The Confusion

“I would be remiss if I failed to express to you, mademoiselle, my concern over the choices you have lately been making as to social contacts.”

“What!? Who!? The de Lavardac family? Pontchartrain? Monsieur Rossignol?”

“It is precisely because you are so frequently seen in the company of these fine persons, that you must reconsider your decision to associate with the likes of Madame la duchesse d’Oyonnax.”

Now Eliza’s free hand strayed to her waistband, for she had a sudden terror that the green phial would fall out and shatter on the floor and fill the gallery with a smell as foul as her intentions. It was such an obvious gesture that d’Avaux would have seen it, had he been facing her; but he was looking in another direction.

“Like it or not, monsieur, she is a fixture of Court, and I cannot pretend she doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, but to have private meetings with such a woman, as you have done three times in the last two months-”

“Who has been counting, monsieur?”

“Everyone, mademoiselle. That is my point. Even though you may be pure as snow-”

“Your sarcasm is rude.”

“This is a rude conversation, being a hurried one. As I was saying, you might be as upright as de Maintenon herself. But if and when Monsieur le duc d’Arcachon dies-”

“How can you speak of this, on his birthday!?”

“One year closer to death, mademoiselle. And even if the manner of his death is as innocent as falling from a horse, or going down on a sinking ship, people will say you had something to do with it, if you continue to tryst in dark places with Oyonnax.”

“Anyone can bandy accusations. Few have the dignity to make them count.”

“Is that what Oyonnax told you?”

This left Eliza speechless for a turn; so d’Avaux continued: “I was born a count, you were made a countess; I am one of those few who can accuse you.”

“You really are hideous.”

“I accused you before, after you spied for the Prince of Orange; but you escaped trouble, because you were doing it for Madame, and because you paid. Now you are alone, and you have no money. I do not know who it is precisely that you mean to poison: perhaps the Duke, perhaps Etienne, perhaps one and then the other. I am strongly tempted to wait and to watch as you do these crimes, and then destroy you-for to see you chained to a stone wall in the Bastille would be most satisfying to me. But I cannot allow a Duke and Peer of the Realm to suffer murder, merely to slake my own base cravings. And so I warn you, mademoiselle, not to-”

“Kill me,” said a voice from ahead of them.

D’Avaux and Eliza, still clamped together side by side, arm in arm, had reached the ancient double doors at the back of the chapel, and gone through. It looked entirely different now. Eliza half supposed they had come into the wrong room. The sun had gone down, so no light came through the windows; but hundreds of candles were now burning on scores of silver candelabras. Their light gleamed on the polished backs of many gilded chairs, which in lieu of pews had been arranged on the stone floor-no, on a Persian carpet laid over the floor. The altar was covered in a white silk cloth encrusted with gold brocade, though this was difficult to see, as the front half of the chapel had been turned into a fragrant jungle of white flowers. Eliza’s first thought, oddly, was, Where the hell did those come from at this time of the year? but the answer must have been some nobleman’s stifling Orangerie.

Etienne de Lavardac d’Arcachon, attired in full-dress cavalry colonel’s uniform, was sprawled on the carpet at the base of the altar, posed like an artist’s model. Resting on the carpet before him, at the head of the aisle, were two shiny objects: a serpentine dagger, and a golden ring.

D’Avaux had stiffened up so violently that Eliza half hoped he was undergoing a stroke. But his grip on her arm slackened, and he began to retreat.

Etienne was having none of that; he jumped to his feet. “Stay! If you please, Monsieur le comte. Your presence here is fortuitous and most welcome. For it were improper for me to meet with Mademoiselle la comtesse without some chaperon; which, as I have lain here awaiting her, has been troubling me more than words have power to express.”

“I am at your service, monseigneur,” said d’Avaux, watching beneath a creviced brow as the nimble young Arcachon collapsed to the floor, and resumed his former pose.

“Kill me, mademoiselle!”

“I beg your pardon, monsieur?”

“My suffering is unendurable. Please end it by taking up yon flamboyant dagger, and plunging it into my breast.”

“But I have no wish to kill you, Monsieur de Lavardac,” said Eliza, and threw d’Avaux a vicious glare; but d’Avaux was far too profoundly taken aback to notice.

“Then there is only one other way in which my suffering can be ended; but it is too much to hope for,” said Etienne. And his eyes fell on the band of gold.

“Your discourse is fascinating-but strangely clouded,” said Eliza. She was moving cautiously up the aisle toward Etienne. D’Avaux, trapped, stood at attention in the back.