went home. At two the next morning he finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“And when will we see each other again,” he had asked, just before Julia went toward the carriage.
“At my home, when I receive guests.”
“Fine! But that is not enough!”
“Of course not. If you would like to come to the little chapel of St. John in Montmorency Forest, I will be there at ten in the morning.”
“And what if it rains?”
“Then you can expect me to knock at your door.”
When the day drew near, Michael prayed for the worst weather Paris had ever known. He wished it to rain cats and dogs, but unfortunately the sky was cloudless, the sun brilliant, and the breeze warm.
“Stupid sun,” the young man exclaimed, “have you no heart at all?”
But at ten o'clock he was near the chapel, and his heart quickened when he saw Julia. She was happy about the beautiful weather, and enchanted that her newfound friend had come all the way to stroll with her through the woods.
Even though Michael would have infinitely preferred to have Julia in his home behind locked doors, he enjoyed the idea of a stroll in the woods and a picnic later.
Unfortunately, the young man had not counted on the wiles of mother nature. Normally, Michael was rather shy and chaste. He would only fall in raptures when the woman inflamed his artistic nature first. It had very seldom happened that he went out to look for a woman simply to get rid of a physical need. Now that he was in love, it was impossible to control himself. He noticed the effect first when he kissed the hand Julia held out for him.
“For God's sake, Julia, don't look at me that way.”
“Why?”
“I am about to commit a crime.”
“What?”
“Please, don't ask me!”
“You scare me. I want to know. What crime?”
“Despite all these people walking here, despite the policemen who are riding around on their horses, I am going to rape you in the first clearing I see!”
“What gets you so excited all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden? Darling, all I really want to do is hop in bed with you. I cursed this beautiful weather this morning, because I had hoped to hold you in my arms all day and night. But you can trust me, darling. No matter how much I want to throw you down in the first clearing, I shall contain myself. I do not wish to ruin something which is so beautiful-namely, our relationship.
“But please, please, darling,” he pleaded, “come home with me to Paris tonight.”
“Your home?”
“Yes!”
“And what would the venerable Jonathan say to that?”
“Him? I would tell him to keep his mouth shut!”
“And if anybody would see me enter at such a late hour. What would people think?”
“If you care about that, my darling, I will tell them that I am painting your portrait. I won't tell them that like the labors of Penelope, I shall never finish it. Please, Julia, you do love me, don't you?”
“Of course, my big boy. And to prove it to you, I am going to do something terribly silly.”
“Now you are making sense.”
“But, dearest Michael, you must give me your solemn promise that you not remember tomorrow what is going to happen tonight!”
“I promise anything, darling. What is your plan?”
“You go back to Paris, as you planned. But be in front of St. Paul's church at nine o'clock.”
“The one in the Marais district?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“You'll see… or are you afraid?”
“I am only afraid never to see you again.”
“I swear to you that I will pick you up.”
“Then I will go now and practice patience.”
Nine o'clock. The sonorous bells rang out the time, and Michael was standing on the steps of the church, his heart pounding. At the same time a simple cab halted, and a heavily veiled woman came out, walking toward him. He ran toward her, grabbed her hands.
“Well, is this punctual enough?”
“I thought it would never become nine!”
“Come,” she said, taking his arm. She led him through a series of dark and dank little streets.
“Where on earth are you taking me in this God forsaken neighborhood?”
“Why there,” and Julia took a little key from her pocket, opening a heavy gate.
They were in a huge garden.
“Wow! You seem to know your way around here!”
“Possibly.”
They crossed the garden and soon, as the reader undoubtedly has guessed, they were at the foot of the huge stairs which led to the mansion on the Rue Charles V. The lanterns were burning but there was no servant in sight.
“It seems to me as if we are in a magic palace,” Michael finally said.
“Yes, we are in a palace of love.”
“That's right, because we are here.”
Suddenly, as if she had come out of the ground, Dorothy stood in front of her mistress. “Oh, it's you Madame,” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, and what is so surprisingly about that? I did not expect you to be here. Why are you?”
“Madame Evergreen asked me. Do you want me to leave?”
“No. Light my room and help me dress.”
Dorothy disappeared and a few minutes later Michael Lompret found himself in the boudoir of Madame Pomegranate Flower, being the first to see her without her mask.
He was too much of an artist not to notice the almost lascivious-though extremely tasteful-decorations of the place.
It would be untrue to state that he was happier here than in his own studio, which was simple compared to the sumptuous surroundings of the little palace on the Rue Charles V. Something had been added, though.
He no longer was confronted by a woman who desired nothing but to be subdued. He found a female who gave herself freely, enthusiastically, who screamed at the peak of her highest lust, who squirmed, kissed and bit, who was well versed in every possible passionate position, whose body was feverish with lascivious desire and who knew precisely what to do to make a man drunk with lust and love.
Upon the big bear rug in front, and later upon the blankets of the enormous bed, Michael Lompret went through a battle of love such as he had never experienced in all his born days. Protected by heavy walls, secure in the knowledge that there would be no possible distraction, the refined comfort, and an enchanting beautiful woman… who could possibly have said that Michael Lompret was not the happiest man in the world.
He was barely alone with his girl friend, had barely satisfied his curiosity glancing around the rooms they went through when Michael again felt the same desire which had so unexpectedly taken hold of his senses that morning in the forest. And, to be perfectly honest, Julia had similar desires.
