— That's right, with her bones right near the skin of her buttocks! At her age, it's incurable. You, at least, can hope to get plumper. Though, to say the truth, you're not as lean as they say.
And Choisy gave her behind a playful tap or two.
— Sir! whispered Justine, but not angrily, suppose anyone should see us.
She could not answer for her lips were sealed by Choisy's. It was her first kiss and it set her body into a turmoil.
He took her to a little recess among the decors, and, even as he dragged her there, with one hand he was already exploring the curves of her body, her little body all aching for love. Soon, he reached the mossy humid centre of her feelings. It made him forget all prudence and, his virility awakened, he took out his thing and strove to push it into her.
Justine offered no resistance, until she screamed with pain.
— Oh, sir, you're hurting me!
— Shut up! he commanded, as his body was by now all worked up by desire, and at all costs he felt he had to fulfill it. His senses were made afire by the contact of her soft, wet and warm conduit, as well as by the pungent odour of the pigmentation of her skin, peculiar to red-heads.
— No! she howled, once again trying to oppose the entry of the bowel-piercing instrument.
Choisy was holding her, not wanting to let her go at any costs, when he was rudely interrupted by an exclamation of “Oh, you!..” and, turning round with a thumping heart, he found himself confronted by none other than Sir Desportes, Justine's father, who was about to go on stage in reply to his cue.
Choisy did not wait for explanations and ran away, leaving Justine still a virgin, or very nearly so.
CHAPTER FIVE
— And how did you get out of that predicament? asked Mrs. de Ransac.
Choisy shrugged his shoulders.
— Sir Desportes was calmed with a handful of gold coins and the slap he gave his daughter. As for Clorinde, it wasn't so easy. I told her that under the circumstances, I could not stay among the troupe, and she admitted it. So, after a stormy night, I left Berlin.
— And you came straight to Venice?
— Yes, because I knew you were there.
There was a silence. The sun, as magnificent as the Roi Soleil himself, cast its golden rays on the lagoon.
— Venice is really a town made to measure for lovers, don't you think so? Choisy asked.
Mrs. de Ransac giggled nervously.
— So you think that here I would have weaknesses that I would not have in Paris? she said. No, my dear count, I intend to remain a faithful wife.
— What an honour for Mr. de Ransac!
— You might have complimented me on my virtue, but you personify insolence and one has to take you as nature made you.
— Well, then take me!
— I prefer being a spectator to your successes.
— Don't you mean being part of it, rather?
— Pshaw! You have at your disposal a large number of belles who would not resist you. I am not going to be your accomplice.
Night was now descending on Venice and Choisy was moved by the beauty of the scene and the intimate presence of Charlotte de Ransac.
He had first met her in Paris, where he had tried in vain to seduce her. She was then a young bride. Now, she had matured, and the forms of her body had very promising bulges, and her eyes and lips sent out silent love-calls.
He was determined to lay siege to her heart (to use a euphemism), but, being a good tactician, he knew he would have to use a lot of patience-Mrs. de Ransac was not one of those women you took by violence.
— You did not pass unperceived in Venice, she said. Not later than yesterday in the salon of the marchioness of Rubo, they were discussing you.
— Really? exclaimed Choisy, curious.
— Yes, my dear count. But in Venice anything that is ambiguous is food for gossip.
— And they want me to furnish them with gossip?
— That is already done. The big question is to know which sex you belong to.
— I have given ample proof of that.
— Not here. You have a knight's costume but they say it proves nothing.
— The Carnival is over, Choisy observed. Would they want me to have gondolier's arms and halberdier's calves? Do tell me about this marchioness-is she a citadel of virtue?
— So they say..
— That does tempt me. I'm prepared to wager that I'll win her heart.
— I'll accept the wager, and even introduce you if you like, although you'll find more accessible beauties in Venice.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. de Ransac who was back from the embassy where he worked as first secretary. He invited Choisy to supper and asked him many questions about Berlin.
The next day, Choisy's gondola crossed another gondola in which he saw a very attractive woman and he could have sworn that she smiled at him. The gondolier told him that it was the beautiful Francesca, a courtesan richly kept by a rich merchant of Murano.
— Is she virtuous? he asked.
The gondolier, in the way of answer, grimaced and started singing a local song, the meaning of which escaped Choisy.
When he had returned to his hotel, Choisy called in his valet Bouju.
— Try to get information where Francesca lives — she's a creature as beautiful as Venus herself.
— But, Sir, I don't speak Italian.
— Francesca-keep that name in mind. The rest shouldn't be difficult. And he dismissed him with an elegant gesture of his hand.
Indeed, Bouju soon found Francesca's address, and in the evening, Choisy passed in a gondola in front of her house. He saw her graceful silhouette delineated in the frame of her window.
But there was a man with her-an elderly man, richly dressed.
He wrote her a letter, calling her “The Pearl of Venice.” Flattery reached its target and she sent back a letter inviting him to spend the night in her palace.
As he arrived at the house, she came down the marble steps and he received her in his gondola. Together they went inside and drew the curtains.
He thanked her in a few words of Italian he had picked up. She retaliated with a few words of French which took on a southern charm under her warm voice and accent.
— What did you come to Venice for? she asked.
— For love! he answered with fire in his voice.
— Love? scoffed Francesca, they say that the French make it chiefly in words.
— It's a slander, an awful calumny.
— Then there is a rumour that you are really a woman disguised as a man.
— So it's curiosity that drives you to see for yourself, is it?
— Shall I be the first in Venice to learn the answer?
— Upon my word, that is so, he assured her.
She allowed him to take her hand, on which Choisy gave a first kiss. Then he prolonged his kisses up to her elbow. Her skin was unctuous and gave off a heady perfume.
