"How dare you embarra.s.s Monsieur le Duc in my house?" she said in an icy voice. "You may go at once-"

"Not without paying his debt to me," Brissac broke in, his harsh voice devoid of all courtesy. "I want it now, d'Urbec. Your carriage, the coat you're wearing, everything."

"My bankers will deliver it to you tomorrow morning, Monsieur le Duc."

"Monsieur de Brissac, I do not want this quarrel. I want him removed immediately. Do not risk offending me with your delays over trivialities," the countess said.

"The scoundrel may flee-I want it now, or I want him in prison."

"A point in your favor, Monsieur de Brissac. But you should understand I do not appreciate sordid things happening in my house." The countess looked about her. "Who will guarantee this man's debt until tomorrow morning?" Not a soul answered. The press of bodies drew back from d'Urbec, who stood like a wounded beast before a pack of encircling hounds. In the silence, I heard my own voice speaking, as if from another place.

"Madame, last night I had a terrible vision that came unbidden as I looked into my mirror. Blood dripped across the face of the gla.s.s. I took it for an omen of the day to follow."

"Listen to the prophetess," a man's voice said behind me. The countess, a veritable well of superst.i.tion, recoiled slightly. I saw several ladies crossing themselves. "To spare your gracious house, your ill.u.s.trious personage, and your distinguished guests from this ill omen, I will stand security for this man's debt until tomorrow morning." Brissac's eyes shot hatred at me. D'Urbec turned, slowly, to look at me. His face was impa.s.sive. He bowed in my direction.

"My thanks, Madame de Morville," he said. And with an obeisance to the countess, he walked out through the hall alone, never looking back.

"He gets off too lightly," growled Brissac to a gentleman in his service, Monsieur de Vandeuil. "Have my lackeys thrash him on the way home." As I watched Monsieur de Vandeuil vanish, I recalled that d'Urbec was not wearing a sword. Silently, I turned to follow Vandeuil out past the lackey picking up the fallen cards. I could hear the countess admonishing Brissac as I went to seek my cloak and hat. "Remember, Monsieur de Brissac, what happens in my house is my affair..." Mustapha saw me depart and followed at a distance. On the stair outside, I paused. Vandeuil had stepped in front of d'Urbec, barring his way.

"The Duc de Brissac is offended by your presumption, lackey." Four men armed with heavy sticks seemed to detach themselves from the shadows and stood silently in the blackened, churned-up snow of the courtyard within the carriage gate.

"For what? For making him the laughingstock of Paris? Cards up the sleeve-bah! Little cur, your master cheats like an old woman." D'Urbec stepped away from the blow. The sound of his laughter, mad and bitter, echoed in the darkened courtyard. A half dozen guests and a cl.u.s.ter of servants had gathered on the stair behind me to watch. There was the metallic slither of a sword being unsheathed.

"You know I am unarmed," I heard d'Urbec's voice, steady and calm.

"I wouldn't dirty my blade with you, Monsieur d'Urbec from nowhere. Lackeys, ho!" The thugs encircled d'Urbec from behind. Somewhere behind me, a woman's high-pitched laughter sounded.

"Enough, Monsieur de Vandeuil," I called in a commanding tone, and as he turned to see where the voice was coming from, I advanced down the wide staircase. There was no sound but the thump-thump of my tall walking stick on the frosty stone. "I do not wish to see my investment spoiled." I stopped directly before his drawn blade and stared coldly at him. My ghoulish white face and eerie antique black had made him pause for a moment.

"Madame de Morville, kindly remove yourself from this quarrel. I would rather that Monsieur de Vandeuil suffer the consequences of his acts." D'Urbec's voice was level.

"Well, here's a change. I thought someone like you would prefer to hide behind a woman's skirts," Vandeuil sneered.

"He does not need to, Monsieur de Vandeuil," I said in what I hoped was a sinister and meaningful tone. "He is one of us."

"One of you? The society of old ladies?" Vandeuil's high-pitched giggle betrayed his nerves.

"Astaroth never fails to repay. Tell Brissac." I watched as Vandeuil's sword point quivered and lowered slightly. "Astaroth dislikes waiting for your answer, Monsieur. I must warn you that to him, delay is an insult." Vandeuil sheathed his sword, and I stepped aside.

"I would not insult the paving stones of this great house by allowing your blood to fall on them, Monsieur d'Urbec. Out of consideration for our hostess, and for this old dame here, we will meet elsewhere." In a show of bravado, Vandeuil flourished his hat as he bowed.

"Very well, Monsieur de Vandeuil, at our next meeting I shall take the precaution of wearing a sword." D'Urbec bowed in response. As he turned, he saw for the first time the armed lackeys behind him. His face was impa.s.sive.

"Monsieur d'Urbec, are your porters here? I suggest you dismiss them and escort me home in my carriage. The streets are so full of ruffians these days, it's dangerous for an old woman." D'Urbec took my arm with a formal gesture.

"I am at your service, my dear Marquise." But as he handed me into my carriage and Gilles got up behind, he hissed, "Again you interfere with my life. When will you tire of meddling? What is it you want, anyway?"

"Certainly not grat.i.tude, Florent," I answered as I leaned back against the cushions and put my hands in my m.u.f.f. "I don't want them waylaying my investment on the way home."

"Your 'investment' was not required. You could have withheld your idiot desire to interfere in my business. Now, you compound the trouble you've caused."

"If you'd read the warning I sent you, you'd have had no trouble at all."

"Hardly. I needed to be at the Hotel Soissons tonight." His voice sounded distant, hard. This man was not acting like any professional gambler that I knew.

"Only if you had other business than gaming, I'd say. You've lost a fortune tonight, and you do not turn a hair. If I were more interested in you, I would ask who's backing you. About the only person I'm certain it's not is Astaroth."

"Your mental powers, like your malice, are undimmed, Madame de Morville. My compliments." I was sure of it now. A nouvelliste who knew everyone and everything in a wartime capital. One with a grudge. One who, with only a little sponsorship, could worm his way into any circle. He must be selling information to some foreign government. I wondered if his family had been offered asylum in return for his espionage. Where had they fled? Amsterdam? London? But why did he let me suspect? Somehow, I felt he was testing me.

"It is only common logic, Florent. Astaroth is too capricious a demon to suit most men, and, of course, he is such a tyrant."

"No greater a tyrant than the King who believes he is the sun," said d'Urbec quietly.

"Daedalus paid with his life for going too close to the sun," I answered.

"And Persephone, tempted by a feast of six pomegranate seeds, was condemned to the underworld."

"Ah, but she was Queen of Hades. There are those who believe that social rank is always worth something, even in the underworld." D'Urbec remained silent until the carriage pulled into the street where he had his rooms. In the chill dark of the carriage, I could feel his warm breath. The small s.p.a.ce seemed somehow filled up with him, with a sort of powerful, animal tension. Suddenly I was jealous of the woman in his bed. As I bade him good night, I couldn't help adding, "Is that actress waiting up for you? Or do you just lease her along with your carriage?"

"Genevieve Pasquier," he hissed, "have you ever believed that love is not something that can be bought and paid for?"

"Of course, Monsieur d'Urbec. Love has many motivations. Revenge, for example."

"And cruelty, Mademoiselle. That innocent cruelty that leads cats to dismember mice as toys and children to pluck the legs off living insects. The need of a clever monster to see how things work."

"And what if she knows how they work?" His silence in response was brutal. I could feel him looking at me in the dark. I could almost feel his thoughts as they flowed from violence into understanding.

"And so you have tried to buy me, haven't you, little Athena?" he said softly. "Will you ever be capable of believing that a man could be interested in you for any other reason than money or revenge?"

"G.o.d did not make me a lovely person, Florent. I am brave enough not to deceive myself. One must be rational."

"Yes, always rational, aren't you? Perhaps someday you will learn that you must accept love that is a free gift, instead of putting it out with the trash. Until then, good-bye, little fortune-teller."

"Florent, wait-" But he had already dismounted from the carriage.

"Don't worry, Madame de Morville. I'll send you a message tomorrow when I have discharged the debt. I thank you and owe you my grat.i.tude." My heart turned into a knot, there in the dark, and I did not know if I hated him or not. I think maybe I did-the way we hate things that are forever out of reach.

The following afternoon, a boy came with a letter from d'Urbec. The arrangements to transfer the money had been accomplished, and he was leaving Paris on business that might take several months.

"It strikes me that I was perhaps ungracious after your intervention in the most delicate situation of yesterday evening. With your permission, I will call on you after my return, to offer my thanks in a more creditable manner." I read it over several times. I was not sure what I felt. Perhaps the grippe. After all, the weather had been exceptionally nasty lately.

That night I wrote in my notebook: January 10, 1677. Could d'Urbec have ever cared for me once? It must have been. And now that I have found him, I have lost him. He will never come back. And not only that, but in going, he has made Brissac rich again. Brissac is now free of his need to deal with me, and as full of hatred as a toad. All I have done with my life is trade away love for shallow and trivial desires.

Several salty drops fell on the page, smearing the ink. What could I have ever wanted with Florent d'Urbec anyway? Logic said it could only have ended badly. Logic said he couldn't like me long, once he'd seen me as I really was. I'd been a fool. It was over.