Flowers and garlands have been collected from the stage. The foyer already decorated for the private audience with the cast and crew holds the bouquets in a pair of barrels extending their delicate lives as long as possible. None of the ladies in attendance will depart without at least a stem. Michel, the renowned ballet program director and the Prima hold court, smaller circles gather around the Coryphées and Sujet. The performance has proven a triumph and is destined to run for a long course across multiple theaters throughout Paris and cities beyond throughout the continent. Tonight’s performance, the last before Bastille Day, has been attended by a constellation of purveyors of the arts, Exposition Universale dignitaries in the city for the penultimate showing and those that operate, existing in their orbit. Members of the clubs throughout the city are accompanied by wives, mistresses and courtesans.
“Corinne come; I want to introduce you to Danielle!” Raquel says as she takes her friend’s hand in her own peeling her away from Jasson.
“Do not worry Jasson, I will return shortly.” Corinne smiles, her excitement growing with the Raquel’s enthusiasm.
The courtesans make their way through the people in the foyer, as they pass heads turn. Raquel’s makes eye contact with Renee, her eyes are cold as she holds her husband’s arm like a lifeline, smiling thinly, listening and nodding to the conversation without participation. Raquel ignores Renee’s intensity. In her element she comfortably returns to the life before Le Bleue. Meeting the dancers and performers is as much part of the performance as the dance. The women, accustomed to being the center of every constellation, revel in the celebration of the performers, most important Danielle. Upon sight the friends squeal with delight. The commotion brings smiles to all that are near, a gravity draws dancers and friends long missed to their circle. Renee tightens her lifeline grip rolling her eyes with a sigh loud enough to catch Marcus’s attention.
“Danielle, this is my close friend Alberto Santos-Dumont.” Raquel introduces the smartly dressed man flanked by his own entourage.
“Enchanté, your performance was a delight.” He bows low and kisses the dancer’s hand.
“Monsieur Dumont, where are you from?” Danielle asks noting his accent.
“Brazil, Rio de Janeiro. I am here for the Exposition and Le Aéronautique’s hospitality.” Smiling and nodding to both Raquel and Corinne.
“I have not yet been to the Exposition.” Danielle says.
“None of us have!” The entourage responds.
“This is the time! Sunday! Your national celebration.” He cranes his neck and waves to André Theroux.
“We will be thrilled to host. The grounds are so vast a carriage has been provided.” Emilia, André’s wife exclaims.
“We cannot, we’ve commitments.” Renee injects much to Marcus’s surprise.
“Sadly, as do I.” Corinne smiles attempting to divert Renee’s palpable dissatisfaction. If she only knew Renee holds no ill will toward her husband, only contempt for the object of his affection.
“It is settled then, Danielle, would you be my guest?” Stephane smiles rakishly with a tilt of his head.
Surprised at the pace of the conversation she happily agrees to Raquel’s delight. Danielle is intrigued by the dashing young man, seeing the exposition and spending a lavish day with her closest friend. Emilia offers to bring her sister Petra if Stephane brings his friend Alex. After the impression made at the reception, she is confident in her sister’s attendance. Raquel smiles taking Alberto’s arm thrilled that the promise made weeks prior is coming together so unexpectedly.
Caumartin Apartment
The cold discomfort of the stonecutter’s presence is constant.
‘We cannot continue to hunt the same ground.’ The stonecutter states.
“I know a place. A place that I have reason to exact a toll.” Theo states to the empty room.
‘I care not about your interest. The child? I like to finish what has been started.’ The stonecutter looks out the darkened window.
“It’s been weeks since the child has been seen.”
‘I only care we do not miss the window, again.’
“When?”
‘Lammas.’
“What is a Lammas?”
The stonecutter sighs deeply.
‘The end of the month. The first harvest.’
La Camargo