The Romance of Violette

ODETTE.”

Violette looked at me and we both laughed.

“Well” I said to her; “it is clear she does not mince matters.”

“She is mad!”

“Yes. Mad with love for you, that's as plain as a pikestaff. What shall you do?”

“Why, I shall not reply.”

“No such thing. You must reply.”

“What for?”

“Why, you would not like to be responsible for her death?”

“Ah, Monsieur Christian, you wish to see the Countess in a state of nature!”

“But you know very well that she hates men!”

“Yes, but you will make her like them.”

“Now, hark you little Violette, if you do not like it…”

“No. Only promise me one thing.”

“What's that?”

“You will not make complete love to her.”

“What do you mean by complete love?”

“I allow you to use your eyes, your hands, your tongue even! But I keep the other thing for myself.”

“I swear it!”

“On what?”

“On our love. And now let us think of her ladyship's letter. The situation which she offers you is not to be despised.”

“I leave you? Never! You may dismiss me from your home; you may send me adrift. Since I came to you of my own accord, you have a perfect right to do so. But I would rather die than leave you.”

“Then let us say nothing more about it.”

“Then we must find some other means.”

“I think so too. You must write this.”

“What?”

“Take the pen.”

“Never mind. The Countess would willingly pay a louis for each of your mispelt words.”

“Then, if I write twenty-five lines, it will cost her twenty-five louis?”

“Never you mind. Now write away.”

“-il write.” Violette took the pen and thus wrote from my dictation:

“Madame la Comtesse:

“I fully understand that a life such as you offer me would be happiness; but I have been too hasty, and if my present life is not happiness, I have at least found some tinge of it in the arms of the man I love. I would not leave him for any consideration in the world. He would perhaps be soon reconciled to my loss, for they say that men are changeful; but as for me, I know that I should henceforth live in sorrow.

“I am grieved to give you such a reply. You have been so good to me that I love you with all my heart, and if we were not kept apart by social distinctions, I should wish to be your friend; though I can understand that you would not much care to have for your friend a woman you would have liked for a mistress.

“In any case, whether I see you again or not, I shall ever keep in my remembrance the sensations which I experienced, the kiss that you imprinted on my bosom and the impression of your breath when your mouth touched my body. When I think of that kiss, I close my eyes and sigh-I feel happy… I ought not to mention this for it looks very much like a confession. But I do not speak now to the beautiful Countess; I speak to my dear Odette!” and I added, still dictating:

“Your little Violette, who has given away her heart, but keeps her soul for you!”

“No,” said Violette, throwing down her pen. “I cannot write that!”

“Why?”

“Because my heart and my soul are yours. Perhaps you do not wish them to be so any longer; but I cannot take them away from you now.”

“Ah! my darling!”

I took her in my arms and kissed her again and again.

“Ah!” said I. “I would give all the countesses in the world for one of those fine hairs which stick to my moustache when-”

Violette put her hand on my lips. It was not the first time that I have noticed that, like refined natures, she would allow me to do anything, enjoyed it too, but had an instinctively chaste ear.

I often found this delicate anomaly among women who have inquisitive eyes, a ready mouth, sensual olfactory nerves, and clever hands.

“Well,” she asked, “what are you going to do with this letter?”

“I shall send it to the Countess.”

“Through the post or by messenger?”

“If you wish to have an answer tonight, send a messenger.”

“She will not reply.”

“The Countess not reply! Nonsense! She is fairly hooked on now, and cannot withdraw.”

“Send it by messenger then. You cannot realize how much all this affair amuses me. I am impatient for an answer.”

“I am going to send it. I have company tonight at my house, and shall be here at nine o'clock. Should a letter come, do not reply before I arrive.”

“I will not even open it.”

“That would really be asking too much of you.”

“You can ask anything except asking me to love you no more!”

“Then I shall be here at nine,” said I, with a couple of kisses.

“I shall expect you.”

I closed her lips with a third kiss and left the room.

At the corner of the Rue Vivienne I met a commission-naire and gave him the letter with the necessary instructions.

I was so impatient to see the answer that at a quarter of nine I made my appearance at the Rue Neuve Saint Augustin.

Violette came to me with a letter in her hand.

“You cannot reproach me with being late,” said I, pointing to the clock.

“Is it for me or for the Countess that you made so much haste?” said Violette, laughing.

I took the letter and put it into my pocket.

“Well! What are you doing?”

“That's all right. We have plenty of time to read it; we can open it tomorrow morning.”

“Why not before tomorrow morning?”

“So that you may foe sure that I come for you and not for the Countess.”

Violette threw her arms round my neck.

“Do I know how to kiss well?” she asked.

“No one could do it better.”

“It was you who taught me.”

“Just as I taught you that the tongue is not only used for speech.”

“But mine has not been used as yet for any other purpose, except the part it takes in kissing.”

“The countess will show you that it can be employed in other ways.”

“Let us read the letter.”

“You wish it?”

“I beg of you.”

“Well, wait till nine o'clock.”

“Ah! you know,” said she, “if you put your hand there, I shall never hear the clock strike.”

“I think we had better read the letter at once then.”

We were both very eager to be acquainted with the contents of the letter, so I broke the seal and read as follows:

“Dear Little Violette:

“I do not know whether the letter I received from you was penned by you, or whether it was dictated to you, but if it is really yours, truly you are a little imp. On leaving you at three o'clock I vowed I would not write to you. On receiving your letter I vowed again I would never see you more, and I read half of it while protesting that I would not break my vow. But lo! your-style is quite altered in the second part of the letter, you little imp. You now speak of the sensations you experienced. At the very first word the veil which I had thrown upon my recollections is torn aside. I see you lying on the couch. I am now pressing to my lips the rosebud of your breast which meets my mouth half way. I can now hold your letter with one hand only. My eyes are getting dim!

“How foolish I am! I can now do nothing else but murmur your name and repeat: 'Violette, you ungrateful little flower which brought me so much sorrow, such as you are, I long for you… I must have you… I love you.”

“But no, it is not true I hate you, I will not see you again; and I curse my hand, over which I had no longer any control. I curse the passion which guides it! I take up again the letter which slipped out of my fingers as they clung to the pillow of my couch. I read that line where you recall the sensation of my breath on your form; I see that dark and perfumed spot for which I longed, and on which I was about to imprint my lips, when one single word… But I do not hear now what you said; I do not remember now; I will not remember; all my memory is in my eyes. Heavens! what beautiful thighs! what a splendid form! How pretty must be all that I could not see!… And now for the second time… No, I will not. I am mad! for tomorrow I should be ashy pale; I should look ugly! Ah! you pitiless charmer! No; I will not do it! Violette, your mouth… your bosom… your… Oh, gracious! When shall I see you again?

Your own,