Spring V

. Ӝ .

My night was sleepless. The picture of my mother's body floating in a river face up kept disturbing my slumber—her beautiful gold hair created a halo around her head, and her eyes, dazed and empty, stared at me as if she were begging for my help.
         If Monsieur Beaufont’s words were true, why should I be bothered by it? She was the one who had run out on the family. Deserted us. Caused us all the ridicule—as claimed by my father.
         I shouldn’t have cared. But I did.
         I sat at my desk once again, my mother’s jewelry box cupped in my hands. Despite its warm color in the firelight, it was like ice under my fingers. As cold as death, I concluded, which made me a little more uneasy.
         I stared into the candle’s flame, watching it momentarily disappear and then relight. I took a step toward my desk, my gaze fixed. How fragile its flame truly was. In a single breath, it could be gone, extinguished from this world forever. Just like our lives.
         “Out, out, brief candle,” I whispered to the lonely fire. It flickered as if it was responding to my voice. “Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more…”
         I held my hand over the flame, feeling the low heat warm the palm of my hand until it grew too hot to bear. I pulled away, examining the skin. There was not a visual mark left, just a slight stinging sensation in the center. “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing...”
          I looked back at the jewelry box that was still cradled in my other hand. Dust had collected in the grooves and I tried my best to blow them away. If she was alive, I would be relieved, but I would still ache from the grief from her desertion. And, if it was true and my mother was indeed extinguished from my life forever, it would hurt. I was sure of it. But then there was a chance that my heart could finally begin to heal.
         I would ask my father in the morning, I decided. I had to inform him about the night’s events nevertheless.
         Suddenly feeling more exhausted than before, I closed my eyes. I could see the murky green water of the river, the random bits of nature’s debris floating in clumps with the current. Out of the black bottom of the river, a body emerged. Those once sparkling gray eyes stayed fixed on me.
         I ripped my eyes open again to release the terrifying scene. My senses returned to me in a dizzy whirl. I noticed that my grip on the boîte had tightened. For a moment, I thought I could feel movement within the glass- almost like a faint heartbeat. But it was gone instantly.
         I moved my fingers around it desperately to see if I could get that small bit of hope again.
         There was nothing.
         Froid comme la mort.
         


         The morning did not come as quickly as I would have liked. My bones ached and my muscles were stiff from my lack of sleep. Something as simple as walking had become a painful experience. I could hear the servants waking at dawn to start their daily tasks, but I waited until the sound of the bustle grew enough that I was sure my father would be fully awake.
         His door was cracked open ever so slightly. I knocked. There was no reply, so I stepped inside hesitantly. “Father?” I called, seeing he was in his normal place at his desk, buried in work.
         “Andre,” he warned, “I am very busy.” He dipped his pen into an ink bottle and shook it gently to rid of the excess.
         How was I going to bring up the touchy subject while he was with such an ill temper? “Father, it’s about last night…”
         He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice low. “Did Élisabeth enjoy herself?”
         I nodded stiffly.
         “Then what is the problem?”
         I held my breath and searched for the right words. I knew I had to explain myself quickly before the yelling ensued and his mind became one-tracked. “We were forced to leave the performance early,” I said. “Monsieur Beaufont was there with his wife.”
         His expression hardened. “Donovan? The buffoon!” He ground his teeth. “Did he give you trouble?”
         “He noticed Élisabeth, which forced me to tell him of the wedding.”
         I was expecting him to be irritated by the truth, but his postured then eased in his tall, black leather chair. An already lit cigar rested in a small tray at the end of his desk, which he picked up and then placed smoothly between the creases of his lips. The ashes twisted and curled as he inhaled. “Good,” he said between breaths. “It’s time the truth came out.”
         My knees felt weak and my body seemed heavier. “But it will be in the papers for sure.”
         “Perfect.” The smoke leaked through his lips as he spoke.
         I did not know what to say.
         This must have been my father’s real purpose for sending me and Élisabeth out together—to confirm the rumor and spread the news. It made sense the more I thought of it. The faster the word spread, the faster the DeMontés rose. It was again done all for his benefit.
         “I will even invite the buffoon,” my father continued mostly to himself. “This wedding will be so grand he will die with envy.”
         I began to clench and unclench my fists.
         “Is that all?” he asked, putting his cigar back into the tray and reaching for his pen.
         I thought of Élisabeth’s expression at the moment Monsieur Beaufont mentioned the engagement ring. “He also had commented that Élisabeth did not have a ring on her finger.”
         “A ring?” he sat up fully in his seat then, his body rigid. “Oh no… How could we have forgotten a ring! And Donovan saw it? Did he make a scene?”
         How could we have forgotten a ring? “He tried,” I said, speeding up the rhythm of my fists. “But I told him she did indeed have one but had mistakenly left it at home.”
         My father pondered my answer for a moment. “Very wise,” he said. “But that could have gone very poorly for us. You must get her a ring! And as soon as possible!”
         “Me? But Father—”
         “And she will have to be seen with it right away,” he went on. “We have to fix this mistake. I will make an appointment with Louis at once.” He reached for his pen and began scribbling madly on the paper in front of him.
         I opened my mouth, but quickly closed it, rethinking.
         He had made his decision. I turned my back on him and went to the door. I hesitated before opening it, remembering my true reason for visiting him in the first place—my mother. But I decided against it. Even the mention of her would stir a fight on its own—something I could not handle at the moment.
         I left in silence, my mother’s opened, lifeless eyes haunting my conscious. 



          I returned to my bedroom, exhausted and defeated. I did not know the exact time my father had planned to visit Louis’s shop, but I needed to rest. There was a terrible pounding in my right temple that was causing my ears to ring and my jaw to ache. I laid on my bed, soaking into the soft cushions and pillows. I closed my eyes, getting lost in the comfort of the darkness.
         I woke to the sound of Mardi’s voice behind my door. “Monsieur! Monsieur!”
         I raised slowly, my eyelids still heavy. How long had I had been asleep? I glanced out my window. Outside, the sky was still black and cloudy from the rainfall. There was no way for sure to know the exact time of day.
         When I opened the door, Mardi’s gaze dropped to my shoes. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur,” she said meekly, “but you have a visitor.”
         She looked so upset. I was used to her brilliant, dimpled smile and her buoyant nature. 
         I sighed. I missed her cheer, her laughter. Without it, my mood seemed as dull as the weather outside.
         “You have a visitor,” she repeated. “He is waiting for you in the parlor.”
         “Thank you.”
         She curtsied. “Just doing my duties, Monsieur.”
         Duties? I could hear my own words replay in my ears. “Are you aware that princesses do not have chores? Nor do they scrub floors to earn their keep?” I hadn’t realized how cruel I had been to her. “Mardi—” But before I could apologize, she had already gone.
         I closed the door and stood before the standup mirror beside the grandfather clock. I straightened my jacket and adjusted my collar. My gray eyes were still weighty from the sleep. I blinked to see if I could awaken anymore. It seemed to help a little. I tied my blond hair that I had inherited from my mother back to rest at the nape of my neck and then flattened the top. Lifting my chin and assuming the dignified DeMonté expression of straight lips and stern eyes, I began my descent down the stairs.
         I walked into the parlor. I glanced at the couch in front of the low burning fireplace, checking if my visitor was there sitting, but it was empty. I then looked to my right. Behind the black pearl grand piano, my visitor was facing away from me, running his fingers over every glass trinket on the shelves. He looked out the nearby window every so often.
         I recognized the wavy russet hair and the English style clothing instantly. “Rupert?”
         The visitor spun around a little too quickly, knocking over a small crystal ornament. “Oh!” He caught it before it rolled off the shelf and shakily put it back. When he finally looked at me, he wore that dimpled, sheepish grin he was known for.
         I couldn’t help but laugh. “Rupert! I’m glad to see you haven’t changed!”
         Rupert bowed as if he was an actor on stage receiving applause for a job well done. “Andre, my friend!” He carefully maneuvered himself around the piano and shook my hand enthusiastically. When he released me, we took a step away from each other to examine what time had changed. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was dressed in a fresh suit that was custom made to fit his own unique taste. His tailcoat was longer than necessary, riding his ankles. His buttoned vest fell free from his trousers, and the collar was high on his neck. 
         “How have you been, my friend?” Rupert asked. His green eyes still sparkled like a child’s on Christmas morning behind his many dark curls.
         I thought about my answer very carefully. “Well enough,” I replied.
         He tilted his head to the side.
         “But forget about me.” I waved the attention away. “How about you?”
         “I suppose I can say the same,” he said. He began to wander around the room, his gaze shifting from the paintings on the walls to the carpeted floors.
         I remembered his response to my wedding invitation saying that he wouldn’t be able to attend due to a trip he was taking within the month with his family. If he was supposed to be gone, why was he standing here in my parlor? “The last I heard from you,” I began, “you were about to cross the Atlantic and visit the States.”
         He moved to me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “I couldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding!” he claimed.
         I raised an eyebrow.
         His hand dropped from my shoulder and he smiled ingenuously. “Seasick,” he confessed.
         We both laughed. When he had caught his breath, he added, “What can I say? I am a man of the land.”
         “Oh, Rupert. I’ve missed your wit.”
         He bowed again, his curls falling into his face.
         “You will be attending the wedding then?” I questioned.
         He nodded. “I will.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “That is, if you can accommodate me until then.”
         “Of course we can!” I said, suddenly feeling more energetic than I had been in weeks.
         He opened his arms. “Then I am there.”
         “Excellent,” I said. “At least there will be someone here to help me through this.”
         Rupert’s smile faded. “Is it really as bad as you say?” he asked. “We used to always talk about one day finding a fitting girl and getting married. What has you so sour towards it now?”
         “She isn’t a fitting girl,” was all I said.
         “Ah, I see. She’s one of those fire-breathing dragon types. I thought I told you to watch out for those.”
         “Rupert,” I said. “This isn’t a joke.”
         “I’m sure she is fine. If I know your father, he wouldn’t have chosen someone ghastly.”
         I looked at the ceiling. “She is from a family of little money. Her manners are scarce, and she has no idea how to be a proper lady. I am damned, Rupert. Damned.”
         “Oh no,” he replied. “What’s wrong? You’re pacing.”
         I hadn’t even realized I had been pacing. I stopped myself instantly, shaking my head.
         “I didn’t know it was that bad,” he continued. “Have you spoken to your father about it?”
         I ran my hand over my face. “My father is the reason for my unhappiness.”
         “Andre, how could you hate him so? He’s your father. Your blood.”
         I had almost forgotten who I was speaking to. Rupert was close to his family. Even though they weren’t happy about his decision to pursue his music, they still allowed him do it. He had a lot of respect for them because of it.
         “A little less kind than kin,” I recited.
         He chuckled.
         “Rupert, my boy! Could that be you?” My father waltzed in, brushing off the rain from his shoulders. He must have come from outside.
         “Who else?”
         They greeted with a handshake and a swift pat on the back. They exchanged the normal greetings, asking about each other’s health and any other new news. It wasn’t until the wedding came into the conversation that I began to listen. “And this means you will be attending the wedding,” my father said cheerfully.
         Rupert nodded.
         “Splendid. I know Andre would want you there to be his best man.”
         I had been planning to ask Rupert to take on that honor myself. On my own time. But since he had told me he wasn’t coming, I hadn’t bothered.
         “I would be honored,” returned Rupert gently. When our eyes met, he cleared his throat in hopes to change the subject.
         “Speaking of the wedding, Rupert, I must say you have perfect timing,” said my father. “Andre needs to go into the city and buy a ring for the mademoiselle. You two can make a day out of it.”
         My eyes were fixed on my father’s face. I was hoping he could feel my hatred for him through my stare, as hot and as searing as it felt curling in my body. Rupert grabbed my arm to shake me out of my trance. “I’ll go with him,” he said. “When will we be going?”
         My father looked at his silver watch on a chain at his hip. “Tomorrow afternoon. I was able to get an appointment with Louis on such short notice.” He glanced at me but ignored my stares. “We are lucky.” 

         
         
         “Are you sure that your father sent you to the opera for that purpose?” Rupert asked me as we descended from the carriage in front of Louis’s shop. I had just finished telling him everything I could about Élisabeth and our trip to the Opéra Garnier.
         “It makes sense,” I told him stepping into the misty haze. The air was thick—mixed with the city smog and the suffocating spring heat. Men and women passed by on their daily strolls, umbrellas up to shield them from the drizzle. They nodded their heads in greeting to us, but their stares were curious.
         We hovered in front of the shop door. “I don’t know,” he replied. “It seems a too devious thing to do.”
          “You didn’t see his reaction when I told him about Donovan,” I said, my voice lowing. “It all seemed too perfect to him.”
         Rupert opened the store door and we walked inside. A bell sounded to make our entrance known. The small shop had been emptied of all its customers for our appointment and only filled by the musical genius, Debussy, which played softly on a record player in the background. Glass countertops filled with priceless jewelry cut the room in half and the lighting, even though it was low, seemed to catch every piece in the cases. 
         “Where is Louis?” Rupert knocked on the red and gold printed wall and looked around for any movement in the store.
         My eyes quickly glanced over the glass covered tables. There was jewelry of all kinds, but no matter what the type, all the pieces shimmered like small stars wrapped in velvet.
         There was rustling behind a curtained-off doorway which appeared to lead to a secluded back room. “Louis?” I called.
         The short man came forth, back hunched more than it had been in the past. His thin hair had whitened completely except in some places on his chin. The wrinkles around his brow had deepened greatly, but his squared glasses still sat at the tip of his nose. He had been a close friend to the family for some time now and every time I visited his shop, he appeared older and older to me. The only unchanging feature was his glasses. His eyes were far too tiny for his face, but when he pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose, they appeared proportional again.
         He came to the counter in front of us, smiling so widely that his cheeks rounded into two red plums.
         “Hello! Hello!” he greeted. “It is nice to see you boys again!”
         “Louis, how are you?” I asked formally.
         “Good. Good.” He looked at me, light eyes sparkling. “I was very surprised when your father called me.”
         I coughed. “I was surprised when he informed me of the call,” I said plainly.
         Louis laughed, wheezing a little at the end. He took off his thick glasses and wiped them with a tattered cloth. Then, he grinned. “Rupert,” he addressed him respectfully.
         “Louis.” Rupert nodded. “It’s good to see you again.”
         “When are you getting married?” he teased, looking at him over his glasses. “I hope to see you in here next.”
         “In time, Louis. In time.” Rupert chuckled. “You cannot rush love.”
         “Very true, very wise.” Louis clapped his hands together as if applauding the bold statement. “But Andre here has found his love and is ready to express it properly!”
         Rupert laughed even more until no sound came out at all.
         I nudged him harder than necessary to quiet him. He caught a glimpse of my threatening stare and quickly straightened. He cleared his throat. “Er--Yes!” Rupert recovered. He hesitated, as if he was finding the right words to say next. “So what do you have for him to express his… er--love?”
         Louis put up a finger then. He hurried into the curtained off back room.
         “Was that really necessary?” Rupert whispered harshly, rubbing his arm where my elbow had met.
         “Was your laughter really necessary?” I returned.
         A large bang made both me and Rupert jump and then the man’s quiet curses soon followed.
         “Louis? Is everything alright in there?” I asked.
         The white curtain was thrown back and Louis came back to the counter. He was balancing four black velvet boxes in his frail, thin arms. He placed them gently on the counter in a line. “Your father told me you wanted something extravagant for the mademoiselle,” he said, opening the first box in the line. I knew my father would be paying, so cost was not a concern of mine.
         He pulled out the ring. The diamond was larger than any I had ever seen with blue sapphires intricately placed around it. Louis held it into the light and the giant stone glittered like a midnight star.
         My father would have loved it, and that was the very reason why I waved it away. “I don’t think so,” I said as kindly as I could.
         He pursed out his lips and put it back. He opened the next box.
         The diamond was a little smaller than the first, but square in shape. There were at least a dozen stones around the band. “This one is imported from Turkey,” said Louis, examining the ring over his glasses.
         I shook my head. My father would have liked this one as well. I pointed to the smallest of the four black boxes. “May I see that one?” I asked.
         “This one?” He picked it up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pick this one up.” He tried to push it to the side.
         “May I see it?” I repeated.
         “It’s just an antique. Given to me by the old man that owns the pawn shop down the street.” He opened the box. The ring was dainty, the diamond small. The band was engraved with simple designs.
         “This is the one,” I said, taking it out of the box.
         Louis seemed surprised by my choice.
         “Are you sure, Andre?” asked Rupert tensely. “I don’t think it is what your father had in mind.”
         “That’s what makes it perfect.”
         Louis paused as if he was waiting for me to change my mind. When I did not, he handed me the tiny box. He glanced at Rupert.
         “Thank you, Louis,” I said. This would be my own personal joke to my father. If I had to go through with this marriage, than I was going to have some sort of fun with it. I put the ring in my pocket and tipped my hat with a smile. “Good day to you.”
         “Good day,” he replied.
         “Hopefully we will be back soon, Louis,” Rupert said as we left the small shop.
         When we were on the street again, I took out the box, tossed it up, and caught it with ease. I began walking down the way, suddenly feeling too cheery to ride in the carriage. Rupert followed beside me.
         “You are just looking for trouble now,” he said. “You know your father won’t like your choice.”
         I threw the box up again and snatched it in midair. “I don’t see what the problem is. I prefer this one, so I chose it.”
         Rupert shook his head in disappointment.
         “I’m the one marrying the girl,” I went on. “He should just accept my choice of ring, like I have to accept his choice of a wife.”
         “Just causing mischief,” he replied.
         I ignored his warnings and hummed to myself as we walked. He may not have been satisfied with my decision, but I looked forward to seeing my father’s dismay when I handed him the little velvet box.
         “Have you at least thought about how you are going to give her the ring?” Rupert said after some time.
         I slowed my pace, looking at him. “What do you mean?”
         “I’ll take that as you haven’t,” he answered.
         That was true. I hadn’t thought about it at all. “I didn’t think it was that important,” I confessed. “I was just going to hand it to her.”
         “These things must be handled delicately. You must be charming.” We stopped. “Maybe give it to her at a dinner, or a romantic stroll in the park.”
         “That all seems a little too unrealistic to me.”
         He rolled his green eyes to the sky. “Well then, what does she like to do? Maybe give it to her then? Make it more personal?”
         I lifted an eyebrow. “She likes to play in the dirt,” I said. “Am I supposed to give it to her while she is digging around through the grubs and the mud? Certainly not.”
         Rupert sighed and threw his hands in the air. “I give up. Give it to her as you like.”
         “I plan on it.”
         “Recevez les news ici!” a small boy yelled from the street corner with a pile of the daily paper in his arms. He tried passing one to every person that went by, but many shoved them away uninterested.
         Seeing the boy’s distress, Rupert approached him with his friendliest smile across his lips. “Why hello there, boy. Selling the paper, I see.” He squatted down low until they were the same height so he could talk to him more directly
         “Oh, yes, sir.” The boy held out a paper for Rupert to take. “Find out all the news, sir, and only for a franc!” 
         “Sounds fair enough.” Rupert pulled two coins out of his breast pocket and held them out for the boy to take. “One is for that paper and one is yours to keep.”
         “Really, sir?” The boy grinned, snatching the money from Rupert’s opened hand. “Thank you! Thank you!”
         Rupert tucked the paper under his arm and stood up. “I think you have worked hard enough for a little extra.” He patted the boy on the head. “A true business man without the ego of one.” 
         When he came back to where I was waiting, he glanced over the first page.
         “Feeling generous today?” I asked him as he opened the paper and continued reading.
         He didn’t respond to my question, only continued with his reading. His eyes suddenly widened. “You’re in here, Andre,” he said, holding the paper so I could see.
         “What? Where?” I grabbed it from him and looked through the text for any signs of my name.
         “There.” He pointed and my eyes followed. The article was longer than I had expected, taking up the entire left column of the page. I read silently.

After disappearing from the social scene for some time, Andre DeMonté, son of the wealthy businessman Elroy DeMonté, was seen in company with a beautiful young woman Friday evening… Élisabeth Lormé… The couple had gone to see Le Centre du Ciel on its opening night… News came out about their engagement and a spring wedding, yet there was no ring present on Mademoiselle Lormé’s finger. Some are questioning the integrity of this engagement, since the name Lormé is not a popular name in French society…. Some wonder if the young Monsieur DeMonté will just be following in his father’s footsteps. Others are anticipating the wedding date, predicting another famous and long overdue DeMonté celebration…

         I ripped my eyes from the paper, suddenly feeling sick. I had known it was going to happen, but somehow I still wasn’t prepared for the effect of it. Rage building, I threw the paper onto the ground. “Of course!” I said, my voice building in volume. “Of course!”
         Rupert shushed me and picked of the paper. “Settle down. You don’t want to make a scene.”
         He was right. I didn’t need my name in print anymore after this. I squeezed the ring’s box in my palm, hoping my human strength could somehow crush it into dust and solve all my problems.
         I felt Rupert’s hand on my shoulder. “I think it’s time we get back,” he said.



         When we arrived back at the estate, I all but threw my hat and jacket at Angeline when she gave me her arm to rest them on. I began climbing the stairs hastily, Rupert close to my tail. “I thought you were going to check the gardens,” Rupert said, trying to catch my attention. He was attempting to cheer me up by bringing back my joke from before. “To give her the ring in the dirt?” He laughed nervously.
         I ignored it and kept my eyes forward.
         We walked down the hallway at a brisk pace. I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone at the moment. Not even him. When I no longer heard his footsteps behind me, I turned around. He had stopped to peer into one of the rooms whose door was opened. I marched over to him once I realized whose room it was.
         “Rupert,” I hissed, “What are you doing?”
         He grinned at me and waltzed into the room. “Mademoiselle!”
         I went in as well. I had no other choice.
         I had never been in the room before, even as a child. Since the door had always been left open, I would glance inside from time to time but never stayed long. I remembered it being quiet and plain room, with a rather gray look to it. But now, in the room’s bright light, I could see the walls’ true color, a soft shade of peach. In the far corner of the room, a large yet fading wooden rocking chair sat, and beside it was a vanity with a petite matching stool. 
         Élisabeth was sitting on the edge of her quilted bed in another new dress. My father had been kind to her, it seemed, dressing her in a soft spring pink color with a white laced neck and silver buttons. Mardi’s little head perked up from her side to see who was at the door. Her smile faded the moment her green eyes fell upon me.
         I sighed.
         Élisabeth stood, not sure how to react to Rupert’s grand entrance. He crossed the room and took her hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back. Her face instantly turned the same shade as her dress. “I am Rupert, Rupert Corwin, and a good friend of your soon-to-be.”
         “Oh,” she said timidly, her eyes flickering to me. “How very nice to meet you, Monsieur. My name is Élisabeth Lormé.”
         “Élisabeth… Élisabeth…” he repeated like it was some sort of entrancing melody. “You are very beautiful. Far too beautiful for Andre, I think.”
         I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Rupert,” I said curtly. “We must be going.”
         He came to my side, eyes not leaving Élisabeth. “I see no dragon,” he whispered to me, smiling. “She’s radiant.”
         I hadn’t expected Rupert to disagree with me. I held my tongue. There were so many things I wanted to say to counter his comment, but I knew now wasn’t the right time with Élisabeth standing so close.
         “I hope we didn’t interrupt anything important,” said Rupert warmly. “Andre hasn’t stopped talking about you since I’ve arrived yesterday evening. I had to meet the woman of his thoughts.”
         How very clever of him, I thought.
         Élisabeth was startled by his words. “Mardi and I were just playing with her paper dolls.”          I hadn’t noticed them before, but when I looked back at the bed, little paper dolls were scattered across the sheets. Mardi held a blonde one in her little hands. Its fully drawn curls reminded me much of her.
         “How sweet,” said Rupert. He glanced back at me, catching my impatient expression. “Well, we should be off. Will I be seeing you at dinner?”
         She nodded.
         “Very good!” his smile widened. “Au revoir.”
         I closed the door behind us when we left.
         Rupert beat me to speaking. “Are you mad!” he whispered harshly.  “She is absolutely breathtaking!”
          Hadn’t he listened to anything I had told him about Élisabeth? Sure she was attractive enough once she was done up with my father’s generous gifts, but it was far more than that. “I can recall you telling me once that your eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” I told him hotly.
         He hit my arm. “I can see well enough for this,” he laughed. “I don’t see what is so terrible about her. She appears kind enough. And it seems your little maid has grown quite fond of her.”
         “She has.” I remembered Élisabeth’s story about her sister and the fighting tears in her eyes. I knew the true reason for Mardi and her connection, so I decided not to comment anymore than I had.
         An uncomfortable silence washed over us. I crossed my arms about my chest, waiting. Rupert shifted his weight from his heels to his toes, his hands behind his back. His childish grin reappeared.
         “So,” he said, finally, “what is so terrible about her?”
         I sighed noisily, turning on my heel. “I’m going to bed,” I said, walking away from him. “Goodnight.”
         “Andre! Andre!” he called after me. “I don’t see a dragon, Andre! No dragon!”
         I shook my head and continued down the hall. “Goodnight, Rupert!” I yelled behind me.
         I had every intention to go straight into my room and ask Angeline for a brandy to calm myself, but I paused at my father’s door. I pulled the ring box out of my pocket. It suddenly felt heavier in my hand as if it were taunting me. I couldn’t hold onto it any longer. I wanted it out of my sight. He would deal with it. It wouldn’t be my burden anymore.
         I didn’t even bother knocking. No room for manners. I walked to the desk where my father sat, a cigar between his lips. His eyes widened when he saw me.
         “Andre!” he snapped. “I’m— ”
         I slammed the box on his desk, cutting him off in midsentence. My father glanced at it and then back at me, baffled. 
         I then noticed the daily paper sitting folded beside his empty scotch glass. My name was in there among the rest of the unimportant news, exactly where it shouldn’t be. I took the paper from his desk. I tucked it under my arm and walked out, not saying a single word to him, and without closing the door.
         In my room, I paced back and forth, trying to gather myself. My days ended more and more this way lately. I rolled up the newspaper and hit it against my opened palm, thinking.
         When Angeline had brought up my brandy, I drained the glass before she had left. My tongue was still numb, but otherwise I was not feeling it. I was still troubled. With everything.
         Rupert had always been my friend. We agreed on everything, including our taste in women. How had he changed so suddenly? Why could no one else see why Élisabeth was so wrong? This entire day made me realize how alone I truly was in this whole charade.
         And then there was the nagging fact that my father had probably known about my mother’s death long before I had found out about it. No matter what, he wouldn’t have told me because his heart was as black and as shriveled as the ashes of his habited cigars. Her death must have been just a relief for him. 
         I gritted my teeth, trying to control the monstrous thing that was forming inside.
         The candle’s flame was dying from its shortened wick. I looked at the paper in my hand and then the small fire. I held the paper over it. The flame stretched upward as if it was reaching for it, eager to study the strange thing. Where the two touched a dark spot appeared—small at first but then it grew. The paper crinkled and curled. The heat of it burned my eyes, and I held it farther away from me. I watched it blacken and smoke until the flame got too close to my hand. Then I blew it out, ashes swirling in the air before me. I felt somewhat satisfied as I threw it in the waste bin, but the feeling quickly faded. My problems weren’t going to just spark fire and vanish. It could never be that easy.
         No, it could never be that easy.
         “Angeline!” I beckoned. “Another brandy, if you please.”