“Your Lordship is joking.”
“Not at all, Dorothy and as proof of my admiration, here are ten gold pieces.”
“Your Lordship is too good. For this amount I am entirely at your service.”
“I thank you, dear girl, but I wouldn't want to abuse your hospitality.”
The ladies got what they asked for and, when Maxim had finished they practically rolled on the floor with laughter. Especially when they heard that de Paliseul seriously thought about consulting a doctor for the insane.
Do we have to say that this pleasant evening ended with Maxim's eager lips between Florentine's shuddering thighs?
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Archaeologists insist that the castle of La Bidouze was built in the early twelfth century.
It is nestled halfway into the mountains and it rules the river and the valley beneath it. From a distance it gives the impression of an enormous eagle's nest.
The parents of Don Jose de Corriero had lived and loved here; their son was born and brought up in the old castle, and his bones were now resting in the chapel with those of his parents and forebears.
From the outside, the building looked stern and foreboding. Generations of owners seemed to have concentrated on the interior of the castle. It was loaded with antiques: furniture, tapestries, paintings, and the library contained books that would have caused much mouth watering among librarians.
Julia waited impatiently for the arrival of her lover, not only because her body cried out for him, but also because she wanted to create some order into the accumulation of generations of her late husband's forebears. She was therefore terribly disappointed when, instead of her beloved Michael, a letter arrived from him, informing her that an old aunt of his was on her deathbed. As tenderly as possible the young artist wrote that he loved the old lady dearly and, though he missed Julia terribly, he had to go to Nimes and see his aunt before she died. He begged her to understand and promised to join her in a couple of days.
Julia, who now had nothing else to do but wait for her lover's arrival, undertook various short trips through her new domain.
Then, unexpectedly, the caretaker of the castle died in a hunting accident. He left his little eight-year-old daughter behind. The poor child's mother had died in childbirth, so Julia decided to take care of the girl.
She had already noticed that no one in particular took any notice of the child, and made up her mind that she would take the girl with her to Paris.
“I have no children of my own,” she told Dorothy. “I am rich, and I owe it to the child to see that she gets a good education.”
“Madame is right,” Dorothy answered. “If nobody takes care of this little tomboy, she will come to no good.”
Julia took care of the little girl as if she were her own. Of course, the memory of her own youth, and the excellent care she had received from Aunt Briquart, may also have played a role. The girl took to her immediately, and she followed Julia like a shadow.
One day, when they returned from one of their excursions, they saw a little boy sitting along the side of the road. It seemed that the child was very ill. He could have been at the most only twelve years old.
Julia got out of the carriage, asking him what was the matter.
“I am hungry.”
“Poor child,” Julia said. “Claire give the boy your breakfast, and then run inside to get Dorothy.”
“What's your name?”
“Pedro.”
“Are you Spanish?”
“I think so.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
“And where do you live?”
“Nowhere.”
“How did you get here?”
“They put me in an orphanage.”
“And?”
“I didn't like it.”
The boy sized up this beautiful lady and he obviously decided that he could give her a little bit more information.
“I ran across the border, and I've been begging ever since.”
“All by yourself?”
“Yes, and now I'm sick.”
Julia looked at the boy. He was good looking, well developed for his age, though he was rather skinny. But with proper care and feeding, he promised to become one of those beautiful types which have made the men and women of Andalusia famous all over Europe. Meanwhile Dorothy had arrived and in a few short words Julia told her what she had heard. The women decided to keep the boy at La Bidouze, at least till he had recuperated from his illness which Dorothy quickly diagnosed as plain starvation.
She also decided that the boy needed a good hot bath and plenty of scrubbing with lots of soap and water. When that was done they donned him in Spanish clothing which looked very good on him. In a few days Pedro and little Claire were the best of friends.
“If Michael wants it,” Julia said, “he can do the same for Pedro as I am doing for Claire, and maybe the two children can get married when they have reached the proper age.”
And, since they could not make a decision for Pedro till Michael showed up, the boy stayed at the castle.
The days came and went, almost every one of them brought a passionate letter from Michael, but the story was basically the same. His dear aunt kept hovering between life and death; she did not want her beloved nephew to leave, and it seemed that patience was about the only thing Michael and Julia would be able to exercise.
Julia took her new mother role very seriously-she taught the child to read and write, and to have good manners. One can imagine her fury when, one day, she discovered her adopted daughter on her back in the grass, her little legs spread, allowing Pedro to examine her very carefully. His main interest was in his little companion's lower belly where his fingers were probing with an expertness one would not expect from a little boy barely twelve years old.
The children were so absorbed in their game that they did not notice the arrival of Julia and Dorothy. Julia put her fingers on her lips and with a few quick steps, she suddenly stood in front of the startled children. She yanked Claire by one arm, brushing the girl's skirts down, while Pedro tried to run away.
“Here, boy!” Dorothy jumped forward and grabbed him. “What are you two doing there! I'll sure ask Madame to punish you severely!”
“Pedro wanted it,” the little girl cried.
“That does not mean you have to give it, young lady. And Dorothy is going to teach you that from now on you should not lightly follow a boy's desires.”
Julia broke a few twigs from the nearest bush and handed them to her maid. “Lift the skirts of this foolish girl and give her a sound thrashing.”
Dorothy grabbed the girl around the waist, pulled up her skirts and painted the little white behind with a few furious red stripes. Claire screamed as if she was being slaughtered, her little legs trampled helplessly and she tried to no avail to wriggle out of Dorothy's strong grip.
“And now,” Julia said, when Dorothy put the screaming child back on the ground, “I advise you never to be discovered in such a position again till you are quite a lot older.”
Claire disappeared quickly.
Pedro still stood at the same spot. He had not moved a muscle.
