madame fell silent, and both parents looked upon their youngest daughter, who was biting on her under-lip, her chocolate cup still clutched in one trembling hand. Doucette woke, pricked up her ears and began to whine gently. I stood frozen by the dressing-screen, entirely unable even to relieve my mistress of her cup. To be sure, 'twas no more than I'd expected. But to hear my future master thus coldly presented, point by point like an expensive horse—well, 'twas at once not enough and too much to comprehend.
    M. du Fourchet, seeing his daughter's blank dismay, hemmed angrily.
    "Well, my girl, have you nothing to say? A brilliant marriage proposed and you as dumb as a stone? You don't intend to be difficult, I hope? That would be a fine return for all our care of you, it would indeed!"
    "Now, my dear M. du Fourchet, do calm yourself and let Adèle be silent if she wishes. Recollect that we have descended upon her before she is risen from her bed, and that she has had no thought of such a thing as marriage before this very minute."
    "Nonsense, my dear! Girl didn't fall to earth in the last rain, after all. Of course she's thought of marriage. Girls think of nothing else—look at her sisters, chattering on about their husbands and their jewels like a pair of magpies. She'd have to be deaf and dumb not to think of marriage. Hmph, yes, indeed."
    Madame's face sharpened. "Never mind monsieur your father, mignonne," she said sweetly. "Men never understand these things. You'll thank us in the end, you know. M. de Malvoeux is a duc. Youhave my word that he is also handsome, cultivated, and a great favorite at the baron de Holbach's salon. The marriage-contract will be signed tomorrow, and the wedding will take place in four weeks' time. Be a sensible girl now, and give your mother a kiss."
    Like a cat stooping on a mouse, Mme du Fourchet bent forward to embrace her daughter, and the chocolate cup coming between them slopped its lukewarm contents over Doucette, the counterpane, and the fine blond lace on madame's bosom. There was much barking and exclaiming and ringing for cold water, after which madame and monsieur took their leave. When the door shut upon them, mademoiselle my mistress began to weep and, despite my best and tenderest efforts, was unable to stop until it was nearly time to dress for dinner.

CHAPTER THE SECOND
    In Which Mademoiselle Comes to Woman's Estate
    Writing of my youth and Port Royal, I all but exhausted the crystal inkpot. This morning when I opened it again, the nestling's belly was full to the throat and my pen as sharp and clean as though 'twere newly plucked. Colette followed me to the library with a glass of wine, which she set at my elbow with a wink that has very nearly stemmed my flow of words altogether, saying that I must not think too much of her as I write—what she may or may not know, what she may or may not want to read. This is not a gown, after all, to be cut and trimmed to a client's taste. This is a history. It contains the truth. And if some of it is painful to write or to read about, well, then: that is the nature of truth and of history both.
    I was writing of my mistress' betrothal.
    On the morning after the marriage-contract was signed, Mme du Fourchet sent up word that M. de Malvoeux was expected to dine, and would Mlle Adèle be dressed by noon, and not in that hideous rose de Grecque sacque that made her look quite thirty, whatever monsieur her father thought. Immediately the page delivered the message, mademoiselle was out of bed so suddenly that Doucette, who'd been curled asleep upon her pillow, was startled into a volley of shrill barks.
    "Oh,
hush
, Doucette, do," cried my mistress, and slapped the little spaniel on her nose. "Noon, and it's