“But with you I am sure I shall soon be proficient, for I love you.
Your, VIOLETTE.”
She sealed the letter and called Leonie.
“Give that to a messenger,” she said.
“And mind you have it sent this evening,” I added.
“Trust to me for that, the letter shall be delivered tonight,” replied the maid, and thereupon she left the room.
But she soon returned.
“Miss Violette,” said she, “the black servant of madame la Comtesse inquires whether there is a reply to his mistress' letter. Shall I give him the one you just handed to me?”
“Yes, give it to him without a moment's delay.”
Leonie left the room, this time for good.
“Well, she was in a great hurry, this charming Countess,” I said.
“Do what you like, I leave you free to follow your own inclination.”
“Very well. Meanwhile I shall make you as happy as I can.”
CHAPTER VI
The next day, at five minutes to nine, Violette was in a bath perfumed with verbena, and I in a cupboard in a corner of the room, whence I could see and hear everything. All traces of my presence had disappeared, and the sheets had been changed and sprinkled with eau-de-Cologne.
At exactly nine o'clock a carriage stopped at the door.
A moment later, the Countess was ushered in by Leonie, who left and closed the door, which was instantly bolted by the Countess.
The bathroom was lighted up by a lamp in a rose-coloured vase of Bohemian glass, which shed a soft and discreet light.
“Violette! Violette” cried the Countess, “where art thou?”
“Here, in the dressing room,” replied the young girl.
The Countess sprang across the room in three strides, and stopped at the door.
Violette nearly stood up in the bath, showing her Nerean-like form, with arms outstretched.
“Oh! my darling!” cried the Countess, throwing her self into her arms.
She was clad in a long blouse of black velvet, fastened at the neck by a large diamond and held at the waist by a Russian belt woven with gold, silver and cherry-coloured silk.
She began by pulling off her boots and her rose-coloured dress, unfastened her belt and divested herself of her blouse.
Under the black velvet blouse she wore a cambric peignoir, edged with Valenciennes round the neck and cuffs.
She then slipped off the peignoir and appeared in a nude state.
The Countess was a truly splendid woman; the type of Diana the huntress. Her chest was more fully developed than her breasts; her waist was as pliant as the stem, of a tree that waves in the breeze; the parts below were perfection, and lower still might be seen a mass of luxuriant and reddish hair, which resembled flames shooting out of a crater.
She went to the bath and wished to enter it.
But Violette stopped her.
“Ah! Let me feast my eyes upon your charms,” said she. “You are so beautiful!”
“Do you really think so, sweet darling?”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Look on, then, look on! that I may feel the burning sensation of your eyes upon me. See, all this is yours! See! My eyes, my mouth, my bosom…”
“And this pretty bouquet also?” asked Violette.
“Oh yes! That especially!”
“What a beautiful colour!” said the young girl. “Why is it not the same as that of your chevelure?”
“Why should not my chevelure be of the same colour? Why am I a woman not fond of men? Because I am a compound of contrasts. Come, sweet love, make room for me, that I may feel my heart beat against thine.”
The bath was long and there was room for both. The Countess stepped in and sat beside Violette.
The water, as transparent as crystal, allowed me to see everything.
The Countess entwined herself with snake-like movements round Violette; she passed her head under her arm, took a little bite there, and put her lips on Violette's mouth.
“Ah!” she said, “at last you are mine, you naughty child, and now I shall be revenged for all the tortures I endured for your sake.
“Approach your mouth, your lips, your tongue. When I think that it was a man who first gave you a kiss of that kind; who taught you to return it, I am half inclined to strangle you!”
And like a serpent shooting its head forward, the Countess darted kiss upon kiss, while her hand fondled Violette's bosom:
“Oh, darling breasts, my sweet ones!” murmured the Countess. “It was through you that I lost my head; it is you who have made me mad with passion!”
And she caressed them, half closing her eyes, throwing her head back, and breathing hard.
“But do speak to me, rapture of my soul!” she said.
“Odette, dear Odette!” murmured Violette.
“How she does say that, the little frigid thing. She says it as she would say 'Good morning!' Are you not afraid that your own Christian would hear you? Wait, wait, and we shall add a sharp to the key to make the note half a tone higher.” And her hand slipped from the bosom to the hips and thence lower still; but at that stage it stopped as if hesitating.
“Do you feel my heart throbbing against your breast? Ah! If it could kiss your own as my mouth presses your lips!… if it could!… Do you feel anything?”
“Yes,” murmured Violette, who began to feel the forerunner of pleasure. “Yes! Your finger, is it not?”
“You are so young, so little experienced, that I can hardly find the darling little love nipple which gives the flower of life to all nature! Ah, now! Here it is!…”
“How soft your finger is! What a gentle and delightful touch.”
“Shall I do it faster, more vigorously?”
“No, no! It is quite nice as it is.”
“But your own hands; where are they?”
“I told you that I knew nothing and that you would have to teach me.”
“What? Even teach you how to have a sensation?”
“Oh, no! That will come… will come of its own accord. Odette!… Dear Odette!… Odette!…”
The Countess caught up the remainder of the sigh in a kiss.
“That's right,” said she. “It is not enough to be able to speak a language; you must use the right accent, too.”
“I am a willing pupil,” said Violette, “I ask for nothing better than to learn.”
“Then let us leave the bath. I cannot put my head under water; and I have to add something in speech to my demonstration.”
“Yes,” said Violette, “there is a fire and warm towels.”
“Come,” said the Countess, “I will wipe your body dry.”
She came out dripping with the glistening drips of water, beautiful as Thetis, proud like her. She thought she had vanquished her rival-that is, your humble servant-and looked quite triumphant.
Violette. borne in her arms, cast a glance towards me as if to say: “All that I am doing is in obedience to your orders.”
