“You—you—then you are not angry with me? I could not help it, he made me do it, Madame,” Victorine blubbered.
“Oh, no,” Laurette smiled. “I have done a good deal of thinking since last night, and in a way Pere Mourier has done me a better service than he guessed. For now that I am no longer a maiden, I am under my husband's protection. And if I have a rendezvous with my lover and am gotten with child by him, no one can dare say that it is not the patron's doing, for I shall faithfully and humbly perform my duties to M'sieu Villiers. So that is understood—and now will you be my ally?”
“Gladly, Madame,” Victorine sighed.
“Then take this little ring with a seed pearl as a present from me. It was given me by my husband, but he will not miss it, and by rights it should have gone to you anyway. In return, I wish you to get a message to Pierre from me—and this a true one, mind you!—that I am longing to see him when it can be arranged discreetly.”
“I swear I will do it for Madame, and I will not betray her to Pere Mourier.”
“Thank you, dear Victorine. And now, go prepare breakfast and I shall waken my husband. I must be attentive to him, so he will never suspect where my heart belongs.”
How truly the charming girl had matured in a single night! Perhaps all would yet be well with this tender damsel. Yet the presence of Pere Mourier and Father Lawrence, and their combined influence with her senile fool of a husband was not the best augur for the future. I told myself I would pay close attention to their machinations against her and aid her cause whenever I could do so.
But fate was to intervene in quite an unexpected way on behalf of the golden haired Laurette. For exactly two days after she had held secret counsel with good Dame Victorine, news came from the hamlet of Fonlebleu, a hundred miles to the south of Languecuisse, that the worthy Monsieur Gilles Henriot and his good dame Agnes had died suddenly of the flux leaving their little daughter Marisia, who was thirteen and a half summers in her youth, an orphan. Learning this news, Claude Villiers mourned deeply, for Agnes was his younger sister. He thereupon sent word by the horseman who had ridden to him with the gloomy tidings that Marisia was to be sent post haste here to him so that he might become her guardian and the sweet niece of his young bride Laurette, and so it was done.
A day later, Marisia arrived in the company of old fat Daniel Montcier, who had been steward to Gilles Henriot, and was given into the keeping of her elderly uncle. She was an entrancing little beauty despite her tender years. Black hair, glossy as a raven's wing, fell in a thick sheaf past her shoulderblades. Her face was oval and saucy with full red lips, gray-green eyes narrowly spaced by the bridge of a dainty snub nose whose thin, flaring wings bespoke a merciful and warm-blooded nature, and highset, slanting cheeks of an ivory complexion that was bewitching. Yet her figure was even more fetching; nearly as tall as Laurette herself, Marisia possessed a superbly developed, already bold pair of pear-shaped bubbies set closely together and whose crests pushed insolently at the bodice of her thin blouse. Supple of waist, she owned lithe, sleek haunches and an impudently jutting pair of oval-contoured bottom cheeks set above willowy long, gracefully slim thighs and entrancingly sinuous calves.
The old vintner was overjoyed that his young bride gave Marisia such affectionate welcome, and beamed fatuously as he saw the two embrace. Yes, he thought to himself, in his declining years, Dame Fortune had smiled upon him and given him a bride who, though at the outset repugnant and averse to his affections, had miraculously learned her place and would warm his sheets as zestfully as a harlot from the stews. And, it must be admitted also, his roue's eyes dwelt reflectively on the budding charms of his tender young niece.
Marisia was installed in a chamber next to Laurette's own, and that afternoon the two young beauties closeted themselves to become better acquainted.
“I will do my best to make you happy in this, your new home, dear Marisia,” Laurette tenderly told her charming niece, “and we shall be fast friends, for you are not too many years behind my own age, and I have need of friends.”
Marisia giggled roguishly, forward minx that she was. Her voice was rich and husky, like a coquette's: “This I doubt not, knowing my uncle well from what my poor parents have often told me of him.”
“Hush, dear Marisia, you must not show any resentment. I have learned that lesson myself to my cost. It is best to humor him and pretend to be fond of him.”
“To be sure, so that you can go unsuspected to your lover, dear Aunt Laurette,” was the tender girl's amazing response.
“Marisia! How can you speak of such a thing! You are much too young to know about love.”
“Not so, Aunt Laurette. I too am sorrowful to have left my home, for there was a boy named Everard who did kiss and clip me till my senses were all awhirl. Is your lover very handsome, dear Aunt Laurette? Everard was fair and tall with the deepest blue eyes,” the little hoyden sighed.
“Oh!” Laurette blushed. “M—mine is blond and tall, too, and gentle and kind.”
“All of which Uncle Claude is not. I have heard my poor Maman say that one day he would come to his death from tumbling wenches. He has, you know, a heart that is none too sound. I' faith, Maman said she did not know how it chanced that he was not taken with a stroke when coupling with any wench that struck his fancy.”
“Marisia, you must not speak of such vulgar things! You are still a child, and -”
“Pooh,” said the bold hoyden, making an impudent face, “I have almost coupled myself, Aunt Laurette, or next best to that. For my Everard, not wanting to big me with child, did use his tongue and finger instead of his big prick in my little slit!”
“Ohhh!” was all the scarlet faced Laurette could say at this incredible declaration. Yet what the minx had just revealed to her had planted a seed of fantasy in her brain; if that was true, then by coddling and cozening the old patron in the course of showing him her willingness to perform her conjugal duties, she might well excite him beyond measure. And if he were carried off by a seizure as punishment for his lecherous overindulgence, then she would be widowed and free to marry whomsoever it pleased her. Nay more—she would fall heir to his estate and all his gold.
Cautiously, still overwhelmed by the fanciful prospect which Marisia's bold candor had evoked, she hazarded: “My sweet niece, would it please you to see your Everard again?”
“Oh, Aunt Laurette, it would be heaven,” Marisia eagerly avowed, clapping her soft ivory hands together in glee. “But how can it be? He is the son of my parents' steward, and must live with his father to look after the house and lands.
“Well, then, if we are very nice to your Uncle Claude,” the golden haired beauty wheedled, “we might crave the boon from him of letting Everard come to visit here for a fortnight.”
“How I love you, Aunt Laurette,” Marisia flung her slim arms round her young aunt's neck and kissed her fiercely. “Oh, I will do anything you tell me, that Uncle Claude may grant such a boon.”
Another idea had come to Laurette, experienced woman that she had become by the miracle of her virgin loss; she had remembered the covetous glow in her elderly husband's eyes when they had fallen on Marisia. “I think I may know a way, my sweeting,” she murmured, “but it may not be to your taste.”