She told the abbot what little she knew of Pedro's background, wisely forgetting a few little details, and asked him to see to it that Pedro would get an excellent schooling.
“He is very unruly,” she told the abbot, “and, though I do not wish to use the rod on him, I think you should be very strict. I will pay for all his expenses and I hope that this gift for the school will meet with your approval.”
The abbot's eyes popped. The members of the de Corriero family had always been extremely generous to both College and Abbey, but this gift surpassed anything they had ever received.
“Madame can be assured that the boy will receive the best attention,” he said.
“When the boy has finished his final exams, I hope that one of your good Fathers will bring him to me.”
And so it was agreed. The gates of learning closed behind Pedro for a number of years.
* * *
The summer flew by on wings of love and the inhabitants of La Bidouze were surprised when they noticed one day that the swallows were gathering for their flight to the African shores.
“Already?”
“Yes, already. And it will soon be time to follow their example.”
“To Africa?”
“No silly… back to Paris.”
Once back in Paris, not a night went by that Julia did not squirm in Michael's hot embraces. But the artist did not love Julia for her body alone. Granted, it was one of the most beautiful and desirable bodies in all of Paris because mother nature had spent a lot of time and thought when she created this gorgeous woman.
However, Michael also wanted her to share his knowledge and feelings. He decided to introduce his love to the world of the mind.
That winter they traveled through Italy. The summer was spent at La Bidouze, and the next winter was spent in sunny Spain.
Their repeated, prolonged absence from Paris had the happy result that, at least outwardly, the anger of the Count de Paliseul was subdued. He had sworn to himself that he would move heaven and earth, and if necessary go down to hell, to revenge himself upon Madame Pomegranate Flower.
The love affair between Maxim de Berny and Florentine was still going strong. Possibly both were a bit less passionate than they used to be, but they still saw one another regularly in the Rue Charles V. Possibly too regularly. Florentine was beginning to suffer. She lost weight, and she was beginning to get nervous. Her doctor diagnosed it as a lack of emotional involvement, and he suggested that Madame should seriously think about remarrying and having a few children as playmates for her growing son.
Five years went by without any serious mishaps. Five years of happiness as fate bestows only upon the lucky few. Both women had emptied the cup of earthly joys for three quarters. The last quarter was to be mixed with bitterness.
Julia was the first to taste it.
During the season back in Paris, she had been introduced to the Count de Paliseul. It came as a shock to her, but she quieted herself by insisting that he could not possibly have recognized her.
He did not. But, he had seen Dorothy without a mask, and he recognized her!
“Well, well, my dearest Madame Felicitas,” he had said with a vicious snarl, “how the mighty are fallen! You are indeed in a beautiful home. But after having had one of your own, I doubt if you like the role of a common chambermaid.”
Dorothy acted astonished, said that his Lordship was jesting, and Pierre, the majordomo, who had listened to the little scene, confirmed that Dorothy-like himself-had been in the service of Madame de Corriero for at least ten years.
De Paliseul, who was convinced that he had not made a mistake this time, put two and two together. Ten years! Those words stuck in his mind. But then, Madame de Corriero, the woman who was unapproachable, must be the lascivious Pomegranate Flower, the very same woman with whom he had spent a night of complete debauchery in the Rue Charles V!
Now his time of revenge was here! His evil tongue began to spread rumors, questioning the honor of the great Donna Jose de Corriero. He began to imply-and in that he was not far from the truth-that the man who restored her castle might also restore her wild, lustful and carnal desires.
Julia who did not have the slightest idea of what was going on, noticed soon that on various occasions she was being snubbed by her acquaintances. Women were positively spiteful, and certain men became more courteous than good manners allowed.
Michael, in his circles, had noticed a similar situation.
One night, when they were resting in bed Julia asked him, “Do you think that our love affair has become public knowledge?”
“I doubt it. Let's be honest, nine-tenths of your girl friends have an affair of one kind or another, and this would hardly be a reason for them to be so positively nasty towards you.”
One evening, at a party thrown by one of Julia's best friends, they were to discover the reason.
The guests were breaking up in little clusters and Michael, who was sitting in a corner, happened to be next to the table were several members of the Club de Topinambours were discussing the women who paraded across the rooms. He could clearly hear everything that was said.
“Come on, de Paliseul,” de Melreuse said, “don't try and make use believe that Madame de Corriero is this fantastically lascivious Pomegranate Flower you possessed five years ago. We know that story was a lie, and we have seen the old lady with whom you cavorted and whose twenty springs had left her ages ago. That whole ridiculous history in the Rue Charles V better be forgotten.”
Michael blanched at the words “Pomegranate Flower” and “Rue Charles V.” He was even more depressed when Julia walked by without noticing him, and de Paliseul continued, 'That's her all right. And I have heard stories about her and an artist whom she meets regularly at the home of her sister, the widow Vaudrez.”
And again he smirked.
“Can't you, for once in your life, stop leering, and laugh like normal people,” Maxim de Berney asked. De Paliseul was hewing home awfully close and he'd rather pick a fight than have this conversation continued.
But de Paliseul, who felt that his hour of triumph was near, could not be so easily persuaded to leave his favorite subject.
“Have none of you,' de Paliseul continued, ignoring Maxim's remark, “noticed the striking resemblance between Madame de Corriero's chambermaid and Felicitas from the Rue Charles V?”
“What,” de Melreuse exclaimed. “She is the lady with whom we caught you cavorting on the huge, silk and satin-covered bed?”
“She is the very same.”
Exclamations of surprise, the wildest guesses, the vilest suppositions. The name of Julia de Corriero was on everybody's lips.
“And I would not be in the least surprised,” de Paliseul continued, “if that painter fellow who is always at her sister's home, that Michael Lompret, is my lucky successor.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Michael said as he suddenly stood towering over the astonished Count de Paliseul, “I just heard my name mentioned. I neither liked the way it was spoken, nor the matter with which it was connected, and I demand satisfaction!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Maxim de Berny tried his utmost to avoid the unavoidable.
“Sir, I beg you to stay out of this matter which only concerns me and the Count de Paliseul. I demanded satisfaction, and I wish you to name the time and place!”