Lisette's cunt was wetting when she recalled how passionately Choisy used to make love to her while he was supposed to be in bed in the next room with d'Haucourt.
As for the latter, he avenged himself of his loss by spreading all sorts of calumnies. He reflected bitterly that he would not so soon find another receptacle with a convenient size for him.
The Cardinal of Bouillon was a pleasant travelling companion who liked not only good eating and drinking, but was not loath to hearing Choisy tell him salacious adventures. Of course. Choisy did not mention that he was the person to whom these adventures had actually happened. He contented himself with narrating his adventures as if they were those of another man he knew.
— So, that Dutch girl sacrificed her tulips when her lover left her, did she? the cardinal asked interestedly.
— That's what I was told, Eminence, but I was told that in Venice…
And Choisy revived all his past to the cardinal who was all ears, without imagining that his protege himself had lived them.
And so they reached Rome after several days' journey without the trip seeming too long.
Rome was in a feverish effervescence. Clans had formed up and were battling against one another, couriers were galloping their horses till they fell from fatigue in order to carry news to their sovereigns faster than other couriers, and pick up new instructions from them.
Choisy enjoyed this atmosphere. The cardinal had given him the mission of mixing with the good society and trying to gather information as to which candidate was the most in favour among the aristocratic circle to succeed the deceased pope.
In the salons, Choisy was received with warmth and he even met there a few persons he had already been acquainted with some time in the past, or else people who had heard of him and were glad to make his acquaintance. His title and his priestly robes were a good point in his favour.
Besides, there were, in the different salons, quite a few would-be ladies, who Choisy knew to be in reality former dancers or actresses, and they did their best to be in Choisy's good books, fearing that he should betray them to the wealthy lords who had married them, not knowing that they had such low origins. For, in those times, actresses and dancers were considered very non-U indeed!
Choisy profited from this situation to the best and he was glad to be such a well-informed man.
He found in a salon a Miss Rose de Montprofit who struck him as being familiar, but he could not recall where he had met her, or even if he had once been her love-he had had so many mistresses! He went to her and, after the preliminary civilities, instead of his asking her questions, he was anticipated by her:
— I recall, she said, that not long ago you had some, well, difficulties with the authorities of Venice.
— Indeed, I was there, Choisy answered evasively, “it's a city where-”
— … Where all follies are permitted at Carnival time, she completed his sentence.
— Yes, I've heard about that.
Looking more carefully at the woman's face, he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes. She looked impertinent and he reflected again that her face looked familiar yet he couldn't put a name on it. She was wearing an artificial beauty-spot near her left eye.
— Anyway, in Venice, he said, I knew a… a nymph, who, just like you, had a beauty-spot in the corner of an eye as well as — And where did you meet her?
— Well, she was a dancer at the Opera. Have you heard of that Venus called Callipyge?
— She's a goddess who disobeys the rules of modesty, isn't she?
— In public, yes, but in the intimacy?
— And you saw her in all her impudicity, is that it?
— As near as can be. She had the name of a flower.
Rose of Montprofit blushed under her make-up and her bust heaved as if under the effect of a caress.
— Abbey, you're shameless.
But she said it without malice or anger, and even with a shade of tenderness.
— I've stopped dancing, she explained, now that Mr. de Montprofit has done me the honour of marrying me.
— What a pity! said Choisy.
A fop looking as if he was coming out a bandbox came up and interrupted their conversation. In a strong Italian accent, he said in French:
— You're wanting Madame all for yourself, Signor… But it is true what they are saying, that the marchioness of Montespan is no longer loved by the King of France?
— I wouldn't know about such things, Choisy answered a trifle coldly, and he received a wink from Mrs. de Montprofit which confirmed to him that he was not wrong in his belief that she was indeed the woman whose buttock had the same kind of beauty-spot that was adorning her cheek. He acknowledged her wink with another, which put a seal on their agreement.
Two days later, he arrived early at the house of Mrs. de Montprofit, for he had heard that her husband was away on a hunting expedition. A French maid ushered him into a boudoir and begged him to wait a while. The door being ajar, Choisy could hear a ripple of water. Upon investigating, he saw Rose de Montprofit in her bath. She looked up with mock indignation.
— You're an early riser to-day, abbot!
— It's the time for investigators, said Choisy.
— And what have you come to investigate? she asked.
— Whether you're still as beautiful as in the past, he bantered.
Sure that the answer would be in the affirmative, she did not ask him, but got up from her bath and handed him a sheet, telling him to hold it in front of him as a shield and to turn his back on her.
He did as he was told, but, in a mirror, he could safely watch all he wanted and he had the confirmation of his belief: she was the famous Callipyge, the renowned dancer and she did have a brown spot on her right buttock.
— I think I can remember that in the past, in Paris, I used to help you get dressed, didn't I? he asked roguishly.
— You must have somebody else in mind.
— No, my goddess, there is a detail that makes mistakes impossible.
— I hate you! she exclaimed in a mock tone.
And, as her skin was now well-nigh dry, she threw herself into Choisy's arms.
— What a come-back! she cried enthusiastically, between two kisses.
It took but little time for their nudities to intermingle on a sofa. It all began with a struggle: Choisy wanted to make sure the little brown patch was still in the same place as before but Rose de Montprofit modestly opposed his search. But soon her exacerbation reached the point when she needed the intervention of a masculine virility.
Oh, how good it felt to find an old flame again and to realize that she was still better than in the past! There was also the fact that Choisy had perforce been abstinent during the whole duration of the trip from Paris to Rome and also during the first few days he had been in Rome, before he providently met Mrs. de Montprofit.
He remembered how tender and passionate she had been several years ago in Paris when she was a dancer at the Opera.
Now her shapes were more plentiful and fleshy and less firm but still far from adipose. She had gained maturity like a good wine and lost none of her youthfulness or appetite for love-making.
And she still had a liking for the good things of love-making such as the French specialties for which Choisy was an expert.
She cooed with delight when she felt his busy tongue working at its throbbing target. And how good it felt when, afterwards, he came in with all his virility which he had kept intact in spite of his so numerous affairs.
— Are we going to resume our follies? she asked.
— Have you any remorse? Don't be ungrateful.
— It's easy for you to say so, ducks. In Paris I risked being given the sack by what's-his-name (dashed if I can remember the name of my lawful lover). And now I have a husband who wouldn't find it a joke — But he's so fond of hunting — He doesn't go hunting every morning, unfortunately, she said, and now, you'd better go quickly
