food.
A few minutes later, Julia entered the studio, immaculately dressed and made up. She smiled at him and their hands found one another.
“And, my darling, did you find whatever you needed in my bachelor household?” Michael smiled.
“Oh, yes, everything… and then some.”
Michael blushed.
“I must tell you something,” Julia continued. “My heart was dead when I entered your home this morning. And now that I am leaving it is alive again, full of hope and love.”
“Do you have to leave?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But I can't wait till we see each other again.”
“Darling, we have only known each other one week, but we have become one. I know that I belong to you, and that you belong to me. But all I know is that you are Madcap. Please, tell me your name.”
“The world knows me as Donna Jose de Corriero, and some still remember me when I was the Viscountess Saniska. But for you, darling, I am Julia.”
And at the same moment, all the plans which had been hatched for the house in the Rue Charles V were forgotten. Julia was in love, deeply in love, and she had decided to bare her heart to the man to whom she had already given her body to the fullest extent possible.
“Oh, Julia, you have made me happy with your confession. But why, my dear child, do you have to leave? Stay with me for the night.”
“No, I have given orders to be picked up at the station at ten o'clock, and my servants think that I went to see my sister who lives in the country. No! no! I have to be there on time.”
“Fine, then let's see what Jonathan has cooked up for us.”
Just at that moment Jonathan entered to announce that a repast had been served. He saw that Julia looked as immaculate as if she had just come out of the hands of her chambermaid. And his master talked to her as if she were a patron who had come to order some paintings.
“Oh, well,” he thought when he left the studio, “these people of the world seem to enjoy faking it. If it gives them their jollies, who am I to say something about it. But, if I had not looked through the keyhole and seen for myself that they were screwing their hearts out, I would-never have guessed.”
Meanwhile Julia and Michael were doing honor to Jonathan's cooking.
“You said, darling,” Michael began, “that your heart was dead when you entered this home. Would it be possible to tell me a little bit more about yourself? Don't you think that I deserve your trust? Surely you have loved and suffered, of that I am sure. And you could no longer believe that happiness was possible for you. Am I right?”
“You are close enough.”
“Would you mind telling me the details?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“I don't want lurid details, but I feel a little possessive toward you, and I have great plans for the future. I would not want to start off with misunderstandings. Tell me about your husband: was he young or old, did you love him?”
“He was seventy-eight…”
“Seventy-eight,” Michael exploded, and an icy hand gripped around his heart. This beautiful creature had given herself to a senile old man in exchange for money and a title? Maybe the old man had been very poor… desperately Michael tried to create a thousand excuses, but the word seventy-eight stuck in his throat like the bone of a fish.
Julia noticed his consternation and she continued. “He died two years ago, and I will honor his memory forever, because he was a dear and fatherly friend, as good a friend as any girl could wish for.”
“A father? A friend?” Michael asked.
“Yes! A father,” Julia emphasized.
“Nothing more?”
“No, nothing more.”
But suddenly Julia understood. She could read Michael's mind as if it were an open book, and her eyes blazed.
“Do you think… oh! This thought is disgusting and insulting!”
“Why, darling?”
“Because you think that I belonged to him, and shared his bed!”
“Well, till now I have always believed that a man takes himself a wife so that he can go to bed with her.”
“It so happened that this was not the case of Don Jose de Corriero, and if you care to listen, you doubting Thomas, I shall tell you about my life.”
“Oh, a general confession.”
“If you want to call it that.”
“Well, my dear penitent, I promise complete absolution beforehand.” Michael's tone was light and airy, because he did not want a repeat of Julia's sudden temper flare-up. “Sit down next to me, my daughter, and explain to me how it was that you had a husband who was only a father and friend but, still, managed to lack that which distinguishes an innocent virgin from an experienced woman.”
“I'll confess, dear Father.” Julia fell into the game. She lowered herself and sat between his thighs, her head resting in his lap.
“Now I understand why so many father confessors get into trouble,” Michael jokingly said, to make it easier for Julia to begin. “And, my dear Madcap Julia, I promise you that I will reward your confession with one of mine.”
She told him about her early life with Aunt Briquart who had raised her and her sister, Florentine as if they were own children. How her sister, Florentine had married the only relative of the Colonel, Aunt Briquart's late husband, and how she, shuddering at the thought of becoming an old, rich man's wife, had given herself to the young and dashing Count Saski. How she had become his mistress, and how his Aunt Athena who in faraway Poland held the purse strings had forced him to marry Lady Wilhelmina Soustbacka. Then she told him about the fatherly help she had from General Don Jose de Corriero and how she and the old man had taken care of Don Jose's dearly beloved mistress, the Baroness de Sambreval. She talked about her sorrows, her dashed hopes and about the great help of Don Jose's unwavering friendship. How, when death neared, he had wanted to make her his heir, and had done so by asking her hand in marriage. She talked about everything, except one. She never mentioned her wild night with the Count de Paliseul. It certainly had slipped her mind.
“And what have you been doing these past two years?”
“These past two years, was the evasive answer, “I have been waiting for my heart to heal, and for the confirmation that I was still desirable and capable of making love. And all three have happened today. I could sing Hallelujah! And that, dear Father Michael, is my confession. If I have forgotten a few details, they will undoubtedly pop up during our future conversations.”
“No, my dearest child, on the contrary. We shall definitely forget them. Close the pages of that book, and start out on a new life.”
“Do I have to say, 'mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa'?”
“No, my precious, because you are blameless. You have loved, and you have believed. If you had had any doubts, you would not have been in love. Go in peace. I not only absolve your heart from all sin, but my love and respect for you have enormously grown. You are the woman of my dreams, and I know that together we shall be very happy. Go in peace, my child!”
“And now, dear sir,” Julia said, getting up from her knees, “it is your turn.”
Michael had nothing of importance to confess. He had fallen in and out of love with more mistresses than he could remember, always searching for that feeling which now held him in its grip. He told about his youth, his young manhood, his desire to become an artist, and his father's-General Lompret's-disappointment that he did not wish to follow a military career.
At ten o'clock they were at the North Railway station in Paris, and Michael did not leave till he saw the equipage draw up in front of the station to pick up Julia. He watched the carriage disappear in the distance, and
