GC-303  The Lascivious Abbot
[aka 'The Ribald Monk']
(L.H. Walker)


CHAPTER ONE

Master Anselme, innkeeper at Chalons, was putting a chicken on a spit
when suddenly the door opened and there appeared a rider dressed in black,
who breathlessly asked for a room at once.
 
 There is none available, said the innkeeper.
 
 A garret-anything will do! said the stranger and, at the same time,
rushed upstairs and disappeared from view only a few seconds before a
police officer and three archers entered the inn shouting:
 
 Where is the abbot?
 
 Which abbot? asked Master Anselme.
 
 The one who came into your inn just now.
 
 I did not see any abbot, the innkeeper said, but then my back was
turned
 
 Come on, fellows! the police officer shouted to his men, and he ran
up the stairs.
 
Meanwhile the fugitive, after having knocked vainly at the first
door, had more luck with the second one, which opened and there appeared,
framed in the doorway, a ravishing young woman in an expensive night-gown.
 
 What do you want? she asked, trembling with fear.
 
 Shelter! the stranger said. Some men are pursuing me! I'll explain
later but please have a heart.
 
Before she had time to recover from the surprise, he strode into the
room, hurriedly took off and hid his boots and slid into the woman's bed.
Just in time, for a gruff voice was heard to command:
 
 Open the door, in the name of the King!
 
 The woman obeyed, saying:
 
 There must be some mistake
 
The police officer gave a glance round the room, eventually resting
his sight on the man's hair protruding above the bed-sheets.
 
Anticipating his question, the woman explained:
 
 My husband is suffering from a high fever, Sir. Please give him
respite till to-morrow.
 
 Your husband!..
 
The police officer grimaced with spite and strode off, banging the
door behind him.
 
The young lady sighed with relief and sat down to let her heart take
back its normal rhythm. She could hear the heavy footsteps of the police
officer and his archers. After a while they were no longer to be heard.
 
The man came out of his hiding-place and said:
 
 Madame, how can I ever thank you for having saved me?
 
And as, embarrassed, she remained silent, he bowed gracefully and
spoke:
 
 Do not be afraid, Madame, I am not a bandit. I have neither stolen
nor
 
After a moment's hesitation, he pursued:  I was about to say 'nor
killed' but it wouldn't be true. You see, I have killed, but honourably, in
a duel, and that is why the police are after me.
 
With his finely-shaped hand he pointed to the bed and asked:
 
 You were about to sleep? I am sorry. Do take back the place I so
daringly occupied for a moment. I won't look.
 
And he turned his back on her while she crept into bed. But she
blushed when she realized that he had turned his back in vain for he could
see her just as well in a mirror hanging on the wall.
 
 What are you going to do now? she asked.
 
 The alarm is over, he said, but allow me to stay a few moments
more. When all are asleep in town I shall slip away, with the remembrance
of the gratitude I owe you. Can your husband come in unexpectedly?
 
 He is away on a trip, she reassured him.
 
 Good! he exclaimed, I would hate the idea of causing you any
trouble.
 
As she smiled she looked very lovely, and so young. Indeed, he
thought, he would have had much more difficulty with an older woman.
 
 Do tell me what happened to you, she asked.
 
So he started telling her about himself and the events leading to his
duel, and he was so eloquent that the young woman, the better to listen,
lay on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands, and, in this position,
she revealed a ravishing decolletage- one breast was nearly uncovered, and
its twin brother looked just as appetising.
 
This sight excited his imagination, and the delicate perfume that
emanated from her acted directly on his senses and made him bold, so he
slipped an arm around her.
 
 But, Sir! she cried, and tried, not very convincingly, to wriggle
out of his grasp. In her struggle, the protruding breast came out of the
low-cut night-gown completely and at once his hand took hold of it,
caressing it and nipping its nipple. She was obviously struggling against
her instincts but; he was fighting a losing battle.
 
Vainly, she tried to cover her body with the bed-sheets and to brush
away his hands which were straying along her body, her legs and-yes, even
here
 
Then, suddenly, she saw the Big Bad Wolf, all naked and stiff with
hunger, straining towards her.
 
 Oh, no! she moaned. Please respect me if my husband
 
 He must be a hundred miles away from here!
 
How could she resist this unexpected offensive, so skilful, and with
the convincing argument that represented this goading virility?
 
Novice, she certainly was-a more experienced woman would have found a
way of getting rid of a pestering, man. But she proved even more of a
novice than he had thought, for, indeed, when he penetrated her femininity
he found a well-known resistance and she let out a little scream of pain.
Yes, she was a virgin! The idea stimulated him and he pursued his offensive
till he saw her relax and he felt she was enjoying it, so he went on
caressing and fucking her. Prom time to time, he kissed her lips, and she
responded oh so tenderly, and he drank in the perfume of her warm throat,
licked the salty little rivulet of sweat between the two shapely orbs of
her breasts.
 
Resting for a while, he asked:
 
 You are married and still a virgin?
 
She explained that her husband had been called away on an important
mission on the very evening of her wedding-day.
 
 If I had been him, he said proudly, I would have found time to be a
husband to you before going away.
 
 Not all men are as bold as you are, she said admiringly, then she
added, with anxiety, what will my husband say when he discovers I am no
longer a virgin?
 
 If he discovers it-which is not at all certain  you can tell him
you wanted to spare him the sorrow of hurting you, he suggested, and,
anyway, it will teach him a lesson for his offence of going away without
honouring you.
 
So saying, he bent over her and kissed her again, and, after having
nibbled her teats for a while, he gave her the old boy again. Then, getting
bolder still, he licked her pain away, and she enjoyed that so much that he
was quite surprised-agreeably so, it goes without saying-when, a few
moments later, she herself took the initiative and used her tongue to good
effect, and Choisy reflected that he had never before come across a new
bride being so endearingly bold.



 
CHAPTER TWO

 
The abbot of Choisy did not tarry in Chalons, although his new
conquest begged him to give her some more lessons in love-making. Before
dawn, he was galloping away towards the Dutch frontier.
 
Abbot of Choisy? He was not really an abbot- he had only inherited
this title because he was the beneficiary of an abbey. The countess of
Choisy cherished him because he was the youngest of four sons and she
winked at his unruly life. A handsome, mischievous and impertinent boy, he
had not only succeeded in winning his mother's affection, but was quite a
favourite in court, mainly because of the affection and even tenderness
which Philip of Orleans, Louis XIV's brother, had for him.
 
But Francois de Choisy had none of the sexual leanings that his 
protector had, for, indeed, Monsieur, the king's brother, did nothing to
conceal his femininity. Choisy on the other hand, often used his disguise
to spring it as a surprise and thus win the affection of several beautiful
women, who were so taken aback to discover that under his womanly attire
there hid an unmistakable virility, that they readily succumbed to him.
 
Choisy galloped up to Dordrecht, feeling sure he had now nothing more
to fear from the men pursuing him.
 
A little way outside the town he perceived a beautiful garden of
tulips, and, tending the flowers, a woman just as beautiful, with her fair
hair the colour of ripe corn and her sky-blue eyes, and whose bosom
contained, imprisoned in a linen sheath, two half-moons of such an
appetising aspect that his mouth watered.
 
As he complimented her on the flowers, she exclaimed, smiling:
 
 Well, sir, have you never seen tulips before?
 
 I can see you are a stranger to these parts, she said.
 
 Why? Because I admire tulips?
 
With an attractive laugh that matched her looks, she answered:
 
 Not only that, but you look foreign. I'd wager you are a subject of
the King of France.
 
 A very faithful subject indeed, Choisy said ironically, but my poor
Frisky is spent. Haven't you got a stable or a shed for him?
 
 Come! she answered, simply, leading the way to a stable which
housed a cow, and giving Frisky some fodder and straw.
 
They talked and he learnt that her name was Julia and that her
husband was a sailor, away on a voyage.
 
Choisy was quick to grasp his opportunity, so, after having spent the
night in an inn, he came back to see the girl the following morning under
the pretext of inquiring about his horse Frisky.
 
 He still needs a few days' rest, Julia observed, are you obliged to
go away at once?
 
 No, he replied, I can stay a while in the realm of tulips I like
this country, and its people are so hospitable.
 
Julia smiled at the compliment as she naturally took it to be a
personal one. It even seemed to Choisy that she was not without some
emotion, which made the half-moons of her bosom rise animatedly.
 
They went to the table and talked amicably while patting Frisky.
 
 Aren't you lonesome all on your own with a husband so often away on
the high sea? he asked leadingly.
 
She sighed a little and said with a forced smile:
 
 I keep busy with my garden, my hens and the cow.
 
 That's all right during the day, but at night?
 
 At night, I sleep, she said, startled.
 
 Perchance to dream?
 
The girl's cheeks passed from pink to bright red.
 
 No, I rarely dream, she affirmed, adding, but you are so curious!
 
 I bet that in your dreams you imagine yourself in the arms of a 
man, your husband, of course.
 
 Oh! Do please stop your teasing me so! she said, you don't deserve
the pancakes I had prepared for you.
 
She ran away to the kitchen and came back with a dish full of
pancakes and a tankard of beer. They sat down to this lovely meal.
 
 I've never eaten better pancakes, he exclaimed after a while, if I
were your husband I would stay here all the time growing flowers and eating
pancakes.
 
At that, Julia laughed gaily, and she was so troubled by the
compliment that one could have sworn her breasts would at any moment escape
from their linen prison.
 
 Allow me to kiss you as a reward for having spoilt me with such
wonderful pancakes, he said, and he rose and laid his lips on the slightly
humid nape of her neck.
 
It smelt deliciously of woman.
 
 Sir! she cried out indignantly.
 
But he did not heed her protests, instead, he encircled her waist
with one arm, while with the other hand he stroked the front of her taut
blouse, tautening it still more.
 
 If I give you a kiss, she murmured, will you stop there?
 
 I give you my word, he answered, kneading her buttocks.
 
Indeed, after one kiss-oh, so delicious!  he released his hold and
sat down to more pancakes. But he went on watching her slyly, reflecting
the while that it was often a better tactic to give a woman time to warm
up, thus making her more eager for the caresses to come.
 
When their snack was over they went to the stable.
 
Julia caressed the horse Frisky with a significant nervousness, as if
she were taking her pleasure from the horse instead of with the rider.
 
 Egad, said Choisy, would you be getting fond of my horse?
 
 What would I do with it? she replied in a voice trembling with
nerves and emotion.
 
 Which will you mourn when we are gone-him or me? he asked.
 
 Both, she said, smiling.
 
Suddenly she found herself a prisoner in the arms of her guest who
showed unmistakable signs of amorousness and whose lips were soliciting
hers with such insistence that she simply had to surrender them. But when
she felt a hand groping under her frock, she had such a brisk reaction that
Frisky neighed and became restless.
 
 See? You are frightening this poor animal, she said.
 
As she withdrew from his grasp, Choisy took hold of her skirt and
tried to pull her back, with the result that her skirt loosened and slid
down. Choisy took advantage of her stupor and sprang on her. They both
rolled over on the straw.
 
 Stop! For Heaven's sake, stop! she cried.
 
But Choisy had aired his means of persuasion and at the sight of it,
Julia sucked in her breath and her will-power lost its battle.
 
Soon, she was moaning and her thighs were joyously beating against
her seducer's loins.
 
She accepted her defeat in good grace.
 
 Then it is true what I have been told about Frenchmen-that they are
real rogues, she said.
 
 Yes, he answered, and we feel obliged to live up to our reputation.
I hope you have no complaints.
 
 But my husband?
 
 He should have stayed near you.
 
She waved an admonishing finger at him and remonstrated with him, but
without any conviction in her tone, which betrayed a total absence of
remorse. And, as Choisy was about to resume his amorous feats, she
suggested tenderly:
 
 Not here!
 
She ran away, and, to catch up with her, Choisy had to trample her
tulip beds. He apologized, and she forgave him readily for hadn't he given
her the sweet taste of sin? She no longer offered any resistance and
eventually lay down in the matrimonial bed, where Choisy joined her.
 
So far, Julia had been used to an outward expression of love that
remained within the bounds of decency, but now she learned what it was like
to have an affair with one of those devilish Frenchmen.
 
Her body was feasted as it had never been by her too narrow-minded
husband. She knew with him such enchantments as she had never imagined,
even during those nights when she lay sleepless and thought of love-making
in all its possible forms.
 
He kissed her here, there, everywhere.
 
He licked her here, there, ditto.
 
And his prick was indefatigable. Her husband usually did it once and
then turned his back on her and went to sleep. But, with this wonderful
lover, she lost count of the times he had penetrated her, and yet he showed
no sign of fatigue.
 
All the fibres of her body were revelling with acute joy, and her
sighs mixed harmoniously with her lover's grunts of pleasure.



 
CHAPTER THREE

 
Frisky was restless in his stable: he was now completely recovered
and longed to go out and gallop on the roads. Choisy sensed it and, talking
to his horse, he reflected aloud:
 
 You're right, my friend. Food is good and plentiful here, but we
are not the stay-at-home type.
 
Yet, he reasoned, Julia was really a splendid lascivious creature. He
had grown to like this milky-white skin of hers which hid a torrid flesh,
and he was amused at her astonishments in front of his variations, unknown 
to her, on the ways of love-making-and the enraptured way in which she
accepted those variations without a sign of disgust, endeared her to him.
 
But Choisy was a real gourmet, where women were concerned, and he
knew that partaking always of the same dish, as it were, led to
indigestion.
 
Getting away from her, though, would not be a simple affair. She had
grown attached to him, at least physically, and if he announced to her his
intention of going, she would raise the roof. Ruse was the solution.
 
 Frisky is growing more restless every day, he remarked.
 
 You're not going away? Julia asked anxiously.
 
 Oh, no, he reassured her, just half an hour's trot to exercise my
horse.
 
And, true to his word, he came back and she welcomed him with open
arms, and also with something else open and craving to be filled. Which he
did, reflecting, though, that if she went on being so demanding, she would
soon empty him of all his maleness.
 
On the following day, he used the same plea of exercising his horse
and she let him go, confident that he would return within an hour. But she
was wrong: Choisy stopped at the inn where he had left his things, just
enough time to gather them, and then galloped to the next town.
 
And as he lay at last alone in a bed that night, he stretched his
weary limbs, yawned, and reflected that even the most lascivious goat
needed a rest from time to time.
 
Meanwhile, Julia was getting anxious and restless. She suspected, at
first, an accident, but, after having inquired around discreetly and heard
there had been no accident for miles around, she flew into a rage and
trampled her tulip beds with anger, accusing them of being the cause of
Choisy's having talked to her in the first place.
 
Running after Choisy was out of the question she would be the
laughing-stock of the whole village.
 
In the next few days, after restless nights, she took to walking more
or less avowedly in search of a male who would satisfy her craving and feed
her starving flesh. She soon found a newly-arrived sailor, but he was only
the first of many, and, when three months later, her husband came back, he
found, to his surprise, a wife so sensual and experienced that he suspected
the worst, and, after having surprised her speaking the name Choisy in
her amorous transports, he had no doubt left in him, and, putting his foot
down with a heavy hand, he gave her a good thrashing.
 
As soon as he had gone away on another voyage, Julia sold her cow and
hens and left on a trip to France. In Paris, she would surely find enough
to satisfy her ardent flesh, if not Choisy himself. Not finding him, she
went to bed with several of those men that are always in quest of a good
opportunity to empty their sexual purses. And, as there were no tulips to
grow in Paris, she earned a living cultivating her own garden whose body
was becoming each day more enticing.
 
As for Choisy, he had now reached Berlin, travelling a little at a 
time. There, he found a French repertory company, and, among the comedians,
he soon distinguished an actress whose looks and sprightly countenance he
liked.
 
Her name was Clorinde and she was not backward in coming forward. She
was well sought-after by the male members of the troupe and aroused the
envy of her flat-chested colleague named Babet.
 
With Clorinde, Choisy adopted the tactic of posing as a novice.
 
In her dressing-room, Choisy flirted with her like a beginner, and,
amused, she let him put a probing hand under her skirt. But then he aroused
her whole sexual system so well that she guessed he was not as innocent as
he was painted.
 
 You're an impostor! she said in an accusing voice, but the smile in
her eyes had a conniving spark.
 
He set under her eyes, and then into her hands the most persuasive
argument that a man well endowed by nature can have.
 
She was thrilled to the core and her twat was moistening
considerably.
 
They fornicated on an armchair and were rudely interrupted by the
stage-manager who shouted outside the dressing-room door:
 
 You're on in five minutes, Clorinde!
 
 Ooh! I'm in such a state to go on the stage! she exclaimed.
 
With one hand she adjusted the folds of her dress and with the other
patted her hair into place.
 
 You're a-she said, but he broke in:
 
 a lover, ready to do it again, he completed her sentence in his own
way.
 
 Oh! she exclaimed, scandalized, not here!
 
Hidden behind the scenery, Choisy watched her on the stage give a
performance that surpassed her best. Babet told her with bitter
enviousness:
 
 What's the matter with you to-night? You look as if ants were
eating your arse.
 
 I have even better than that, was Clorinde's pat answer, and she
went to join her lover.
 
Babet, spotting him, exclaimed:
 
 So this is the one who puts you in such a state?
 
 And it's giving her a fine complexion, remarked an aged member of
the troupe, recalling her ancient loves.
 
The amorous hors'duvre had given Clorinde an appetite. Choisy invited
her to have supper with him at his hotel. This was served in his bed-room,
and the dessert he gave her was one which, as a connoisseur, she
appreciated to the full. But this time, it was not a few hurried thrusts
under her dress on a dressing-room armchair, but a really good fuck in a
real bed.
 
They had cast aside the bed-sheets so as to have full liberty of
movements, and, until dawn, they made love in all the possible positions 
and all the possible ways. Nor were their tongues idle-and they did not
waste them for talking! They used nearly all the muscles of their bodies to
procure each other the largest gamut of sensations possible. And they
stopped only from sheer exhaustion.
 
When, on the following day, a maid came into their room to inquire as
to their wishes for the midday meal, she stopped suddenly on the doorstep,
gaping with astonishment at the sight of their two bodies naked and asleep
in each other's arms.

 
But, not distinguishing them well, she exclaimed:
 
 My word, they're two women-how pretty they are! But what had they
done to've put the bed in such a mess?
 
Choisy, waking up, raised himself up in the full eloquence of his
real sex.
 
 But it's a cockerel, a real cockerel! the maid remarked aloud, with
her eyes as round as discs.
 
 Yes, a cockerel hungry for grain, Choisy said.
 
 Or perhaps for some nice piece of pie or meat? suggested the maid.
 
 Yes, spoke Clorinde, but hurry up-we're starving! And we have good
reason for it, I can assure you.
 
She gave Choisy a wink of gratitude, then offered her lips, which he
accepted readily, and that was the prelude to another feast of their bodies
which acted as an appetiser cum time-killer till their lunch was served.



 
CHAPTER FOUR

 
Clorinde gave Choisy a very extended gamut of pleasurable feelings.
Her inborn faculties were used with a knowledge, experience and ingenuity
that made her one of the best mistresses Choisy had ever had.
 
She aroused envy in all the female members of the troupe and Choisy
could have dropped his handkerchief in front of any of them and she would
at once have accepted him with alacrity, zest and gusto.
 
But Clorinde was watchful and she would never have allowed her
wonderful lover to be taken away from her. She would have suffered too
much, in her flesh as well as in her dignity, for she had rarely if ever
had, in her abundant amorous career, a lover that filled her so much with
voluptuous feelings, with skill as well as vim. And she gave back to him
all she had got. Whenever she thought about it-and she had little leisure
for thinking-she enumerated mentally all the overs she had had, and came to
the conclusion that Choisy was number one. She had lost her maidenhead at
the age of fifteen with an apprentice hairdresser, and had never looked
back. She recalled the handsome captain of dragoons, the witty canon, the
brutal financier- none of them was a match on Choisy. They had shown their
generosity in sap or in gold, and they often had some luxurious exigencies 
which she had not denied them. But none equaled this demon of Choisy, with
his face like that of a mischievous child and his body comparable to that
of a woman, except for one detail-but of importance!  and his aristocratic
manners, his so effective ways and, last but not least, his physical
resistance. She always left his arms aching all over with fatigue, but
delighted.
 
The other actresses of the troupe tried to attract Choisy's attention
by walking with a wiggle, lowering their decollete to the point of
indecency, or leaving the door of their dressing-room open at the time they
were changing clothes-but all they got for their pains was a smuttily witty
remark or a mischievous grimace. The luckiest ones got a playful pinch, no
more.
 
Choisy was wise enough not to risk troubles by making love to another
actress of the troupe-it was much wiser to go away altogether if he had
enough of Clorinde.
 
But he had not had enough of her yet, and, although his horse was
eager to go out and get some exercise, he did not like the idea of leaving.
 
After a time, Clorinde became less watchful and began to take Choisy
a little for granted. Danger, for her, crept in without her being aware of
it at first, in the person of Justine Desportes, who was a girl in her
teens, not yet fully grown, and a redhead at that.
 
This Justine was employed by the troupe as a sort of
maid-of-all-work. She helped the artistes to get dressed, sewed patches on
costumes, also worked in the prompter's box or even on the stage in small
parts for which she had only a few words to say. She was badly treated by
the troupe, who used her meek attitude to work off their nerves on her, and
often went as far as slapping her face.
 
Choisy was not attracted by unripe women-he disliked being an
initiator and much preferred making love with an experienced woman like
Clorinde.
 
But he felt compassion for this poor girl who never answered back and
accepted meekly all the taunts and hard words. Several times he had asked
her to go and buy some flowers for Clorinde, for she knew a few words of
German. Then one day she offered to sew up his sleeve which had become
frayed and, as he wanted to give her a silver crown, she refused with a
smile.
 
On one occasion, when he saw Zoe, a soubrette, slap Justine's face
because she had mislaid a ribbon, he felt sorry for her and Clorinde
laughed and spoke derisively:
 
 Are you going to appoint yourself the champion of this little
hussy?
 
 Not at all, but why are you all against her?
 
 She's good for nothing-awkward on the stage and silly backstage.
 
 But always ready to oblige, remarked Choisy.
 
 That's the least she can do to earn her bread.
 
 Her bread! She would love to eat cake like the others, if they 
would let her! he remarked.
 
Choisy was piqued and, on the same day, bought some sweets for
Justine, who blushing with pleasure, accepted with tears of gratitude in
her eyes. She held up her cheeks to him and Choisy was touched by this
naive gesture. Fortunately Cloride, who was applying some make-up to her
face and had her back turned, did not see Justine kiss Choisy's cheek, but
Babet did.
 
Some time later, Choisy, who was loitering in the town, saw Justine
pause in admiration before a hairdresser's shop in the window of which were
displayed a few curly wigs.
 
 Hello! What are you doing here? said Choisy amicably.
 
Justine blushed and confessed she was admiring the wigs.
 
 You don't need those, Choisy assured her, you are quite
good-looking.
 
 Me, good-looking? I've always been told that I am plain.
 
 That's not right, said Choisy, you are at an awkward age, but I
predict that in a few years men will take notice of you.
 
 You're not speaking seriously, are you? she said, wistfully.
 
 Yes, I am.
 
 But-I am a red-head!
 
 Well, why should red-headed girls be different from the others?
 
 Yes, why? said Justine pensively.
 
 Has the idea of having a lover entered your mind? asked Choisy
point-blank.
 
She smiled greedily, and that was as good as an answer.
 
 How do you imagine him to be? went on Choisy.
 
 At your image, answered Justine, blushing more furiously than ever
at this spontaneous confession.
 
Choisy wondered whether she was secretly making fun of him. Noticing
again the whiteness of her skin, he reflected that redheads have warm blood
and pictured in his imagination her slender nudity with the spot of fire
punctuating the curve of her stomach and he felt blood rushing to his head.
 
When they arrived back at the theatre, they all started griping at
Justine and Choisy heard the loud smack of a slap.
 
Clorinde took him aside and showed him how beautifully dressed she
was in her part of a princess, which she was going to play on the stage.
Then she changed her tone and asked abruptly:
 
 What are your intentions with that little pest Justine?
 
 And what could my intensions be? he asked innocently.
 
 You were seen kissing her.
 
 And what about it? She's only a child. Would you by any chance be
jealous?
 
 To-night you're going to bed with a princess, she told him.
 
 A stage princess, he corrected her, and added, in bed, all women
are alike: princesses or maids, men make goddesses of them all.
 
Clorinde smiled, flattered, then she went on stage.
 
Choisy watched her for a while, then felt bored with the play so he
went for a walk backstage and suddenly came upon Justine who was crying in
a corner.
 
 Why are you crying? he asked.
 
 The actresses-they all told me off for gadding about in the
streets, and Zoe said she would whip me the next time.
 
 Let her try it, and it will be I who will spank her, said Choisy.
 
 Your hands would get sore doing it, remarked Justine.
 
 That's right, with her bones right near the skin of her buttocks!
At her age, it's incurable. You, at least, can hope to get plumper. Though,
to say the truth, you're not as lean as they say.
 
And Choisy gave her behind a playful tap or two.
 
 Sir! whispered Justine, but not angrily, suppose anyone should see
us.
 
She could not answer for her lips were sealed by Choisy's. It was her
first kiss and it set her body into a turmoil.
 
He took her to a little recess among the decors, and, even as he
dragged her there, with one hand he was already exploring the curves of her
body, her little body all aching for love. Soon, he reached the mossy humid
centre of her feelings. It made him forget all prudence and, his virility
awakened, he took out his thing and strove to push it into her.
 
Justine offered no resistance, until she screamed with pain.
 
 Oh, sir, you're hurting me!
 
 Shut up! he commanded, as his body was by now all worked up by
desire, and at all costs he felt he had to fulfill it. His senses were made
afire by the contact of her soft, wet and warm conduit, as well as by the
pungent odour of the pigmentation of her skin, peculiar to red-heads.
 
 No! she howled, once again trying to oppose the entry of the
bowel-piercing instrument.
 
Choisy was holding her, not wanting to let her go at any costs, when
he was rudely interrupted by an exclamation of Oh, you!.. and, turning
round with a thumping heart, he found himself confronted by none other than
Sir Desportes, Justine's father, who was about to go on stage in reply to
his cue.
 
Choisy did not wait for explanations and ran away, leaving Justine
still a virgin, or very nearly so.



 
CHAPTER FIVE

 
 And how did you get out of that predicament? asked Mrs. de Ransac.
 
Choisy shrugged his shoulders.
 
 Sir Desportes was calmed with a handful of gold coins and the slap
he gave his daughter. As for Clorinde, it wasn't so easy. I told her that
under the circumstances, I could not stay among the troupe, and she 
admitted it. So, after a stormy night, I left Berlin.
 
 And you came straight to Venice?
 
 Yes, because I knew you were there.
 
There was a silence. The sun, as magnificent as the Roi Soleil
himself, cast its golden rays on the lagoon.
 
 Venice is really a town made to measure for lovers, don't you think
so? Choisy asked.
 
Mrs. de Ransac giggled nervously.
 
 So you think that here I would have weaknesses that I would not
have in Paris? she said. No, my dear count, I intend to remain a faithful
wife.
 
 What an honour for Mr. de Ransac!
 
 You might have complimented me on my virtue, but you personify
insolence and one has to take you as nature made you.
 
 Well, then take me!
 
 I prefer being a spectator to your successes.
 
 Don't you mean being part of it, rather?
 
 Pshaw! You have at your disposal a large number of belles who would
not resist you. I am not going to be your accomplice.
 
Night was now descending on Venice and Choisy was moved by the beauty
of the scene and the intimate presence of Charlotte de Ransac.
 
He had first met her in Paris, where he had tried in vain to seduce
her. She was then a young bride. Now, she had matured, and the forms of her
body had very promising bulges, and her eyes and lips sent out silent
love-calls.
 
He was determined to lay siege to her heart (to use a euphemism),
but, being a good tactician, he knew he would have to use a lot of
patience-Mrs. de Ransac was not one of those women you took by violence.
 
 You did not pass unperceived in Venice, she said. Not later than
yesterday in the salon of the marchioness of Rubo, they were discussing
you.
 
 Really? exclaimed Choisy, curious.
 
 Yes, my dear count. But in Venice anything that is ambiguous is
food for gossip.
 
 And they want me to furnish them with gossip?
 
 That is already done. The big question is to know which sex you
belong to.
 
 I have given ample proof of that.
 
 Not here. You have a knight's costume but they say it proves
nothing.
 
 The Carnival is over, Choisy observed. Would they want me to have
gondolier's arms and halberdier's calves? Do tell me about this
marchioness-is she a citadel of virtue?
 
 So they say..
 
 That does tempt me. I'm prepared to wager that I'll win her heart.
 
 I'll accept the wager, and even introduce you if you like, although
you'll find more accessible beauties in Venice.
 
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. de Ransac
who was back from the embassy where he worked as first secretary. He
invited Choisy to supper and asked him many questions about Berlin.
 
The next day, Choisy's gondola crossed another gondola in which he
saw a very attractive woman and he could have sworn that she smiled at him.
The gondolier told him that it was the beautiful Francesca, a courtesan
richly kept by a rich merchant of Murano.
 
 Is she virtuous? he asked.
 
The gondolier, in the way of answer, grimaced and started singing a
local song, the meaning of which escaped Choisy.
 
When he had returned to his hotel, Choisy called in his valet Bouju.
 
 Try to get information where Francesca lives  she's a creature as
beautiful as Venus herself.
 
 But, Sir, I don't speak Italian.
 
 Francesca-keep that name in mind. The rest shouldn't be difficult.
And he dismissed him with an elegant gesture of his hand.
 
Indeed, Bouju soon found Francesca's address, and in the evening,
Choisy passed in a gondola in front of her house. He saw her graceful
silhouette delineated in the frame of her window.
 
But there was a man with her-an elderly man, richly dressed.
 
He wrote her a letter, calling her The Pearl of Venice. Flattery
reached its target and she sent back a letter inviting him to spend the
night in her palace.
 
As he arrived at the house, she came down the marble steps and he
received her in his gondola. Together they went inside and drew the
curtains.
 
He thanked her in a few words of Italian he had picked up. She
retaliated with a few words of French which took on a southern charm under
her warm voice and accent.
 
 What did you come to Venice for? she asked.
 
 For love! he answered with fire in his voice.
 
 Love? scoffed Francesca, they say that the French make it chiefly
in words.
 
 It's a slander, an awful calumny.
 
 Then there is a rumour that you are really a woman disguised as a
man.
 
 So it's curiosity that drives you to see for yourself, is it?
 
 Shall I be the first in Venice to learn the answer?
 
 Upon my word, that is so, he assured her.
 
She allowed him to take her hand, on which Choisy gave a first kiss.
Then he prolonged his kisses up to her elbow. Her skin was unctuous and
gave off a heady perfume.
 
In the dark, Choisy's lips searched Francesca's. As he found them a
tremor of bliss agitated them both and they remained long in a loving
embrace. As he finally released her, she exclaimed:
 
 Oh, dear, how well you can deceive people!
 
He kissed her again, drawing back the curls of her hair and drinking
in the perfume of her throat. She sighed with ecstasy, but, growing a bit
alarmed, she said:
 
 Let me go home now!
 
 Not yet, he answered, it must be so lovely to remain together in
this swaying gondola.
 
 I'm afraid it will be swaying too much, and then we'll be in the
drink.
 
 Then we'll love each other in the water like sea-monsters, he
bantered.
 
She tried to push away his straying hand. Under her cape she was
wearing only a light dress and a thin chemise.
 
This little struggle lasted a moment, he trying to reach with his
hand at the vulnerable points of her anatomy, and she striving to push his
hand away, until eventually she felt against her bare loins something
unmistakably hard and warm, and she gave way to his advances.
 
Slowly, in order not to disturb the balance of the gondola too much,
he drove his instrument in and out. But she soon grew so amorous and
excited that she found his slow movements too little of a good thing, so
she thrust out with her loins and hastened the movement, whispering
passionately the while: Caro, caro
 
Then she gave orders to the gondolier to driver her home.
 
 Are you convinced, now? asked Choisy.
 
She tenderly shut his lips with her warm scented fingers, which he
kissed with devotion.
 
Before leaving the gondola, she told him to return on the following
night.
 
But what a surprise she had when, the next night, she saw a lady
enter her palace instead of the man she was expecting.
 
Then the lady unveiled her face and, to her amazement, she saw it
was really Choisy, or someone looking very much like him, for she was not
convinced yet that a disguise could be so perfect.
 
 Is it really you? she asked, dubious.
 
 Shall I tell you what we did yesterday in the gondola to convince
you? he asked.
 
 But your coiffure is absolutely ravishing!
 
 And, see, I even have a bosom-but an artificial one.
 
Still a little doubtful, she asked:
 
 Wouldn't you by any chance have a brother looking like you?
 
He laughed:-No, I am an only child.
 
Then he proceeded to divest himself of his feminine garments, in the
privacy of her luxurious room.
 
At each phase of the undressing, she exclaimed incredible!
 
Then, when the Big Bad Wolf came to be seen, her heart gave furious
thumps.
 
She let Choisy undress her and wondered at the skill of his hands.
 
 You're better than my maid, she said smiling.
 
The caresses his hands gave her as he undressed her were an excellent
prelude to love. Choisy, too, was getting very much excited at the sight of
her flesh getting more and more revealed, and the warm heady perfume that
emanated from her delicately embroidered clothes.
 
At last, with feverish fingers, he divested her of the last
protection of her garments, and threw himself on the bed with her.
 
He lay on top of her and kissed her neck, her mouth, then her bosom
and remained some time savouring the milky whiteness of her voluptuous
breasts, and, as he made the pink nipples grow under his gently biting
lips, she squirmed with passion, and, as he came into her, she was ripe and
ready.
 
But Choisy was determined to give her the whole gamut of love a la
Francaise, so he did not go in yet, but proceeded to make her come several
times with his tongue.
 
And how she responded to his clever love-making! She had never had
such a lover before. Choisy had opened up new vistas of sensual pleasure to
her.
 
As a good strategist, he kept attacking on all fronts at the same
time. Thus, while he was sucking her off, with one hand he pinched her
nipples in turn, and he used one-or sometimes two-fingers of the other hand
as a penis, driving them deeply in and out of her warm juicy pussy.
 
He finished off by going into her himself, and timing it so that they
came together in an orgasm so violent that it left them both dazed in
blissful forgetfulness for a moment.
 
With some pauses for sleep, their love feast lasted long through the
night and, in the morning, Choisy left Francesca's apartments dressed as a
woman. He continued to adopt this disguise and it was funny to see that
nobody ever suspected anything was afoot between him and Francesca.
 
At times, he even crossed in his path Francesca's lover-the rich
merchant-and Francesca had a good laugh when he told her once that her
elderly lover was making eyes at him, taking him for an attractive woman.



 
CHAPTER SIX

 
Charlotte de Ransac began to feel puzzled by Choisy. She expected him
to try his hardest to seduce her. She remembered how pressing he used to be
in Paris, and the satisfaction she got out of keeping him on a string. But
here in Venice, although he paid her a visit practically every day, he was
polite, witty and full of compliments, but still kept his distance.
 
First, she supposed that Choisy was taken up by other women, and was
rather piqued by the idea. She looked at her voluptuous body in the mirror,
and she was pleased with what she saw. How come Choisy did not seem any 
longer to appreciate her beauty to its full merit?
 
She tried in vain to get information about Choisy  even all the
gossip failed to show that he was anything but a courteous gentleman and,
so far, there was no sign of his having an affair with a Venetian lady.
 
So she opened up her heart to the marchioness of Rubo, who had the
reputation of knowing more about intrigues in Venice than any other woman.
 
 Who has he fallen in love with? she asked her.
 
 Maybe his reputation is overdone, replied the marchioness.
 
 I can assure you that in France one could not keep count of his
conquests.
 
 Well, in that case, he's probably indifferent to the Venetian type
of beauty.
 
 He? Oh, no, that can't be. I know he can hide his game quite
expertly, but can a love affair remain unknown for a long time in such a
city as Venice?
 
After a pause, the marchioness spoke:
 
 You know, since he arrived in Venice, one has not yet solved the
riddle of his real sex.
 
 He does arouse our curiosity, admitted Charlotte.
 
 Yes, it would be fun unmasking him. But who will do that-a man or a
woman?
 
 We shall let chance decide it, Charlotte de Ransac suggested.
 
The marchioness smiled enigmatically.
 
 We shall help chance she said. At carnival time it would be very
easy and all of us women would be very glad of the opportunity.
 
All? Charlotte de Ransac thought that the case of Choisy interested
too many people, and she would have preferred to have only one rival, for
Choisy was, at least to her, a man who had wooed her and showed by his
assiduous court that he was really a man. She could fight against a rival.
But surely not against a whole conjuration of women.
 
She was thinking too much of Choisy, she realized. And that was not
the worst. The truth was that her flesh was disturbed by her thoughts of
him, and she found no longer any sexual satisfaction with her husband. She
chose all sorts of pretexts to avoid his approaches. The sight of his big
prick, all stiff and throbbing with desire, which used to make her twat
shut and open and become all wet, now filled her with revulsion. And he was
of course becoming more and more amorous with her continued refusals to
satisfy his desire. He was even accusing her of cruelty, but women do not
give a damn about hurting a man, when they have ceased to love him.
 
 Venice, capital of love-Choisy had told her- what an imposture! she
thought bitterly.
 
Although she had been residing in Venice for more than two years, she
knew the town rather badly and was very little informed about the Venetian
intrigues. She would at least never have imagined that her friend the
marchioness was ready to put into effect a very bold plan for which she
risked defiling her honour as a great lady of rank. But there is no knowing
what some passions can work in a woman's breast, and the marchioness's
itching curiosity to find out for herself about Choisy and the riddle he
was setting them all, had the better of her wisdom and virtue.
 
One evening, hidden in a hired gondola, she followed Choisy as he
took a gondola and she saw that he stopped in front of Francesca's palace
and entered it. The marchioness gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction-she
had discovered Choisy's secret.
 
The following day, before visiting time, as Choisy had just come out
of his bath, Bouju announced the visit of a masked lady.
 
Choisy was flattered and wondered if that lady would not by any
chance be Charlotte de Ransac, piqued by his indifference and wanting to
tackle him in his very den. He combed his hair and brushed his clothes
carefully, sensing that he would have to appear at his best for yet another
conquest.
 
As the mysterious lady came in, he saw that it would be impossible
for him to recognize her, as, besides being masked, she was wearing a very
wide cloak.
 
 Whoever you are, Choisy said affably, make yourself at home-you are
welcome.
 
The lady sat down and said:
 
 I am very much interested in you-but don't ask me the reason why,
please-or at least not just yet.
 
Choisy did not answer. He was too busy trying to recognize the voice
of the mysterious visitor, which was a difficult thing to do, for she was
trying her best to disguise her voice.
 
 Since you have been in Venice, she went on, there has been some
hostility against you.
 
 Hostility? exclaimed Choisy unbelievingly, and just what are they
reproaching me with?
 
 With everything and nothing in particular. You are French and even
Parisian. Your behaviour defies criticism but
 
 Go on, prompted Choisy.
 
 But you have an independent spirit and a certain liberty of
language which have hurt, or at least, displeased a few persons.
 
 I didn't know there were such susceptible persons here.
 
 The people of Venice are very proud of their rank and cannot
tolerate that anybody should speak about them without respect.
 
 Does the Council of the Ten intend to turn me out of the town?
asked Choisy.
 
 I don't think so, but you had better be on your guard-about your
nightly outings in particular, she answered pointedly.
 
 Am I being spied upon? This is annoying, and I don't know how to
express my gratitude to you for warning me thus so disinterestedly.
 
On hearing his last word, the masked lady could not repress a titter,
and Choisy recognized her. Standing up, he said:
 
 You are well informed, my dear Marchioness, and I really don't know
how to express my gratitude to you.
 
So saying, he had come near her and he was smiling broadly, for he
had succeeded in discovering her identity. She had been clever, but had
neglected a significant detail:-that of her unmistakable perfume which he
would know anywhere. It was a musky, heady perfume, which acted strongly on
his senses-he felt his penis start swelling at each whiff of her perfume
intercepted by his dilated nostrils.
 
Still, she was reluctant to admit her defeat readily, and persisted
in her anonymity. So he told her:
 
 Marchioness, do put yourself at ease-you must be stiflingly warm
with this heavy cape of yours.
 
At these words, he himself took the initiative to take off her mask
and her cloak, and she finally appeared as the splendidly attractive woman
she was, and the slight note of confusion that could be read in her face,
made her more exquisitely beautiful. Before such majestic beauty, Choisy
knelt down.
 
 How could I ever suppose that there would be in Venice such a
high-ranking guardian angel for poor little me!
 
 Sir, the marchioness answered, now with her natural voice, the
person you pay visits to every night has a very vindictive protector.
 
 I know it and Francesca  Hush!
 
 Pardon me, but since you know everything about me Choisy had come
nearer his graceful visitor, and she felt his voluptuous mouth on the nape
of her neck.
 
 Sir, I shall regret the boldness I had to come here and warn you-a
boldness that was inspired by Choisy closed her lips with the tips of his
delicate fingers, while with the other hand, he started fingering her
swelling bosom.
 
Then he declared in a voice full of a tenderness which he knew was a
very effective weapon:
 
 I am ready to do everything possible so that you should not feel
sorry you came here to warn me.
 
He pulled deftly on an aglet of her bodice and there sprung out one
of her breasts. Its wonderfully smooth skin felt warm and scented under his
face and he kissed it avidly. She tried to wriggle away from his grasp, but
now her passion was aroused and her struggle was not really sincere-it was
a parody of defense.
 
There was a bed, placed strategically nearby, and she opposed no
resistance when Choisy drew her towards it. Her bosom was heaving with
passion. Feverishly, but with an expert touch, Choisy undid her bodice, and
managed to continue kissing her throat the while. And at each of his
kisses, she gave a little quiver of delight. Her eyes were closed and her
lips open and wet-he covered them with his own, and, oh, how that woman
could kiss! Her lips were full, yet not thick, her teeth were regular, and
 Choisy thought-her salivation while kissing was just right, not too
excessive, like that of some women he had known. With the marchioness, it 
was really a perfect kiss, and he felt his heart melt and his penis grow
and grow-he freed it and there it stood in all its splendour, tilted up
with desire.
 
It was just a question of time now. At the stage where she had
arrived, she would have to go the whole hog.
 
She lay on her back on the bed and shut her eyes in ecstasy. He got
up and pulled her skirt down and she opposed no resistance. To take off her
chemise, she would have had to get up, and that may have aroused her from
the state of bliss she was in, so Choisy decided to disturb her as little
as possible, so he lay down on top of her and kissed her again full on the
lips which had now become warm-a sure sign that a woman was ready for love.
So now he did not hesitate and, lifting up her chemise just enough for the
passage of his prick, he drove it home, and, far from opposing him, she had
drawn her thighs apart in eager anticipation of the inevitable.
 
Her cunt was as soft and juicy as her mouth, and with as much
perfection: not too soft but with a certain firmness of flesh, and how
thrillingly she could use her inner muscles to constrict her vagina and
squeeze his penis like a dagger in a well-greased sheath.
 
As he moved in and out, she helped his movements, keeping in perfect
time with him, and, at each of her upward thrusts, he felt the thrill of
her warm belly against his.
 
Her musky perfume, which was blending marvellously with the warmth of
her flesh and the perspiration of her body, made him sniff deliciously as
he kissed her on the breasts, on her throat and on her warm pungent
armpits.
 
After they had both come together, he paused just a little, kissing
her the while, but he would not let her go yet-he wanted to give her a
sample of what a Frenchman was capable of. Not that he was urged only by a
feeling of pride for his country's reputation as wonderful lovers-he felt a
genuine desire to make love with this woman as much as was possible now,
for perhaps it was a unique opportunity. He realized she was a woman of
high rank, who would perhaps later feel ashamed to have given way to a man
in his own home, and she might never come back to him.
 
These thoughts crossed his mind in the space of a second, and then he
did not think any more, and plunged himself body and soul in his passion.
 
He kissed her again on the lips, then, gently and tenderly, on her
eyelids. Then, suddenly, he crept down arid, under her thin chemise, groped
in the dark with his tongue for the sensitive point.
 
Soon, he found the protruding button of her clitoris under his
tongue, and he started working on it, and, from time to time, he licked up
the warm juice that was oozing from the opening just underneath.
 
She had grasped his hands and guided them towards her breasts-she was
a very voluptuous woman and she had at last found a lover worthy of her,
and was determined to get the best out of him. He obediently did what she
prompted him to do, that is to pinch her teats while he was sucking her
off.
 
Soon she was moaning with delight and she thrust her twat against his
body so hard that he had difficulty in breathing. He felt a bit as if he
was her prey, or her slave, and he thought that he felt the same with every
experienced and passionate woman, but he did not mind it at all and he gave
her all she wanted with the eagerness to please the opposite sex that had
made his reputation of one of the best lovers of his time, one that no
woman was ever likely to forget once she had known him.
 
Under the busy working of his tongue, the marchioness had come two or
three times. Then, Choisy, who had felt his virility coming back and raring
to go, timed it perfectly and pushed his rod into the warm juicy scabbard.
The sensation was exquisite and they both grunted with infinite pleasure
together. A few thrusts, and they both came, and he thought he had never
felt so much pleasure, although perhaps, to be honest, he had often had the
same thought before. But he was at least sincere in admitting that he could
not possibly ever feel more pleasure for if he did he could not bear it and
would swoon with the shock of too much happiness.
 
For a long time, the marchioness lay there, with her eyes shut,
breathing hard, basking in the wonderful happiness of her contented senses,
with all fibres of her body still aquiver but beginning to calm down into a
delicious feeling of contentedness.
 
When she opened her eyes, she saw that Choisy had already readjusted
his clothing and was appearing decent before her. She beheld her own
disarrayed clothes and felt a sense of shame. Like the gentleman he was,
Choisy turned round while she put on her skirt and fastened on her bodice.
 
He could now contemplate her, and how changed she was! Before, she
was pale and dignified. Now, she was only a woman in the full sense of the
term. She radiated happiness and contentment from every pore of her body
shining with warmth, and her eyes were looking at him lovingly and
gratefully.
 
 What are you going to think of Venetian women? she asked with
belated modesty.
 
 I have always thought well of them, and now more than ever.
 
 And they are discussing about your sex, wondering which it is!
exclaimed the marchioness, in an amused tone, mixed with sensual gratitude.
 
 Now you know, my dear marchioness, but please don't shout it on the
roof-tops!
 
 What interest would I have to do such a silly thing?
 
 Indeed, it would compromise you. Better keep mum and let them all
continue to wonder about my case.
 
 That might induce other women to do as I did and satisfy their
curiosity, she said with a note of fear and jealousy in her voice.
 
 Dear me! exclaimed Choisy, amused, am I to be Raped by all the
women who want to satisfy their curiosity about me?
 
 That is the consequence of the enigma you are setting them, my
dear.
 
So saying, the marchioness had put on her mask again, ready to leave,
but just before she adjusted her mask, Choisy managed to steal a last kiss,
which was warm, tender, and lasted a long time.
 
 I think, after all, he said that I had better pass off as a
woman-for I would then have more freedom to make love without danger.
 
And he thought of the stratagem he had used to deceive the vigilance
of the rich merchant of Murano by disguising himself as a woman.
 
 Are you sure you would incur no danger? she asked, smiling, and
what about the risk of men pursuing you, thinking you are a real woman?
 
 I can take care of that! he said, let's hope that now you know the
way to my house, you will  We shall have to make an arrangement, she broke
in, good bye, my dear!
 
And she left him, as anonymously as she had come in.
 
Alone, he meditated upon her last sentence. What did she mean by
making an arrangement? Did she mean that she would ensure that she would
have the exclusivity of his love? Yet, he felt capable of contenting both
the brunette Francesca and this marchioness who was a perfect living
example of the famous blonde Venetian beauties. But he would have to be
cautious, for now that the marchioness knew about his affairs with
Francesca, she would probably be jealous, and everything was possible in
Venice, the city of intrigues.
 
Yes, he reflected, Venice was really living up to its reputation of
the capital of love. And he felt a voluptuous contentment in realizing it.



 
CHAPTER SEVEN

 
So Choisy continued to flit about from one Venice palace to another,
arousing curiosity everywhere he went, and Francesca and Flavia de Rubo
congratulated themselves on having such an ingenious and untiring lover.
And they were pleased about their affairs being kept secret. The rich
merchant of Verano did not suspect the night revelries of his mistress, and
the marquess of Rubo still thought his wife was a model of virtue, and if
some gossiper had told them the truth they would not have believed him. Nor
would Choisy have ever been found out but for the marchioness's sudden
sexual frenzy which induced her to spy on him.
 
Choisy was a lucky man indeed, and he knew it, for he had two
mistresses, the brunette Francesca and the blonde Flavia, which varied his
fare of love. Francesca was quite an expert in love-making. Should Choisy
have experienced a sexual weakness, she would have known the way to arouse.
She would have put on her best perfume and her most alluring clothes, she
would have wiggled her hips just a little while walking and she would have
held herself erect, with her stomach drawn in and her bust thrust
prominently forward, and she would have worn her most audacious decollete,
or else the likewise exciting opposite consisting of a blouse buttoned
primly up to her neck but setting off to perfection the voluptuous curves 
of her bosom, also, she knew the fine art of caresses, and not necessarily
the direct ones, but also those fleeting ones that make a man want more.
But she never had to resort to any of those devices to arose Choisy's
desire, for he was ever ripe-ready for her whenever he visited her and
whatever her sexual greed was.
 
Nor had Flavia any complaint about her lover. Every time she managed
to escape from her palace and join Choisy at his hotel she spent with him
an hour or two and behaved like a bitch in heat. She did everything to him
and wanted everything done to her, and, at the end, sighing contentedly she
boasted to herself that if ever Choisy wanted to deceive her he would have
no means to do so, for she had emptied him of all his virility. Or so of
course she thought. For in reality there was always enough left in him, and
he knew ways and means of making a woman come many times and yet be sparing
in his own efforts. He did not behave like a young stripling too generous
with his sap, but rather like a connoisseur who knew how to enjoy keeping
in his energy and giving it away at the opportune moment. And so, quite
often, only an hour or so after having enjoyed an amorous hour with Flavia,
Choisy went to Francesca and experienced no weakness whatever. So, thanks
to his ability and cleverness, Choisy managed to make his two mistresses
believe firmly that he belonged exclusively to one woman alone.
 
To crown this charming imposture and place a convenient red-herring
across the track, Choisy paid an assiduous court to Charlotte de Ransac, so
that she herself and everyone else around her believed him in lover with
her. She believed that Choisy had been unsuccessful in finding a mistress
to his taste, so had come back to wooing her in the hope of winning her
heart one day. Such is the vanity of women. Mrs. de Ransac firmly believed
she was better than all the others and her conceit made her blind to the
truth. So she savoured her would-be victory and took pleasure in arousing
Choisy's desire by more or less openly flirting with him, which was playing
into the hands of the marchioness, thus being covered up most conveniently
and sheltered from any suspicion befalling her.
 
As for Mr. de Ransac himself, he smiled condescendingly at his wife's
encouragements to Choisy, as he thought she was only playing with him. He
could never seriously entertain the idea that Choisy might ever become his
wife's lover, for was not Choisy openly an accomplice of the king's
brother's antics of doubtful taste. In other words, Mr. de Ransac was among
those people who firmly believed Choisy to be a homosexual because of his
friendship with the king's brother and his masquerading as a woman.
 
Choisy did not fail to notice Mrs. de Ransac's recently avowed
interest in himself. And he felt proud of it. He also tried hard to avail
himself of the opportunity, although he knew that she would be far from an
easy prey, for Charlotte had great matrimonial loyalty. But he never gave
up, for he knew that it was not in character with women in general to
remain for ever faithful to one man.
 
His unfailing acumen soon told him that Charlotte was falling into
her own trap and that, by trying to arouse Choisy's desire, she was 
arousing her own towards him.
 
 She is like a ripening fruit, he thought, let me wait for the right
moment and she will fall into my hand like a ripe pear from a tree.
 
But did he really want her? It was to him more a point of honour than
a real desire. He wanted to avenge himself on his failure to win her love
when he had tried hard to do so in Paris. Indeed, he doubted that she
should be such a good loving creature as Francesca or Flavia. No, she would
just represent another victory. She did not look sensual. Her complexion
was of a pleasant freshness but her eyes did not throw out any promising
sparks that are such an unmistakable sign to connoisseurs, nor had her lips
the fleshy consistency that was an open invitation to kisses, as for her
way of dressing, it did not reveal any voluptuous forms that make a man
want to caress. On the whole he did not expect to get out of her any
pleasurable sensual experience.
 
But there was no doubt about it: she was no longer the indifferent
woman she used to be. She appeared at times so nervous that it could only
be explained by a more and more imperious sexual impulse, she was still
coquettish, but not in the same way-she had ceased to be merely ironical.
 
One day, Mr. de Ransac was sent away on a mission in Vicenza by the
ambassador. During her husband's absence, all her friends invited her in
order to make her feel less alone, and Choisy regularly joined her, thus
strengthening everyone's belief that he was in love with her.
 
One evening, Choisy was one of the first guests to leave, and
Charlotte de Ransac appreciated it as a tactful gesture. She went back to
her apartments later, feeling quite happy with having been invited by such
attentionate friends. As she came into her house, she was surprised not to
find her maid waiting for her. She went into her bedroom and started
undressing by herself.
 
Suddenly she let out a scream: Choisy had just come out of a cupboard
where he had been in hiding.
 
 You, here?!
 
 Pardon me, but
 
 Not a word out of you! Go out at once! Choisy remained firm before
her.
 
 No, he said, you have nothing to fear from me, but please listen.
 
She was then wearing only a thin chemise, half transparent. Choisy
could appreciate that she was not as lean as he had suspected. Her breasts
were pointed and not insignificant, and, between her legs could be seen a
darker triangle that made Choisy's imagination run away with him.
 
Charlotte noticed that he was scrutinizing her. She blushed and
wrapped a negligee around herself. But that movement revealed that her
loins were well-shaped and her buttocks more fleshy than Choisy had
thought. He was very agreeably surprised.
 
Meanwhile, Charlotte de Ransac had regained her composure.
 
 Are you still here? she asked, sternly.
 
 I have not yet confessed to you the motive of this visit of mine 
which I know full well is unbecoming.
 
 You can tell me to-morrow.
 
 I can't, for, if I had been able to, I would have told you last
night in the salon.
 
 Why?
 
 You see, it is such an intimate confession He made one step
forward, and let himself fall on both knees before her, wrapping his arms
around her legs.
 
 Please don't! she ordered, you're ridiculous.
 
 Because I love you?
 
She gave a little nervous titter.
 
 If you continue, I shall call for help.
 
 So that they should find me thus in your bedroom?
 
That prospect did not relish Charlotte at all, so she became less
untractable.
 
 What is your purpose? she asked.
 
 I have been in Venice more than a month and I still have no
mistresses. Just imagine, Choisy without a mistress! It is nothing short of
a scandal  and all through your fault.
 
 My fault? But Please take your hands off!
 
Choisy's hands were going up her legs and were palpating their tepid
roundness, and he saw that his caresses were not without effect, for her
legs had a slight tremor which betrayed her lack of indifference.
 
 Choisy, Choisy! Please!
 
Too late! He had reached the crucial point between her thighs and he
felt her legs squeeze so as to prevent any intrusion into the passage.
 
He got up and, holding her with one arm round her loins, he toyed
with her breasts with his other hand. She was warm and scented in his arms
and he was now sure of his eventual victory. It was just a question of
time.
 
 Choisy, Choisy! What are you doing? It's very naughty of you!
 
She was trying to throw her head back out of reach of his searching
lips, but his lips managed to find hers and get a kiss out of her. Not a
good one at first, but the second one was much better, and, the while, she
was aware of a caress on her skin Choisy had managed to remove her chemise
and she was now naked in the arms of this man, intent upon seducing her at
all costs.
 
 Oh, she murmured, what are you doing?
 
For he was lifting her up in his arms and, before laying her on the
bed, Choisy gave a lick or two to her belly, which found itself at the
level of his mouth as he was lifting her.
 
 No, no! she protested.
 
But she was already weakening. Her body, on the bed, was still
nervous and on edge. But what can a woman do when she is naked on a bed
with a man whose desire is so physically obvious and pressing? Choisy,
bending over her, was whispering compliments into her ear.
 
 I would never have imagined you so beautiful, so tempting, so made
to love and be loved, he said.
 
She had shut her eyes, but not her ears. With one hand, she tried to
push him away, and Choisy used this diversion to get rid of his clothes
after which he embraced her quickly. The contact of this naked man whose
virility was demanding, against her own naked body touched off in her a
velleity of refusal.
 
 Go away, Choisy! I swear I'll forget what passed between us.
 
She was still fidgeting and trying to oppose him, but he had overcome
greater difficulties before now. With one knee he prised open her legs
which she was keeping squeezed against each other and tried to force his
way upwards. Charlotte de Ransac had placed herself on her stomach,
believing that she would be impregnable. But, a while later, she felt that
he had reached the crater of her womanhood, and was slowly but surely
forcing his way in. She wriggled briskly to get away, but only succeeded in
getting it still more firmly implanted. She renewed her last effort,
dictated to her by her will-power but secretly also by her sensuality-in a
flash, she saw herself irremediably lost. Maintained strongly by her victor
she finally abandoned herself to the delirium of her senses, which was new
to her for she had never felt quite like that with her husband. In an
instinctive reflex, she suddenly opened herself and was now nothing but a
female happily surrendering to the male.
 
Afterwards, there was for her conscience a painful moment, when she
realized that, for the first time, she had been deceiving her husband. Yet,
she had always sworn to herself that she would never give in to any man,
and there she was, and Choisy charmingly prolonged her joy with furtive
caresses along her body which quivered with delight.
 
 Choisy, she said softly, your patience has had its reward, so I
detest you-you are a  an evil-doer? No, a benefactor, for have I not given
you a full appreciation of all one can enjoy through lovemaking?
 
She did not dare deny it, so she lay down on her lover and offered
her mouth to him. But Choisy was not content with such a meagre offer and
busied himself with bringing about new traces. His practises convinced
Charlotte who had now become another woman. She lay on her back and let
Choisy make the inventory of her charms and prospect this feminine
geography of hers down to its most exquisite contours and its innermost
recesses.
 
Choisy was now creeping along Charlotte's body, and she remained
passive, with a shudder of pleasure now and then. His expert hands were
making again the inventory of this woman's body, offered to him. His
fingers had now reached the grotto of love and with a touch of exquisite
precision he gradually gave it back all its effervescence. Charlotte
gingerly began the same work and suddenly her hand came into contact with a
prick in repose, to which a few caresses gave back its full rigidity, a
prelude to new assaults.
 
Then Choisy's mouth fixed itself on Charlotte's while the hands of 
both were continuing their caresses. Their tongues were working overtime
and their bodies were one. The silence was broken only by a few sighs of
bliss.
 
Then Charlotte unexpectedly went down between Choisy's legs and, with
both hands, grasped the warm penis which she gratified with kisses and
caresses. Choisy shuddered with immense pleasure. He had been hoping rather
than expecting caresses, but he would never have expected such a sexual
frenzy.
 
Charlotte now seemed to drink her lover, who was moaning with
voluptuousness and begging her to stop. But she ignored him and continued
her sucking. He contrived to master his impulses and put his hands round
Charlotte's loins.
 
 Take me! Charlotte begged.
 
Choisy did not wait for her repeating it and it was his turn to give
her the same kind of caresses which he had just received. With his head
nestling in the compass of his mistress, Choisy gave her the deepest
caresses, and inebriated himself with the sweetest of nectars.
 
Charlotte gave a passionate leap of her body and dislodged herself,
then, seizing with vigour Choisy's iron-hard prick she prayed:
 
 Take me!. And, so saying, she guided the hot virility of Choisy
into her grotto of love.
 
And now both their bodies were moving in unison and gradually
increasing the speed of their thrusts. He had passed an arm underneath her
and was kneading her palpitating buttocks. Then, his finger groped and
finally found the other hole of her body and penetrated it slowly.
 
Charlotte gave a little scream which slowly became a moan and then
silence punctuated with a few sighs.



 
CHAPTER EIGHT

 
Choisy was obligated to take precautions, with the three mistresses
he now had. But he composed to himself a menu like a gourmet, which he was.
Now the blonde, now the brunette and now Mrs. de Ransac, his new conquest.
Sometimes, waking up, he said to himself: today, I shall be frugal.
 
And that usually meant that he would go to Mrs. de Ransac. She was
still fond of him but they did not often have intercourse together for she
was careful not to be caught in the act or even to arouse suspicion.
Indeed, her friends would never have suspected such a sensual frenzy in
her. If Choisy chose to be frugal it was because of a judicious estimation
of Charlotte's charms, which were less abundant than those of Francesca or
Flavia, who were plumper. Charlotte's body had less pronounced curves but
she had proved that she was quite as voluptuous, to the point of perversion
even.
 
Choisy enjoyed loving thus secretly on three fronts. He had long ago 
passed the age when he used to boast about his conquests. He now preferred
enjoying them secretly, savouring them to himself while all his friends and
acquaintances had no inkling of suspicion.
 
Venice had by now judged him to be either a woman or an effeminate
boy, but in any case without temperament-a spirit, a pure spirit, with his
real sex a puzzle.
 
One evening, as a man in a salon asked the marchioness on the object,
she answered huffily:
 
 Let's say he is a hermaphrodite and leave it at that!
 
That put paid to further inquiries. The marchioness had an authority
which no one disputed. And everybody went on judging Choisy as incapable of
sexual relationship and nobody ever had the suspicion that the marchioness
should express such an opinion in order to throw a red herring across the
track and prevent people from suspecting that she had an affair with
Choisy.
 
At that time there was a Polish girl named Hilda as a guest at the
marchioness's. She had just arrived in Venice and was interested by the
gossip about Choisy. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn and her manners
were unaffected and slightly tomboyish. She did not mince her words but
managed not to shock her listeners, perhaps because her foreign accent
distracted from the meaning of her words.
 
Choisy came into the salon and bowed to the marchioness, who
introduced him to the Polish girl. As he saw her sparkling eyes in her
sun-tanned complexion he experienced a sensual shock not unlike an electric
one. But he had enough self-control not to show his impressions and
exchanged a few amiable commonplaces with her.
 
A few minutes later he found himself beside a certain Mr. Molieri, an
aged Venetian, a much-traveled fellow, and asked him discreetly about
Hilda.
 
 Do you know this person?
 
 Don't you know her? You should do, having travelled as much as you
have, Molieri answered, and went on in a whisper: she has already been
exiled from Moscow, London, Vienna and Berlin.
 
 Why on earth? Is she a spy for the Pope?
 
 She has no business with the Pope or with politics, but she works
havoc in good society.
 
 Come to think of it, she does have a diabolic look.
 
 You have nothing to be afraid of, anyway- she only goes for pretty
women.
 
 Is she a Lesbian? exclaimed Choisy, amused.
 
 That's right-she's seduced virtuous wives and even virgins-hence
the scandals that have brought about her many evictions.
 
 This kind of perversion is hardly known in Venice, Choisy pointed
out.
 
 And very much frowned upon. Molieri added.
 
 Perhaps she's come here for a sexual fast, suggested Choisy.
 
 We sincerely hope so.
 
 What are you two plotting? asked the smiling marchioness who had
come upon them.
 
 Our dear count was a little puzzled by Miss Hilda, Molieri
explained.
 
Flavia laughed.
 
 Oh, her? she said, you should explain to the count what she really
is.
 
 He's done that, said Choisy, she wouldn't have any luck with the
Venetian women, would she?
 
 Those who would succumb would not boast about it, said the
marchioness.
 
 That would be better for all concerned, Molieri said.
 
The marchioness winked furtively at Choisy and went on her way to
entertain other guests.
 
Some time later, Choisy went on a gondola to visit Francesca, who had
told him he could come without a disguise for her rich protector was away
on a trip.
 
Rocked by the gentle lapping of the water, Choisy mused.
 
 This Polish girl, she is a Lesbian probably because she has not
known a real lover he thought.
 
He talked it over with Francesca.
 
 Have you made up your mind to convert her? she asked ironically.
 
 I have better things to do, Choisy answered, caressing her breasts
and cunt.
 
 Those kind of women, she said, only give us a hors-d'oeuvre, they
whet our appetite, but for the main dish we need this.
 
And, with her tapering fingers, she took hold of Choisy's warm penis
which was as stiff as a rod.
 
 Without this, she went on, it's just monkeying about.
 
 But, Choisy remarked, with that special kind of intercourse, the
victimized party is the passive woman. The active girl must feel a
voluptuousness unknown to us normal individuals.
 
 And I don't particularly want to, said Francesca, for you, that
kind of thing is a prelude-what if you had to be content with it?
 
Choisy did not answer that question-he had reached the point where a
man cannot restrain himself any longer and has to get rid of his venom. The
two lovers had better things to do than to discuss such a hypothetical
subject.
 
He continued his caresses for a while longer, and, as he felt she was
ripe-ready. He lay on top of her and drove his rod into her. She sighed and
bit the skin of his neck, and he buried his nose in her scented black hair.
 
But he could not keep his mind off that girl Hilda. Francesca, after
her first fire was consumed and they were both resting awhile, guessed it
from the abstracted air on his face.
 
 What are you thinking of? she asked, frowning.
 
 What can a man be thinking of who has just fulfilled his duty so
gallantly, Choisy answered diplomatically.
 
 He should think about giving yet another proof of his virility, she
said.
 
 I shall see to that pronto! he retorted.
 
He ran his lips over her naked flesh which gave little spasmodic
shudders of gratification. His lips paused awhile on the rotundities of her
sensual breasts and made her nipples grow and tauten, then they went down
to the fleshy button and worked on it till the woman moaned and squirmed
with intemperate pleasure, and he finished her off with a good fucking that
fairly shook her entrails.
 
One morning, after he had spent a short but momentous time with
Charlotte de Ransac, he was loafing in the market part of the town, still
thinking of Hilda, when suddenly he spotted her.
 
She was alone and he grasped this heaven-sent opportunity. He walked
towards her and pretended he was meeting her by pure chance.
 
 Shopping? he asked her pleasantly.
 
Choisy's mode of dressing being ambiguous, she took him to be a woman
and answered:
 
 Well, I usually leave this sort of thing to my maid, but what about
you, are you a good housewife?
 
 I like good food, he admitted, but I, too, leave shopping to
others.
 
 Funny you should dress a bit like a man, the Polish girl said after
a pause, whom are you trying to deceive, my dear?
 
Choisy was about to clear the misunderstanding when he thought better
of it and, in a brainwave, saw how he could profit by Hilda's mistake.
 
 I think we can get along fine together, he said, winking.
 
She took Choisy's arm and walked away with him, far from the crowd.
 
 We are wasting our time in this town, she told him.
 
 Yes, deliriously so, he answered.
 
 Do you really think so? I don't. In fact, if I hadn't noticed you
in the salon of the marchioness, I would have left town.
 
 The marchioness? said Choisy, she is as pleasant as she is
beautiful.
 
 Granted, admitted Hilda in a somewhat suspicious tone, but what are
you expecting from her? She has a husband and probably a lover as well,
although she would never admit it. And the Venetian woman, anyway She
shrugged her shoulders, leaving her sentence in mid air and drawing Choisy
closer to herself.
 
 If I singled you out, she went on, it is because of your biting
wit. There is no mistaking that sign. I spotted it at once.
 
They walked on a few steps in silence, then, in a frankly tender
voice, Hilda whispered:
 
 This is neither the time nor the place for confidences. Do come
along to my place. I have rented a very nice flat, you'll see. There you 
can open your heart to me.
 
Choisy did not say no to that proposal. It fell in admirably with his
plans.
 
Hilda's flat had none of the luxury that distinguished the palatial
abodes of Mrs. de Ransac, the marchioness of Rubo or even Francesca, but it
was neatly furnished and comfortable.
 
As soon as they came in Hilda offered Choisy her lips and he kissed
her with as much skill as he could master.
 
Out of a cupboard she took a tray of fruit and bottle of wine.
 
 I'm sorry I have nothing else at home, she said. I always dine out
at the homes of a Venetian woman or another whose sexual habits are
old-fashioned and not at all to my liking.
 
While Choisy was nibbling an apricot, Hilda unfastened her dress.
 
 What's your name? she asked.
 
Choisy's quick mind saved him. He chose a name that belonged to both
sexes. Being French, he picked the name Gabriel, which sounds the same as
its feminine Gabrielle.
 
 Gabrielle, she pronounced languidly, that's a pretty name. Talk
about a laugh-one of the marchioness's guests paid his compliments to me
and gave me a date for the next evening.
 
 And what happened?
 
 He must have looked a proper fool waiting for me in vain.
 
 He'll probably try again at your next meeting in a salon.
 
 He will be as unsuccessful on the thirteenth time as on the first.
Look, dear Gabrielle, wouldn't it be a pity to give this to a man?
 
And so saying, she showed Choisy her bare breast. She had just taken
off her chemise and appeared in a very relishing nudity. Her breasts were
full and pointed up in a defying manner. At the bottom of her stomach was a
little golden tuft on the background of her rosy skin.
 
Moved by this vision worthy of an artist, Choisy got up and, holding
up to his lips the fruit of one of her treasures, he nibbled at it gently
while one of his hands roamed at the bottom of her back.
 
 Gabrielle, Hilda murmured, I knew you would love me.
 
 More than you imagined but the decorum  To hell with the decorum!
she exclaimed defiantly. But don't stay like this!
 
Choisy preferred putting off the revelation of his sex. He pushed her
towards a sofa and his expert lips started doing their efficient work on
her body which was already trembling with desire. After a short stay on the
hills of her bust, his tongue's next trip was to the crater of her navel,
where it sojourned a while, then kept an important date down under (no
offence to the Aussies!).
 
And, while Hilda was moaning with pleasure under the active working
of Choisy's tongue, he took off his clothes without her noticing it. Then
he went on top of her and penetrated her.
 
Hilda uttered a scream of fright.
 
 But darling, you  Here, take this! said Choisy, pushing it in 
still further.
 
She tried in vain to wriggle out of it but, after a few minutes'
struggle, she gave in, and she did so with relish, finally realizing that a
good prick was better than the best dildo.
 
After she had come, she felt halfway between shame and sensual
gratitude.
 
 You're nothing but a vile impostor, she growled, and I had taken
you for a pretty girl!
 
 A girl singularly armed.
 
 Hide that away from my sight!
 
She turned her back on him, and Choisy was quick to seize the
opportunity. He slid it between her thighs from behind and wham! Fick fick
Fraulein, sehr gut. Oh, sorry, that's not Polish.
 
When a Lesbian gives in to a male she feels as if she were raped, and
she never admits she gets any pleasure out of it, although she darn well
does.
 
But Hilda was a cut above the ordinary Lesbian. She was charmed to
see that she actually succeeded in pleasing a male and she looked at Choisy
with spiteful eyes for the lovely surprise he had sprung on her.
 
For every woman surprise remains an element of seduction which makes
her pleasure greater (as the duchess said when the duke went into the wrong
hole).
 
Hilda, lying on the sofa with her senses satisfied yet still aglow,
saw signs of weariness in her seducer's face. She understood that he had
given himself to her unstintingly and that, to do it again, it would take
some doing (oh, dear, what a to-do!).
 
Smiling, she gently took hold of Choisy's virility which was now
soft. And yet, a few moments earlier, it was thanks to that little piece of
flesh that she owed the most pleasurable experience of her sexual life.
Caressing in her fingers Choisy's thingummy, she reflected that she was
holding in her hand the key to a paradise that was superior to that given
by the hottest of the female friends she had had.
 
And she felt more than ever convinced of it when, a while later,
Choisy's desire began to grow again and reached, to her eyes, gigantic
proportions. She gave a shudder of anticipating pleasure and Choisy saw the
spark in her eyes, and knew that it was his cue.
 
So in he went again and, brother, did he make her come! She would
really have something to tell her grandchildren about-and talk about a
bedtime story! Enough to keep you awake. Enough indeed to make the baby
jump out of his cradle uttering wolf howls and rape his nanny. As the
billy-goat said to the manny-goat: How now brown ewe, how I love your
hue.
 
But enough persiflage and badinage and let's come back to the serious
thing in hand. Did I say in hand? Brother, that was half an hour ago. Now
it's in something else, something soft and something wet and something
juicy, which made the something in question all sticky.
 
A sticky end? ha ha!
 
Tut tut! Enough of your jokes, sir!
 
Where were we? Oh, yes, on Hilda's sofa, and Choisy was doing things
to her. Pleasurable things, it goes without saying (why the heck did I say
it, then?).
 
And Hilda conceived a diabolic idea. She was now growing attached to
this her first male, and, in order to attach him to her she decided there
and then to be coquettish with him, that is, to pretend not to like him in
order to make him pursue her all the more.
 
What a cockeyed tactic to adopt with a guy like Choisy. I ask you. It
takes a perverted dame to get such naive ideas.
 
 Dear, dear, dear! (as the three stags said).



 
CHAPTER NINE

 
During the days that followed, Hilda tried to steal away from the
male call of Choisy. But in vain. He pursued her everywhere, and even into
her own home. And once in the place, he knew how to impose his will on her.
At the sight of his convincing virility, her will-power buckled like a thin
sheet of corrugated iron under the weight of a hippo perched on the back of
a rhino. She swore like a trooper but gave in just the same. Just like the
others.
 
But poor Choisy, superhuman though he may be, could not possibly
satisfy four hungry females so he reduced his activities to two a
day-Francesca or Hilda at night, and during the day Flavia or Charlotte.
That was quite enough, thank you.
 
But the four women started thinking that he was deceiving them,
without however being able to say with whom. And, of course, they had to
keep their suspicions quiet for, being women of the world, they could not
very well air their grievances in the salons. So they got their own back in
the privacy of their bedrooms, and started nagging Choisy.
 
You know how it goes-something like who were you with last night?
Why didn't you come to me yesterday? and all that sort of rot.
 
Flavia and Charlotte were more reserved-their reproaches were more
like insinuations and hints full of double-entendre.
 
Charlotte suffered more than the others from the green-eyed monster,
probably because she realized that she had given the best of herself to a
man who was now deceiving her. After all, she had never gone with any man
apart from her husband before Choisy seduced her. So she was naturally
bitter about it. But she had grown very much attached to him and clung to
him like ivy to the wall. She could not hold back her tears of vexation and
passion. One day she told Choisy:
 
 I can't go on with this unbalanced existence. Since I have
committed the greatest sin ever, I must accept all its consequences. I 
can't go on playing this comedy of virtue before the world, before my
husband. I feel my strength ebbing away from me.
 
 Don't take it so hard, he tried to calm her, think of all the
ladies who don't take so tragically such a petty sin.
 
 No, a thousand times no-I am not like those women for whom having a
lover is no more important than taking medicine, she exclaimed.
 
She became a bit wild in her talk and mentioned damnation, hell and
all the calamities that must befall those who commit adultery. Then, in a
passionate fling, she put out an astonishing proposition:
 
 Let's stop deceiving people, she said, let's go away together!
 
 Both of us, go away? Choisy said, stunned.
 
 Yes, repeated Charlotte, who had made up her mind.
 
 But, where?
 
 Anywhere. There is no lack of countries where we can live and love
in peace, hidden from prying eyes.
 
 This takes some thinking about, said Choisy wisely.
 
 Did we think before? So why think now? Now we have to accept what's
coming to us.
 
Choisy thought that the best thing to do was to play for time.
 
 But, he said, we can't go away so suddenly. There is a snag, you
see, I happen to have very little money about me at the moment. We couldn't
live decently with the little I have.
 
 Can't you procure some money by post? she asked. Meanwhile I can
sell a few family jewels. Anyway, people in love are content with very
little.
 
 Well, said Choisy, hedging, I shall see with the people I am in
business relations with.
 
The time when the baron (Charlotte's husband) would be coming back
was drawing near, so Choisy kissed her good-bye, but not before she had
told him:
 
 I trust you, my love. Take me away from here. Deliver me from this
torment. Swear that you will.
 
Choisy gave his word. All's fair in love and war, he thought. And a
juicy kiss from him placated Charlotte's tormented soul until their
meeting.
 
Once outside he breathed with relief. He did not relish the idea of
going away from this town so propitious to his lovelife. But he reflected
that Charlotte would soon become tyrannical and nagging and that in spite
of her love for him-or rather because of it-she would tolerate him no
concession. So he decided to go and see her less often in the future.
 
Meanwhile however Charlotte was busily preparing for her departure.
She feverishly packed her clothes and jewels into a case in order to be
ready as soon as Choisy would give the word.
 
But, on that very evening, something unusual happened. Hilda, who had
been waiting impatiently for Choisy to come to her, and was lying on her
bed with her body all afire with the passion he had instilled in her, 
decided to go and see for herself what he was about. So, at night-fall, she
took a gondola and went to Choisy's hotel.
 
She arrived just in time to see Choisy board a gondola, so she told
her gondolier to follow Choisy, and thus she saw him go to Francesca's
palace. She waited a little, but there soon was no doubt-Choisy was a
traitor to her.
 
She boiled inwardly with rage and entertained in her mind thoughts of
the most horrible bloody vengeance, but remembered in time that in Venice
murderers are punished in such an exemplary manner that they never do it
again, for the good reason that they are dead.
 
So she rapped out an order to her gondolier to drive her home, where,
needless to say, she spent a terrible night, tortured by visions of Choisy
kissing that girl, that other girl, unknown to her, and of his lying on top
of her and his driving his beloved penis into her (oh, how she was aching
for one right now! She put a finger into her cunt, shut her eyes-but no!
Nothing could replace Choisy). She thought of him licking the other woman's
cunt, and she wetted with saliva her middle and forefingers and rubbed her
clitoris with them, soon bathing with love-juice the sheets of her bed.
 
As soon as dawn came, she went out and inquired about who inhabited
the palace where she had seen Choisy go and spend the night and, without
difficulty, learned that it was the possession of a rich merchant who kept
a Sicilian woman called Francesca, a notorious courtesan.
 
She decided to wreak out a terrible vengeance. As she never for a
moment supposed that that woman Francesca would give her love to any man,
even Choisy, without getting paid in money, she penned an accusation and
placed it into the mouth of the gorgonzola-oops, sorry, I mean gargoyle 
which served as a repository for accusations destined to the Counsel of the
Ten who ruled Venice.
 
In the evening, she went to the salon of the marchioness of Rubo
where Choisy appeared, a few moments later, more seductive than ever,
butterflying from one lady to another like a sheik in his harem. As he came
near Hilda, he bowed to her familiarly, and she felt gnawed by jealousy as
she thought that he was amiable with all the other women as well. She felt
like strangling him with her own hands. But, suddenly, she felt all serene
and happy, for he had just whispered to her:
 
 To-night?
 
She smiled and her eyes said yes. Soon afterwards, she left for her
home. There, she paced the room impatiently, gnawing her knuckles and
wondering if he would come or if she would have to go and stab him with a
dagger.
 
But he came all right. And he was his usual charming self.
 
She threw herself into his arms, delirious with carnal desire, tore
his clothes off him, pushed him on the bed and contemplated for a moment
his magnificent virility. Then, without bothering about preliminaries, she
threw herself on top of him and took him with astonishing savagery which
filled him with ecstasy. And, while her loins agitated themselves with 
frenzy, she bit him on the shoulder to prevent herself from abusing him.
 
Then she sucked him off with such passion that she could not help
biting him at times, which made Choisy sweat with the sudden fright that
she should forget herself and bite too deeply, too irremediably so. Just
imagine-a prickless Choisy! Better die of the plague than such a calamity.
 
When she had finished, she rolled on the bed with him and held him
close against her. She was vibrating with a passion he had never known in
any other woman. He did his best to satisfy her but she was always hungry
for more. As he sucked her off, and kneaded her buttocks in his hands, she
groaned with pleasure and, taking violent hold of his hair, pushed his head
against her twat forcibly. And she kissed him, later, so savagely that she
drew blood.
 
 But what's the matter with you to-night? he asked.
 
 It's because I love you, she answered with passion.
 
She nearly spouted out all she had on her heart, but said nothing,
for she guessed that if she did she would lose him to that odious
Francesca.
 
Choisy went back to his hotel in the morning, weary but wonderfully
contented.
 
But he had slept only a few hours when he was rudely awakened by loud
knocks on his door.
 
It was a Commissioner of the Republic who had come to signify to him
that the Counsel of the Ten had decided on his expulsion because of
unwarranted debauch. In vain did he discuss, plead, solicit a delay of
execution, naming the baron of Ransac as warrant of his good faith and
intentions. But the ambassador had already been told and there was nothing
he could do-he would have to leave the Venice he had grown so attached to.
 
But he was very philosophical and, as the gondola of the police was
driving him away, he smiled benignly and waved good-bye to Venice, saying:
 
 Addio, Venizia! I shall always keep an exquisite remembrance of
you. Venice, you have earned your reputation of Capital of Love but there
are other towns
 
And even then he started thinking about his future love adventures
which, he was sure, were awaiting him round the comer.

 
Charlotte de Ransac was one of the first to know of Choisy's sudden
departure, for her husband worked at the embassy. With great difficulty she
overcame her emotion.
 
 But what has he done? she asked, was it a political intrigue?
 
 Not even that, her husband answered, that Choisy is incorrigible-he
had taken as his mistress a-well, a person dear to an important person.
 
 Who? Charlotte wanted to know.
 
 A-courtesan-the fair Francesca.
 
Charlotte de Ransac became pale and pretexted she was feeling unwell
to take refuge in her room. There she felt as if a crater had opened out
under her feet. After such a cruel act of treason she thought she would not
be able to bear the blow inflicted on her. But, little by little, she
reasoned with herself and calculated that soon her husband would be
recalled in Paris, and there she would probably meet Choisy again, and
then, what a revenge she would wreak out!
 
At the end of the day, the marchioness came to visit Mrs. de Ransac
and she guessed at once that something was worrying Charlotte.
 
 What is the matter with you, have you bad news from France? she
asked.
 
 Not from France, but from Venice-oh, my dear. I want to open my
heart to you And she started blurting out everything about her relationship
with Choisy.
 
So the marchioness, whose cunt had been the repository of Choisy's
penis, was now the repository of Charlotte's confessions.
 
 You too! Flavia could not help exclaiming.
 
It was time such a dangerous man went away.
 
They looked at each other and they did not have to add another
word-they were united in the same misfortune.
 
And they did not even have the consolation of knowing that Hilda was
bitterly repenting her sudden access of fury which had led her to writing a
letter to the Counsel of the Ten, thus bringing about the expulsion of the
very one she wanted so much to keep.
 
The three women, victims of Choisy's guile, never showed in public
the bitterness that was in their hearts, as gossip would have been
relentless if their affairs with their lover had become known in the famous
Venice salons.



 
CHAPTER TEN

 
Still under the menace of pursuits for having killed a gentleman in a
duel, Choisy took all the necessary precautions, once on the French soil.
He landed in Marseilles and stayed there a while under the name and
disguise of countess of Barres.
 
Who could have suspected that this young and pretty lady was in fact
a man hungry for adventures, handy with a sword and still more with
feminine hearts and who knew better than most men, how to give women
wonderful voluptuous sensations? The shrewdest among them did not suspect
for a moment that another identity could be hidden under the pomades and
creams that gave Choisy the complexion of a peach, and his hair so
elegantly arranged, his crystal-clear aristocratic voice and distinguished
manners.
 
Anyway, he avoided showing himself too much, in order not to run the
risk of arousing the concupiscence of men which could have been very
annoying.
 
He stayed in his Marseilles hotel and dispatched his valet Bouju to 
Bourges with the order to make the acquisition of a domain that had been
advertised as vacant. As soon as he had purchased it, he kept his feminine
disguise and went to Bourges where Bouju had prepared everything with his
usual efficiency.
 
The name of the domain that Choisy was now inhabiting was Crepon. It
was not really a castle, more like a house surrounded with a large park,
dense with vegetation.
 
The news of the countess of Barres's arrival spread round, and the
first visitor was a Mr. du Plan, bailiff, his real name was Duplan, but he
spelt it du Plan in order to appear noble. He was eager to make the
acquaintance of this new lady.
 
Choisy received him so well that he was invited in his turn, and he
could not find a ready-made excuse to refuse. Anyway, he knew that if this
fat bailiff became too pressing, he could always simulate and play the part
of virtuous woman.
 
So, two days later, the countess of Barres, alias Choisy, made his
entrance in the salon of Mr. du Plan and was introduced to the other guests
who consisted mainly of provincial ladies with antiquated dresses, except
the host's wife whose ripened beauty was dressed in becoming clothes, and a
young girl, Miss de la Grise whose sparkling eyes contradicted her virginal
smile.
 
Choisy, or rather the countess of Barres was the butt of a thousand
more or less indiscreet questions.
 
 So you are a widow-so young.
 
 I married when I was fifteen, was Choisy's barefaced lie and pat
answer.
 
 And you have no intention of getting married again?
 
Choisy looked at the questioner. He was a plump rube, who looked the
type certainly more able to seduce a scullery maid than a lady but who
seemed very conceited into the bargain.
 
 My first and only experience has made me circumspect, the countess
answered, gravely.
 
Choisy went on answering questions, always wittily. They asked him
about fashion and beauty secrets, among other things, but, even on that
strictly feminine subject, Choisy was never at a loss for an answer.
 
 Have you travelled a lot? the bailiff's wife asked.
 
 Too much, the countess answered, that is why I am so keen on
settling here among you.
 
That compliment flattered everybody. Meanwhile, Choisy had noticed
that Miss de la Grise had asked him no question, yet her features betrayed
great interest in the goings-on.
 
When Choisy deemed the time ripe for her to bow out gracefully, in
order to leave the guests still a little hungry for details on his private
life, he had accomplished a miracle, for one and all enthused about him:
 
 Isn't she nice?
 
As for Choisy, he was not so enthusiastic. True, he was comparatively
safe in this little town of the county Berri, but the inhabitants would be
funny at first, then would quickly bore him stiff.
 
What he wanted was a good warm cunt into which to bury his itching
prick.
 
The bailiff's wife was a possibility, but, although she looked
sensual enough, she looked the type to stay faithful to the same man, and,
in small towns scandal spreads fast.
 
There remained Miss de la Grise. Yes, she was a choice morsel and the
problem of how to seduce her presented just the right amount of risks to
make the adventure worth while. He wondered how he would go about it. He
would need a lot of patience. It was different in Venice, where nearly all
women were already prepared physically and morally for love. Yes, Venice
was really the capital of love. But here, Choisy would have to plan hard to
conquer that young country lady.
 
It was hard for Choisy to remain continent, but he had to be careful,
or else he would reveal his true personality and it would be all over the
town. He had to remain in everybody's eyes the countess of Barres.
 
But, after a time, he found a temporary solution in the person of
Lisette.
 
She was a young girl, married to an apprentice miller, and native of
the town. She had been engaged by Bouju to help with the housekeeping. So,
she became the personal maid of the countess of Barres, alias Choisy. He
was careful and cleverly hid his identity from her for a pretty long time.
He let her attend to his coiffure and other details of his dressing, but,
before taking his bath, he sent her away, so that she did not discover that
he was in reality a man.
 
But there was no denying that her presence made Choisy more and more
hungry for love as the days went by. Lisette was quite an exciting sight,
with a simple but attractive skirt and white apron which offset her beauty,
and the two orbs of her breast that showed above a country blouse with open
neck-line. And when, in the proceedings of his toilet, manicuring, etc.,
she touched him, he had to use all his self-control not to reveal that he
was in reality a male.
 
One morning, Lisette came upon a pair of falsies in a chest of
drawers. She was surprised, but deduced that the countess of Barres had
small breasts and wore falsies out of coquettishness.
 
Then, another morning, she discovered the truth quite by chance.
Choisy, that morning, was sleeping more soundly than usual, and Lisette had
knocked on his door more softly than usual and, when she entered, she saw
the countess of Barres half naked on her bed, and between her thighs there
protruded something that she had never seen a woman have, something that
her husband fucked her with. Choisy, too late, drew the bed-sheets up to
cover his nudity. Lisette exclaimed, joining her hands:
 
 Oh! madam!
 
 Forget what you saw and you shall be rewarded, Choisy told her.
 
Lisette, her eyes wide open with surprise, assented but naively 
observed:
 
 What do you use it for?
 
 For nothing at the moment, beautiful, Choisy retorted, and it's a
pity.
 
 It is, indeed, Lisette answered with conviction.
 
To hide her confusion, she turned her back or Choisy.
 
It took him only a moment to make up his mind. From behind, he put
his arms around her and seized her nipples between his fingers.
 
 Oh but, madam! she said, arching her body.
 
 Between ourselves and the door-post you can call me Sir, Choisy
said.
 
That put an end to the few scruples Lisette had left. When Choisy
judged that she had been prepared enough, he tossed her on the bed and
there, she readily opened up her legs and let the big wolf go in. Lisette
enjoyed this unexpected situation and she was both sensual and curious to
see how a countess made love. She was not disappointed (no woman ever was
with Choisy).
 
Like most country girls, Lisette had a strong healthy smell, which
excited Choisy's senses. That, and his long continence, made him more
amorous than at almost any time in the past.
 
Oh, how good it was to kiss and suck her lovely breasts! Lisette
remained perhaps a little too passive, but then it was the first time and
she was intimidated. Anyway, Choisy liked his women to enjoy what he did to
them, and did not particularly mind what they did to him.
 
She had lovely black hair and, as he caressed it, she looked up at
him with wet eyes, and her lips were ruddy and half open, so he crushed
them with his hungry mouth and they rolled on the bed in a fiercely sensual
embrace.
 
Her buttocks were firm and not specially well washed. Choisy provided
to that deficiency with his tongue, and did a very good job of it,
concentrating his cleaning on the hairy fissure in between the two orbs.
But then he afterwards sullied it all again with his prick.
 
When their love bout was over, he told her to go and prepare his bath
as now, he added, he had nothing more to hide from her.
 
A gold ducat bought her silence. But Lisette was not eager to speak
about her experience, for she was keen to have further intercourse with
this wonderful mistress and she naturally did not want her husband to know
about it.
 
In the bath-room they played at washing each other and he had her
again on the bidet (French for bird-bath).
 
 Your breasts are heavier than mine, he said, laughing.
 
 That's not very difficult, she smiled, and kissed him greedily.



 
CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
Choisy decided that, to conquer Miss de la Grise, he would need
Lisette's complicity and help, and, being a good psychologist, he guessed
that she would make no objection.
 
 How old is she? he asked Lisette.
 
 Sixteen, I think.
 
 And has she any marriage plans?
 
Lisette had a mischievous smile which suited her personality of pert
but attractive hussy.
 
 There is some talk about a marriage with  With whom? asked Choisy
negligently.
 
 Never mind, Miss de la Grise does not seem too keen on getting
engaged to him.
 
 Then I gather he is not very handsome, said Choisy.
 
Lisette laughed and started unbuttoning Choisy's fly.
 
 You would not want him for a man, would you, for instance? he
asked.  Not for my weight in gold, Lisette answered, releasing the big bad
wolf from its prison.
 
 And yet you accepted your Nicholas, Choisy observed.
 
Lisette shrugged her shoulders.
 
 My Nicholas-I had to marry him to give my brat a father-but you can
have him.
 
 And what would I do with him? Choisy answered, laughing nervously
for Lisette was doing things to him with her hand. But let's come back to
our little lamb.
 
 You'd better be careful with her, she's a sly one.
 
Choisy wiped his sperm with a careless gesture and a handkerchief.
 
 All I want from her is a pair of breasts like yours and a deep
burrow for my greedy rabbit.
 
 Your rabbit is fond of new dishes, Lisette remarked, letting
Choisy's hand grope under her skirt, yet haven't I given it a good enough
home?
 
She sighed. Choisy's hand had found its target.
 
 Well, I'll do as you say, she said.
 
 You shall be well rewarded, he told her, and went on rubbing.
 
He saw that Lisette was not really jealous. On the contrary she
seemed to enjoy this plot-he had realized it from the spark in her eyes as
soon as he had mentioned his project to her. She would certainly second him
to the best of her ability.
 
 We shall have to have her come here, suggested Lisette, wetting her
petticoat, and we must make it as comfortable as possible, let her relax,
and then, when she trusts you and is no longer so shy, you can judge the
best moment to show your hand, but don't be too hasty or it would spoil
everything.
 
 I shall follow your valuable advice, Choisy said. Tomorrow I shall
send Bouju with a formal invitation.
 
 Yes, said Lisette, we shall have to do things in style for those
kind of people like to show off and are sensitive to the trimmings.
 
But Choisy did not hear her, for his head was covered up by her
petticoat, as he was busily wiping her clean with his tongue.
 
When he came up again, like a surfacing submarine, he asked:
 
 By the way, what's her name?
 
 Angela-didn't you know?
 
 It suits her to a T.
 
Five days later, the countess of Barres received in her house, finely
decorated with beautiful flowers, the cream of the local aristocracy, which
of course included the marchioness de la Grise and her daughter Angela, and
of course Mr. and Mrs. du Plan.
 
The countess of Barres had tea served in fine porcelain. She had put
her best dress on and her hair was coiffured exquisitely, thanks to the
clever ringers of Lisette, her faithful maid. They all complimented her on
her garden, her clothes, everything.
 
 If I had a son, said Mrs. du Plan, I would like him to marry you.
 
 Oh, dear, Choisy answered, he would not make a good bargain.
 
 And why, pray? said Mrs. du Plan, you are a widow, pretty and
rather well-off. Does the remembrance of your former marriage blind you to
the truth?
 
 It has made me difficult to please.
 
At the thought of her imaginary husband, the countess took on a
pensive attitude.
 
 Mr. des Barres, Choisy went on, is a husband difficult to replace.
You know, madam, I think I should prefer to find for myself a lady
companion.
 
 A lady companion! exclaimed Mrs. du Plan, surprised, but  Is there
anything better than feminine intimacy? asked Choisy, and he looked at her
in such a way that she felt rather troubled.
 
 Yes, Choisy pursued, a young person who would be a sister to me.
 
 I see you are a very reserved person, Mrs. du Plan answered, and
Choisy discerned a note of disappointment in her tone, and it gave him time
to think.
 
 Aren't joys of the heart better than all the others? he said.
 
That remark brought some confusion in the mind of Mrs. du Plan. But
now Choisy was no longer heeding her. He was instead observing Angela de la
Grise and what he saw pleased him. She was eating the delicacies he had
prepared for his guests with as much relish as a cat drinking creamed milk.
Choisy concluded that she must be sensual and that thought filled him with
pleasure.
 
He took her to the garden and made her admire the look and the scent
of his best roses.
 
 Look at these petals, he said, haven't they the softness of a
woman's skin?
 
Angela blushed, which made her still more attractive.
 
 I wouldn't know, madam Choisy took her hand in his own and caressed
it absently.
 
 Now, try-you'll see there is no difference.
 
Angela turned-away blushing and, pointing at a yellow rose, asked:
 
 And this one?
 
 This one has a Chinese origin, but its touch is the same.
 
She gave a little nervous titter, and Choisy deemed best not to
insist for this time.



 
CHAPTER TWELVE

 
The following morning, Choisy narrated everything to Lisette as she
was nestling in his bed.
 
 I think I am not mistaken in judging Angela capable of contenting a
man, and even keen to do so.
 
 See that you don't hurry! counseled Lisette.
 
Choisy undressed her and put his body against her.
 
 I am never in a hurry, he said, I can bide my time and choose the
right moment. But you're not jealous, by any chance?
 
Lisette did not answer, for her thoughts were elsewhere, or rather
she was not thinking about anything in particular. Her senses had taken
hold of her and she let herself be transported in the realm of sensuality.
Choisy caressed her pussy in such a way that she sighed with enjoyment and
she searched in the dark for his big prick and soon found it and imprisoned
it in her warm sweating hand. And her twat moistened at this thrilling
touch that held so much voluptuousness in store for her. And he gave it to
her, just as she wanted, and her enjoyment was a pleasure to behold.
 
During a pause in their fucking spree, they took up the thread of
their plot.
 
 If Mrs. du Plan knew what you really are, the bailiff would again
be cuckolded, said Lisette.
 
 He already looks like a born cuckold, remarked Choisy, and, as for
her, she's a choice morsel but, although I have gone after two hares
several times in the past, I feel that here it would be a mistake.
 
 You're right, but aren't you afraid that after you have taken the
young Angela de la Grise they will force you to marry her.
 
 Oh, dear, if I'd had to marry all the virgins I've had, I'd be in
possession of a seraglio like the Great Turk.
 
That simile amused Lisette very much, and she felt disposed to
replace a whole seraglio with such an amiable and amorous Turk. She opened
her cunt to him again, and they had another go. Then he sucked her off good
and proper. And she reciprocated, and jolly good at it she was, too! And
she took it all in her mouth, and immediately afterwards she kissed him so
he could taste his own sap mixed with her saliva.

 
A few days later, the countess of Barres rode in her gig to visit the
bailiff's wife, where she exchanged a few courtesies. She then rode on to
the marchioness of la Grise who was flattered by the countess's visit, the
more so as it was quite unexpected. She called her daughter who appeared
dressed in a light summer skirt and blouse, a delightful sight, so sincere
and youthful.
 
After a few commonplaces, the countess of Barres hazarded a leading
suggestion:
 
 Miss Angela seems a little pale, he said.
 
In fact, her cheeks were blooming with good health.
 
 What she needs is the invigorating country air, he went on, why
wouldn't she come and spend a few days at Crepon? I am sure it would do her
a lot of good.
 
 You would be kind enough to have my daughter as your guest for a
few days? said the marchioness, beaming.
 
 I shall be very pleased, Choisy assured her.
 
 But that will cause you a lot of trouble.
 
 You mean a lot of pleasure, amended Choisy politely.
 
And Choisy was sincere. Mrs. de la Grise, out of principle, accepted
the invitation for two days later only, as she did not want to appear too
eager. So it was agreed that the countess of Barres would come and pick up
Angela in her gig.
 
Choisy, back home, broke the happy news to Lisette.
 
 The poor girl, he said, was so upset that she was struck dumb.
 
 Don't be too hasty with her, though, Lisette advised.
 
 I'll hasten slowly, he assured her, but you be careful not to put
your foot in it.
 
Lisette scraped a mock bow and answered:
 
 Madam will be satisfied with my services.
 
Then she took off her chemise-which was the only garment she was
wearing at the time-threw it in a ball at Choisy's head and flung herself
on him with sexual frenzy. She had been conquered by him and she adored him
even though he was coveting a young virgin.
 
She held him close to her and bit his shoulder to excite him. But he
needed no encouragement and his cock was ready for its work-if you can call
it work. It penetrated with as much ease as a sharp knife into butter on a
hot summer day, and when it came out it was a soggy red mess, as Lisette
had started having her monthlies.
 
Two days later, the countess of Barres (Choisy) came to fetch the
young la Grise. Her mother gave her the usual last-minute recommendations
as it was the first time she was separated from her dear daughter.
 
During the trip by coach, Angela cried a little but Choisy patted her
hand affectionately and comforted her with tender words.
 
When they arrived Lisette busied herself at once to make Angela feel
at home.
 
The following morning, Lisette went into Choisy's bedroom, slipped
into his bed and soon woke up his drowsing senses with direct caresses.
Then, when she had had her fill of caresses (but no fucking, alas, for she
now had her menses), she gave him a few indications on Angela.
 
 Last night I helped her undress and tucked her in, and I daresay
she is a little thin.
 
 You will have to prepare hearty meals for her, said Choisy.
 
 It will take some time for her breasts to fill up. At her age, mine
had already grown pretty much.
 
Angela was treated like a princess. The countess of Barres did her
very best to entertain her-he took her for walks, and together they plucked
flowers, read the verses of Ronsard and played some music. Gradually Angela
was losing her shyness. She was naturally gay and soon she was laughing and
singing.
 
 You've been married, she asked the countess of Barres, is it
pleasant to be married?
 
 That all depends on the husband, Choisy answered. As far as I am
concerned I like it so much that I want to rest on my souvenirs.
 
 So you have no intention of marrying again?
 
 Yes, perhaps, with you.
 
Angela was moved by this act of friendship and spontaneously kissed
Choisy. Then she was quite astonished by her own boldness.
 
 When one is married, one sleeps in the same bed together, isn't
that right? she asked naively.
 
 By right, Choisy answered.
 
 And, after supper, he asked her:
 
 Shall we get married tonight?
 
This offer filled her with glee and she followed Choisy to his room,
and even let him help her off with her clothes. She slipped into the bed,
where Choisy joined her, after having extinguished all but one small
candle.
 
On that first night, Choisy caressed her but little for he did not
wish to risk frightening her. Slow but surely was his motto, or, as they
said in Venice, chi va piano va sano.
 
On the second night he went a little further and made her come with
his fingers.
 
On the third night he went further still and he practically raped her
without her realizing what he had actually done, and she still took him to
be a woman, (but a really strange woman, she could not help thinking). She
was still a child, but was gradually becoming a woman, and that is the age
when girls are at their most responsive to influences. She loved caresses,
and was thrilled by them, but she did not realize that she was committing a
sin. It came naturally to her and, giving her body, she imagined she was
just giving her heart. So she was perverted and innocent at the same time.
And that sort of thing occurs quite often in youth. She loved the countess
of Barres for having been the first to teach her what love really meant and
for having opened up unknown vistas of voluptuousness to her, such as she
had never dreamed could exist. That is all the art of seducing and in that
the seducer is much superior to the husband who opens the door with force
because he knows he has the legal right to do so. The seducer gradually has
the door open without the occupant realizing it-or realizing it too
late-always pleased and never shocked. And, needless to say, Choisy was a
past master in the art of seducing women-young and old, fat and thin,
duchesses or maids-of-all work.
 
Angela was getting to like her night games more and more. She found
that the countess was a matchless companion who had discovered all the
possible pleasure that one can get out of one's body, and thought that it
was not a reprehensible thing since nature had seen to it that we should
all be provided with such senses. On the contrary, she reflected, we should
make the best of what we have. Quite innocently, she told Lisette all about
her experiences.
 
 I thought that in bed one could do nothing but sleep, but the
countess has taught me that one could do many pleasant things in bed.
 
 What will it be, then, when you are in bed with your husband!
exclaimed Lisette.
 
 But the countess of Barres is my husband, isn't she?
 
 Yes and no, Lisette answered, embarrassed.
 
 What would be the difference if I were married with that Mr.
Balisier?
 
 He is a councilor, isn't he? asked Lisette, avoiding Angela's
question by asking one of her own.
 
 Yes, something like that, and mother finds him a very important
person.
 
With diplomacy Lisette contrived to avoid answering questions about
the precise things Choisy did at night with Angela and the latter, after
her long conversation with Lisette, found she had learned nothing.
 
And Lisette thought with wonder about Choisy:
 
 What a cunning man he is! He has finally obtained what he wanted,
and much faster than I imagined. And in what way, too!
 
But, as Choisy was far from neglecting Lisette where lovemaking was
concerned, he got out of her an esteem and an aid greater than ever.
Lisette thought that since Choisy was a man capable of behaving amorously
with two mistresses, she had nothing to complain about. If only all women
had her philosophy, the world would be a quieter place.
 
The affair could have lasted indefinitely if Mrs. de la Grise had not
felt sad about her daughter's absence. So, one day, without warning, she
arrived at Crepon to spend an afternoon with Angela.
 
The first she saw of her daughter was as she was in the garden
walking with the countess of Barres who was holding her in a rather tender
embrace. Mrs. de la Grise was struck by the expression on her daughter's
face: she seemed very happy and excited at the same time. As she remarked
upon it, Choisy said it must be the healthy country air.
 
 There is something new in Angela, something I can't define, said
Mrs. de la Grise.
 
 I do my best so that she should feel happy at Crepon. Isn't it a
replica of the Garden of Eden? Choisy said.
 
Angela, blushing, approved. Choisy called Lisette and told her to
prepare a specially fine meal for his new guest for the day.
 
They had a good lunch with pleasantness all round and everybody
happy. Then the evening came and it was time for Mrs. de la Grise to go
back home. She ordered her phaeton to be ready, she had granted that her
daughter should stay one more week at Crepon and the time came for Angela
to kiss her mother good-bye. Choisy had imprudently left them both
together.
 
 Thank you, mother, said Angela with rapture, the countess is so
good to me and she knows so well how to please me, even at night.
 
 Even at night? exclaimed the marchioness, raising her eyebrows.
 
 We're married, you know, Angela said, innocently, in the way of
explanation.
 
 The countess was married once, but you are not, answered the
marchioness.
 
 Isn't that the same?
 
 No: two persons of the same sex cannot marry each other.
 
 And why on earth not?
 
 Marriage is a grave engagement and it has, well, certain
obligations  But, mother, I go to bed with the countess as if with a
husband.
 
 You never told me that before, and I certainly don't approve, said
Mrs. de la Grise sternly.
 
 But we don't do any harm-on the contrary.
 
 What do you mean-on the contrary?
 
Mrs. de la Grise took her daughter apart and questioned her further.
 
 Explain yourself, she ordered, did she dare touch you? Did she do
any reprehensible things with you?
 
 Reprehensible? I wouldn't know about that. She caresses me all
along my body-and I just love it.
 
The marchioness started and looked attentively at her daughter. So,
she thought, that is what has caused her to look so beaming with
prosperity. She gave a brisk order:
 
 Go into the phaeton, I'm taking you home.
 
 But why?  I don't have to give you any reason.
 
Angela, frightened by the sudden abruptness of her mother, started
crying. Choisy, who had witnessed the scene from afar, came up to them.
 
 Are you taking your daughter back, madam? Yet she likes it so much
here.
 
 She likes it even too much, madam, and I want to nip in the bud
certain scandalous effusions, she said, then, putting her head out of the
window of the phaeton, she ejaculated, I know now why you are not eager to
marry again. But if you want to deprave somebody, you had better choose
somebody else than my daughter.
 
 Go! she ordered to the coachman, we have no more business in this
house.
 
The driver touched up the horses and the phaeton started before
Choisy had time to put in a protest. It would have been fruitless in any
case.
 
Lisette had heard nothing but instinctively guessed what was afoot.
 
 What made the marchioness fly off the handle? she asked, knowing
the answer.
 
 Bah! Choisy answered. Angela foolishly talked too much.
 
Then he made a sweeping gesture of impatience with the long sleeve of
his dress and concluded philosophically:
 
 There are many pebbles on the beach.
 
 I am still at your service, madam, Lisette remarked in a mock tone.
 
Choisy reflected on the possible consequences of the sudden turn of
events. Lisette suggested he should send Bouju to gather information but
Choisy was averse to mixing his valet into his personal business and even
declined Lisette's offer to act as a spy.
 
 No, he decided. I shall go myself, and map out a plan to
counter-attack at the first opportunity.
 
So, the next day he went to Bourges in his gig and his first visit
was to the bailiff. The latter being absent, Choisy was received by his
wife.
 
 Your visit is unexpected, but opportune, she declared, I am very
glad to see you.
 
 Thank you, madam, said Choisy, gracefully sitting on the proffered
armchair.
 
 Has the Crepon air suddenly turned unhealthy? asked Mrs. du Plan
abruptly, not bothering about preliminaries, so great was her curiosity.
They are saying in town that Mrs. de la Grise suddenly brought back her
daughter from Crepon.
 
 I wonder why she did that, Choisy answered, feigning surprise, and
I must say I've come here chiefly to find out the answer to this riddle.
 
 You should know the answer better than I do! she replied.
 
 I assure you I know nothing.
 
 I've even been told that the marchioness has taken her daughter to
the convent of Les Pres.
 
 Is it far from here? Choisy asked.
 
 Why? would you want to abduct her from there? she asked ironically.
 
 Of course not, but I would like an explanation with the
marchioness.
 
 You will have to wait till she comes back. That won't be before
night-fall for the convent is about four leagues away.
 
Choisy now knew enough. He stayed a while longer talking about other
subjects, for decorum's sake, and Mrs. du Plan did her best to worm the 
truth out of him, and later in the course of the conversation, he brought
the subject back to the burning question.
 
 Miss Angela was really very inquisitive, he said, she made me blush
at times with some questions she asked me. After all, it is not up to me to
give her tuition on a certain subject, is it?
 
 Her husband will deal with that, his hostess answered, adding: if,
of course, she ever finds herself one, after this story!
 
Choisy felt like exclaiming touche! but refrained discreetly and
took his leave, going directly back home, as he did not feel like staying
in this town any longer, now that it was definitely hostile to him. He
wondered if it would be worth while trying to gain back the good favours of
that boring town, and finally estimated it as an impossible task.
 
What would he do? Wait till the scandal blew over? Scandal is very
hard to die in provincial towns, he decided. Unless perhaps-yes, that's
it, he thought he had found the right countermove. He would form in Crepon
an elegant society who would make the provincial people of Bourges green
with envy.
 
But, having slept on the idea, he found what he thought was a better
one when he woke up the following morning. He ordered that one should
prepare everything for his departure, the news of which he would later
apprise the town of Bourges by letter, for he had still a few business
matters to settle. Then he dressed as a man and travelled with Bouju riding
normally on a horse, not sidesaddle.
 
Talking of side-saddle reminded Choisy of a funny story an English
lady had once told him between two bouts of love-making. Asked whether she
rode side-saddle or long-saddle, she replied glibly.
 
 Oh, it's as broad as it is long.
 
It was a pity bicycles were not invented at the time Choisy lived, or
else he might have been laughing at this other funny story: a young lady,
having been given a ride on a bicycle by a young man was very embarrassed
when she dismounted, on discovering that the bike was a woman's model.
 
But let's come back to Choisy. He was riding slowly as he did not
want to arrive at the convent of Les Pres before sunset. When he arrived
there he reconnoitered the place, then knocked on the door and a sister
opened it.
 
 Sister, I am a rider, lost in this unknown region and I am begging
for a shelter for my valet and myself till dawn tomorrow, he said.
 
The sister took pity and said she would ask the abbess for
permission.
 
 I am Mr. de Sancy, declared Choisy, perhaps this name will reassure
her.
 
Soon after, the door was opened and an aged gardener led Bouju and
the horses to the stable while Choisy was ushered into the abbess's
parlour. She looked about forty years old, with a flourishing complexion
and a healthy plumpness.
 
 Mr. de Sancy? she said, the name is not unknown to me  I usually 
reside in Paris, but I travel a lot, Choisy explained.
 
 Don't you live in the Faubourg St-Marceau in Paris? I think I can
remember a lady named Mrs. de Sancy who was very charitable.
 
 Indeed, she's my wife.
 
 But her husband was unknown.
 
 The reason for that was that I nearly always away on trip.
 
 And how is Mrs. de Sancy? the abbess inquired politely.
 
 Last time I saw her she was in fine health, Choisy said, laughing
inwardly at the huge joke it all was.
 
That Mrs. de Sancy was a figment of Choisy's imagination. Before
calling himself countess of Barres, he had been Mrs. de Sancy and had
inhabited the Faubourg Saint Marceau under this personality and had led a
joyous life, but he had given much to charity in order to allay the
gossipers' evil tongues.
 
He did not, of course, tell the truth to the abbess, but, seeing that
she was interested, he talked for a long while about his travels in
Holland, in Berlin and in Venice, naturally hiding the ribald parts. The
abbess listened with delight to Choisy's recital of his would-be adventures
which opened up new horizons for her, penned up as she was between the four
walls of the convent.
 
 You must be feeling sorry for us for the motionless trite life we
are living, she told Choisy with a sigh.
 
 No, I don't, replied Choisy, and I must add that I even envy you.
True, your universe is limited but you in particular have the
responsibility over souls. Your task must be complicated at times. Have you
ever had any difficult incident with your black sheep?
 
 I do my best to show them the right way, the abbess answered
diplomatically.
 
Choisy was hoping she would have mentioned the case of Angela de la
Grise, but however hard he tried to bring her into the conversation by a
roundabout way, he failed to get any information about her and, as he was
not supposed to know the people of the province around the convent, he did
not insist-he retired to his room after having partaken of a proffered
snack.
 
He did not go to bed, but instead, remained dressed and watchful. As
soon as he heard no noise, he left his room silently and wandered along the
corridors. But how was he to find where Angela de la Grise was?
 
He went so far as opening doors without a noise, but, among the
prostrate bodies sound asleep, he could not make out the girl he was
looking for.
 
Having decided to go back to his room disappointed he suddenly found
a room from where a ray of light was filtering. Through the keyhole he saw
a woman dressed in a night-gown who was kneeling by her bed.
 
Silently-but not silently enough-he opened the door. The woman
stopped her prayer and opened her eyes wide with fright for a moment, then
covered them with her hands and said in a trembling voice:
 
 Please don't hurt me! I knew you would be coming-I had a warning. I
am in a state of sin. Dictate your orders.
 
Choisy came nearer. The sinner hid her face in her bed. Her nightgown
revealed fleshy appetising shapes. Choisy yielded to the temptation of
touching them with his hands and the body shuddered. With a light hand he
discovered and even explored. Yes, he was really expected and it would have
been offending Satan to leave this flesh in an uncontented state.
 
So he deftly took out his prick and applied it between the two orbs
that faced him. He found the aperture, all moist and warm, and went in. It
was the first time he had fucked a girl whose face was hidden in the
bedsheets and whom he had not previously kissed. It was quite thrilling for
him to act this part of the devil-for the girl thought he was being sent by
Satan to punish her.
 
But actually, the girl seemed to enjoy her punishment. Choisy was
excited by the odour of clean-laundered bed-sheets and the unperfumed
body-odeur of the girl who was perspiring abundantly through fear and more
and more through enjoyment.
 
After he had come twice, he went away silently and the girl remained
kneeling, with her face still hidden and her backside in the air.
 
Choisy could not find his way back to his room, so he ended up in the
stable where he slept the rest of the night, wondering whether the girl he
had fucked was pretty or not, for he had not seen her face! He would
probably never know.
 
When dawn came, he woke up Bouju who harnessed the horses, gave a
large tip to the gardener and left the convent.
 
Choisy philosophically and wisely reflected that it was probably a
good thing that he had failed to find Angela de la Grise, thus putting an
end to his plan to abduct her. He estimated that the convent of Les Pres
had given him a good enough souvenir that deserved a good place in his love
annals.
 
Anyway, it was only a small sin. The charity of the flesh is a
charity like the others and the charitable one is rewarded from the fact
that love is accomplished with more frenetic passion by women who have been
long deprived of it.
 
Choisy's adventure at the convent of Les Pres was far from being an
exception. We know of the orgies organized by Casanova and the Cardinal of
Bemis at the Carmelites of Murano, near Venice. Saint-Simon, in his
Memoirs, tells that there was an open war between two aristocratic convents
of Paris to decide which of the two would produce the girl who was to
become the official mistress of the new nuncio. The prelates' choice fell
upon a canoness of Remiremont. The same canoness was to become a few days
later the mistress of the king Louis XIV for a few days. Public opinion
took both these incidents in a different way. They approved of the nuncio's
choice of the canoness, and would have thought it a scandal had he chosen
for his mistress a woman who would not have belonged to the Church. But,
for the king, it was feared that, a scandal would break out from his taking
as his favourite a canoness. The religious point of view, like many others,
differs according to the onlooker.
 
Choisy's point of view was elementary. He belonged, as we know, to
the Church, and he took smilingly his pleasure where Providence-this
religious aspect of destiny-showed it to him. Thus, for instance, he had
gone to the convent of Les Pres with the intention of abducting the naive
and lean Miss de la Grise. God preserved him from this ravishment for which
he would have been indicted before the Supreme Court of Paris. But
Providence was there to place in his path the good fortune of an undreamt
of opportunity to satisfy his carnal hunger. The penitent was hiding her
face but leaving the rest uncovered, appetising and comfortable. Choisy
found how comfortable her shapes were by running his expert hands around
them. He knew nothing of his partner, not even whether she was fair-haired,
dark-haired or a red-head. But the enigma which he would never decipher
made his pleasure more acute and he imparted a diabolical voluptuousness on
this penitent who was offering to God what she thought men did not want any
longer. That is generally the origin of penance. Choisy proved the contrary
to her and made happy this woman about whom he knew nothing and whose face
and smile he would never behold. And as he left her contented and sighing
with bliss on her rough bed she wondered, intrigued rather than worried,
whether she had been penetrated by the organ of a lover or the finger of
God.
 
Did not the same thing happen to Miss de Montmorency-Boutteville,
whom the duke of Chatillon abducted from the convent of Saint-Blaise to
marry her, after having taken on the spot an installment on a
wedding-night? Then, six months later, after he was killed in one of the
battles waged at that time between princes, wasn't it the same thing that
happened again at the convent of Chaumont where the widow who had entered
this convent disconsolately, gave way to the duke of Nemours in her cell
and became his ardent and romantic mistress?



 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 
Choisy arrived in Paris and took again possession of his house in the
Faubourg Saint-Marceau, under the identity of Mrs. de Sancy. This house was
soon open to former acquaintances who were not all unaware of Choisy's
sexual mystifications, but who, amused by them, winked at them and kept
mum.
 
It was now the beginning of autumn and people were beginning to come
back to the capital from the now cold and humid countryside. And the
military people also were resting and taking up their winter quarters in
Paris, waiting for the resumption of operations in the spring.
 
Choisy was a perfect host-or rather hostess, since he was disguised
as a woman. He always had good food, well prepared and plentiful. His wit 
was much appreciated in the conversations.
 
His revenue was eked out by his frequent winnings at cards. He was
often lucky, and a brilliant strategist, but he never cheated, for that
would not have been tolerated, even from Mrs. de Sancy.
 
He remained on excellent terms with the curate of the parish, being
pious and also giving a lot to charity. He had ten thousand pounds income
coming from the heirloom of his mother and fourteen thousand pounds from
the benefits of his abbey of Saintep Seine in Burgundy. Even with that
alone, and not counting his winnings at cards, he could have lived
comfortably, and he did.
 
He wrote to Lisette that she should come to Paris as his personal
maid, and managed to find for her husband Nicholas a post of Archer of the
Guard. Lisette accepted with pleasure, longing to have further intercourse
with Choisy, under his disguise of a woman which made her quite safe from
any suspicion her fool of a husband might have.
 
From Lisette, Choisy learned that Mrs. de la Grise, after having sent
her daughter to the convent of la Grise, had kept mum about the reason of
her sudden decision. After Angela's confession, Mrs. de la Grise, undecided
about the real sex of this strange person, had concluded that her child had
been the victim of a hermaphrodite or a demon, which came to the same
thing. But she had given up the idea of causing a scandal by means of a
pub-He denunciation, and she prayed that the divine justice would visit the
malefactor. The departure of this satanic countess was held by her to be a
favour from Heaven and an encouragement to silence. So Choisy was safe from
that side at least. And nobody had drawn any conclusion from his visit to
the convent of Les Pres, for only Hercule Poirot's little grey cells could
have guessed that the countess of Barres and the knight who had taken
refuge for one night at the convent of Les Pres were one and the same
person.
 
Choisy did not remain a long time in Paris without his usual
love-affairs.
 
Among his guests was a certain knight of Haucourt, a lover of good
food and wine, and a great gambler at cards. Choisy showed himself very
attentionate with him, giving him the best pieces at meals and winning as
much as he could out of him at cards after the meals.
 
But Fate was to show an ironic hand in that the knight started
falling in love with Mrs. de Sancy. With his feminine attire Choisy showed
himself to the best advantage and he looked indeed a ravishing woman. His
clear complexion was kept in tiptop form by means of numerous lotions and
pomades, and his hair was expertly done by Lisette who was quite clever at
hairdressing, and the falsies he wore gave the perfect illusion of a
finely-shaped bosom.
 
D'Haucourt often praised the beauty of his hostess and Choisy at
first saw in his praise the normal compliments paid to a hostess by a
gentleman. But soon he realized that mark of politeness. Yes, the knight
had fallen in love with Mrs. de Sancy!
 
D'Haucourt wooed Mrs. de Sancy alias Choisy with reserve at first,
but soon started being a little more pressing. Choisy took on a coquettish
part, making himself desired. That was pouring oil on the fire.
 
One evening, after an animated game of cards, the knight stayed after
the other guests had gone. Choisy, as chance would have it, had been
unlucky and lost a lot of money that evening and the knight had won twenty
ducats out of him. He told the knight:
 
 Please wait a moment. I'm going to get the money from my room.
 
The knight laid a gentle hand on his arm.
 
 There's no hurry, he said soothingly.
 
 I dislike debts, Choisy answered, at least gambling debts.
 
 Between us, madam, it doesn't count.
 
 And why would you grant me credit? Choisy asked.
 
 Let's call it quits, the knight offered generously.
 
 All right-till to-morrow. We'll play double or quits.
 
The knight knelt down in front of Choisy, took one of his hands which
he kissed effusively. The false Mrs. de Sancy tried in vain to free her
hand which d'Haucourt maintained forcibly under his lips.
 
 My dear, do stop it, he admonished, suppose anybody saw us  I wish
it were so, so I could let the world know of my feelings for you.
 
 And what would they think of me?
 
 Is loving a crime?
 
 Get up, knight! You're making me blush. Besides, it's late and I'm
so tired I could drop.
 
 Forgive me. May I hope that we shall take up our little talk soon
and lead it to its conclusion?
 
 We'll see, we'll see.
 
Choisy had got up from his armchair and called his valet to show his
obstinate wooer out. When at last he could go back to his room he told
Lisette who was helping him undress:
 
 After all, I'm not going to make myself ugly to discourage this
foolish fop.
 
 That would be a pity, indeed. But you should send him what you owe
him as soon as to-morrow morning and so he'll understand that you want to
owe him nothing.
 
 You're quite right, Lisette, I'll do just that.
 
Then he drew her to him and undressed her in his turn. Then they
snuffed out the candles and, in the cosy bedsheets, they brought their
naked bodies together, and kissed passionately, letting their hands roam
along each other's bodies and awakening the deepest desire in them. Then,
with voluptuous grunts and sighs, they fucked and caressed each other with
their hands and with their tongues. Choisy thanked providence that Lisette
had been sent to him. It might never have happened if Lisette had not
entered his room while he was asleep, and even then, if his bed-sheets had
not been pushed away she would not have noticed that he was not the woman
he was meant to be.

 
While Choisy was trying to get rid of d'Haucourt, he was endeavouring
to seduce a certain Rosalie, a well-known actress of great virtue who
opposed a fierce resistance to his attacks. She had no lovers, as far as he
knew, but a great deal of admirers, including a comedian called du Rozan.
She was really beautiful and she derived great fun from being wooed by many
unsuccessfully.
 
For Rosalie, Choisy was Mrs. de Sancy-she did not know his true
identity. But, instead of being a handicap, it became for Choisy an
advantage over his rivals. But the problem was to know whether, once he
would show her his real sex, she would not get disgusted or frightened. She
liked making fun of people, so that would have been a splendid opportunity
for her to laugh at Choisy, if she had felt like laughing.
 
Choisy first tried to get her confidence. He lavished praise on her
acting, but he did not exaggerate flattery for he did not seem to pass for
a woman in love with another woman. That would have been a dangerous thing
to do.
 
He invited her to his house, not only at his salon parties but in the
intimacy of his boudoir. He gave her precious recipes for pomades and other
tricks women have to keep and enhance their natural beauty. He also asked
her for advice on her way of dressing. In short, he and Rosalie began
exchanging secrets on how best to seduce men, and, from there, there was
but a short step to exchanging confidences on which men they were
interested in.
 
 This du Rozan, Choisy remarked, has a great future before him,
hasn't he.
 
 Yes, he's a handsome man, and he knows it. Rosalie agreed, I think
he would like to marry me, but  Yes, Choisy said, marriage is an affair
that demands a lot of thoughts.
 
 You made the experience of it yourself.
 
 That is why I hesitate to renew it.
 
 Even with Mr. d'Haucourt? said Rosalie with an impish tone. They
say that he's running after you like mad.
 
 As a lover, maybe, but certainly not as a husband, said Choisy, I
don't want to be chained down to him.
 
Rosalie was becoming more and more familiar with Choisy so that she
tolerated a certain liberty.
 
 What a fine bust you have, Choisy told her one evening as he had
gone into her dressing-room in the theatre, and she was taking off her
stage dress.
 
 You don't have to envy me, yours is far from bad.
 
 Don't trust appearances, said Choisy, in reality I have to use
falsies for my bust is quite flat like that of a man.
 
 Mr. d'Haucourt would be disappointed indeed if he ever found out!
 
 Good God, yes! You understand now why I hesitate to give Mr.
d'Haucourt such a disappointment, or anybody else for that matter.
 
 But you have other advantages that make up for it, Rosalie said.
 
 You may be right there.
 
And Choisy noted that he had sparked off in Rosalie a certain
curiosity that would perhaps prove the key to the problem of becoming more
intimate with her. He started being more tender with her, and saw that she
was not fighting shy of it.
 
One evening, after they both had had dinner as guests of a common
friend, with d'Haucourt, the latter offered to accompany them both home.
 
 I don't know if we must accept, said Choisy, there's the risk of
some gossiper seeing us and starting to spread some unfounded rumours.
 
 It would serve me in good stead if someone did that, said
d'Haucourt.
 
 But, sir, and what about my reputation?
 
 I shall stop at your door, d'Haucourt assured her.
 
 That's what you say-but I trust Miss Rosalie will do me the honour
of accepting my hospitality.
 
 But certainly, Rosalie answered, pleased to be of service to her
great friend.
 
And that is how d'Haucourt saw the door being shut in his face by the
two women.
 
 The poor knight, said Rosalie, he thought it was in the bag.
 
 Shall I have a room prepared for you, as well as a fire? said
Choisy. If I dared, I would offer you to share my bed, that would be the
simplest solution, and I confess I would feel more in security with you in
my bed in case the bold knight took it into his head to climb up to my
window.
 
And Choisy gave Rosalie a friendly kiss, which convinced her to
accept his offer. And so, while Rosalie was praising the furniture of
Choisy's room, Choisy praised Rosalie's body, as she was undressing.
 
 Your shoulders are worthy of a goddess, he told her.
 
He started giving her little kisses which made her shudder with
pleasure.
 
 Darling, do stop, please-are you trying to replace Rozan?
 
 Who knows? Oh, but here are breasts fit to make envious all the
nymphs of the mythology.
 
Rosalie, although she was obviously influenced by the caresses and
compliments Choisy was giving her, endeavoured to control herself and
adopted a mocking tone as a shield to her emotions.
 
 My word, did Mr. d'Haucourt, put you in such a state? she asked.
 
 No, you did!
 
And his lips solicited Rosalie's with such skill that the comedian
became all languid.
 
 I wonder how all that is going to end, she said, feeling a little
ashamed at what she guessed was lying ahead.
 
 In the best possible way, Choisy said confidently.
 
Choisy left only one lamp on and, after having undressed quickly, 
joined Rosalie in his bed.
 
First, he just gave her a few friendly caresses which did not betray
his real sex and which proved successful in exciting Rosalie.
 
 What we're doing is bad, she murmured.
 
 Would you prefer to have Rozan in your bed instead of me? asked
Choisy.
 
 He certainly would like to be in your place! ejaculated Rosalie.
 
 But what is to prevent me from replacing him? said Choisy, and, so
saying, proved his virility to Rosalie who, too late, tried backing away.
Choisy precipitated his action and held close to him Rosalie's attractive
body with an ardour that melted all her resistance.
 
The effect of surprise played a great part in seducing Rosalie, for,
before the final assault-so to speak-she had been led by caresses to a
state of exacerbation which made her subsequent resistance much too weak
for Choisy's fire. And when the Big Bad Wolf was in, she could no longer
think straight and abandoned herself to the intoxication of love.
 
They both came in a wonderful spasm that shook them to the core and
emptied them for a moment of all energy. During the resting period that
followed, Rosalie contemplated the instrument that had given her such
wonderful feelings, and said:
 
 Gorgeous, that thing of yours, if your breast was false, at least
that isn't.
 
 You're right, said Choisy, I've been well provided by nature
Imagine d'Haucourt's face if he had been in this bed instead of you!
laughed Choisy.
 
 It would have ended in a duel!
 
 I prefer fighting at close quarters with you, mocked Choisy.
 
Then they started making love again. Rosalie gave him kiss for kiss
and caress for caress. She was evidently highly pleased with having found
so opportunely such an unexpected and skilful lover. And the very unusual
way in which she had lost her virtue gave her conscience a good excuse for
having done so.
 
She gave herself fully to her voluptuousness and suddenly seized with
her hands the virile instrument of her partner, superb and palpitating, and
growing bolder still, covered with kisses this rod which had given her such
pleasure.
 
Choisy did not resist such caresses a long time, and had to withdraw
after a little while in order to keep his sap in.
 
In less time than it takes to say it, the two lovers had started
again their love-making in a furiously passionate way. Rosalie (thought
Choisy) was a really attractive and well-shaped woman, just right for his
size, too!
 
The kisses and the intermingling of bodies became more abundant and
more nervous and produced an abundant perspiration. In the quiet room one
could hear sighs, grunts of pleasure and the rubbing of bodies.
 
Choisy, who liked to prolong pleasure as much as possible, now 
proceeded to put his partner in the most perfect state of receptivity and
lavished the most skilful caresses on her. His hands ran slowly along all
the flesh part of her anatomy, and when his fingers reached the source of
pleasure by excellence, they slowly drew apart its lips to penetrate their
warm and humid intimacy.
 
Then he gave back to Rosalie the very intimate caresses she had
spontaneously given him with her mouth. She lay there in ecstasy, breathing
heavily, while she let Choisy drink in the sap of her body at its source.
And she was really happy then as she had never been before and thanked
Heaven to have got across her path such a wonderful lover as Choisy.



 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 
Choisy went on being Mrs. de Sancy, except for Rosalie. He had told
his new mistress how Monsieur, the King's brother, had given him the
taste for disguising himself as a woman but he pointed out that he, Choisy,
had not lost any of his virility.
 
 And you find your ruse always successful? she asked, laughing.
 
 Well sometimes, Choisy answered modestly, to admit of this
metamorphosis it takes favourable circumstances as well as exceptional
persons like you.
 
Rosalie, flattered, smiled. It was for her an unexpected pleasure to
see her lover come out of his feminine chrysalis and then, after having
given her proof of his virility, go back into his women's clothes. She
reasoned that very few persons could have got away with it for any length
of time. The remarkable thing was that Choisy was far from being a weak
male or an awkward beginner. He was on the contrary expert in
voluptuousness and very strong in constitution. But, being vain like nearly
all women, she attributed Choisy's special fire and energy in love-making
to her own power of seduction. She even went as far as thinking that her
harmonious body had been the cause of Mrs. de Sandy's getting out of her
reserve. That is why she took good care of keeping Choisy's secret for
herself so that she should be the only beneficiary of it. She was at the
stage when hidden affairs were more thrilling than open ones.
 
True, people had not failed to notice the strong friendship that
united Rosalie with Mrs. De Sancy, but they had not enough imagination to
suspect that anything unusual was afoot, so that their comments on the
subject were without malice. Of course, both lovers wisely abstained from
being demonstrative in public. They more than made up for their reserve
when they were together in the intimacy of their bed-room. There, nothing
could hold back their frantic passion.
 
 I have a bigger bust than you, my dear, Rosalie observed, but the
small of your back is more fleshy than mine.
 
 It serves me in good stead to deceive people, Choisy remarked.
 
 But one day it may induce your knight to try raping you, she
warned.
 
 Bah! A creditor loses his rights with an insolvent debtor.
 
For d'Haucourt, Choisy was more than ever Mrs. de Sancy, the object
of his flame. That is why Choisy took good care not to find himself alone
with him, for he knew to what lengths a jilted lover can go. Fortunately
there were Bouju and Lisette and even sometimes Nicolas when he was not on
duty, to serve as a shield and prevent his being alone with d'Haucourt. The
trio stood good watch, and Choisy received only Rosalie in his intimacy-the
others were not allowed to overstep the limits of the salon, and even
Choisy's salon was not open at all times but only on reception days.
 
D'Haucourt raged and fumed to see what all his efforts were
repeatedly knocking against a blank wall. That led him to having his temper
more than somewhat frayed, and he often bickered.
 
 It's easier to break into a fortress than your house, he grunted
spitefully.
 
 But, Sir, Choisy replied, would you expect everybody to enter my
house just when they pleased? As it is, I receive a great many guests.
 
 Too many, to my liking! If I had my say  Would you leave your wife
without a bodyguard, jealous as you are?
 
 I have ample cause to be jealous.
 
 Is this the way you intend winning my favours? It's like rubbing a
cat's hair up the wrong way, you know. It will get you nowhere. You know I
love society and having people around me.
 
 Well, I don't.
 
 Go to a desert, then!
 
 All right, but with you!
 
That made Mrs. de Sancy laugh so mockingly that d'Haucourt was deeply
hurt and he stopped at once his battle of words. At least, for the nonce,
for the day after they started again, and Choisy was no longer amused at
his insistence. He saw the red light and guessed that the knight would soon
risk the decisive assault. Anyway, that would perhaps be better as then the
affair would more quickly be wound up to its fated end, one way or the
other- and Choisy knew which way it would end.
 
So, with a sigh of relief, he finally accepted d'Haucourt's
invitation to supper at a would-be friend of the knight.
 
 He lives in Meudon, it's a charming place near the woods,
d'Haucourt explained.
 
 At night, Choisy objected, I shan't be in a position to enjoy the
scenery. D'Haucourt ignored that remark and went on:
 
 And, above all, don't bring your inseparable friend with you!
 
 You mean Rosalie?
 
 Of course, can't you, for one evening, tear yourself away from her?
My friend dislikes people in the acting profession.
 
 That doesn't make him a very likeable person to me, said Choisy.
 
 For once, I beg this favour  All right, said Choisy, looking 
d'Haucourt frankly in the eye, I shall leave Rosalie in Paris.
 
D'Haucourt was as pleased as a schoolboy who has won a pound of
ice-cream a day for a year for helping an old lady across the street.
 
But, when the day of the appointment came, he was astonished to see a
young rider arriving instead of Mrs. de Sancy. Or was it Mrs. de Sancy
dressed as a man?
 
 I was looking for your coach. How did you come?
 
 Riding a horse.
 
 Alone?
 
 No, with Bouju, who's waiting for me in an inn.
 
Choisy took off his cloak and appeared dressed in riding trousers,
boots and with a sword dangling from his side. D'Haucourt whistled with
admiration.
 
 How smart you look! You give off a perfect imitation of a man! But,
please, remove that sword of yours-it has no business here. Besides, you
would be hard put to it if you had to use it.
 
Instead of answering, Choisy quickly and deftly drew the blade out of
its sheath and threatened his host with it.
 
 Good Heavens! It looks as if you had done nothing but that all your
life.
 
He even had to back away from Choisy who was pricking his doublet
with the point of his sword.
 
 You told me a friend of yours had invited us, Choisy remarked,
continuing his fencing, I'd like to see him.
 
 He is, ahem, at Saint-Germain, hummed and hawed d'Haucourt,
embarrassed, he was called away for an urgent replacement.
 
 You should have told me about it and postponed our supper.
 
 But why?
 
 Defend yourself! cried Choisy, or you'll be like a chicken on a
spit.
 
 Aren't you putting the cart before the horse?
 
Nevertheless, he took out his sword and got busy warding off Choisy's
thrusts. As he backed away more and more, he exclaimed:
 
 Madam, please let's stop this little game. It's dangerous and we
have better things to do. Hallo there, Basque!
 
D'Haucourt's servant answered his master's call but Choisy's
attention was not diverted-with a flourish he made d'Haucourt's sword jump
out from his grasp and fall with a disgraceful thud on the floor.
D'Haucourt stopped dead and felt deeply ashamed.
 
 You have a grip of iron, he said after a pause.
 
 Yes, I've had a good master, Choisy said.
 
 D'Haucourt had to do as he was told and defend himself, but he gave
a sign with his head which his valet understood, but Choisy failed to
notice, and the next thing he knew he was being seized from behind by two
strong arms-those of Basque who had sprung from behind. As he was
endeavouring to wrench himself free, d'Haucourt guffawed.
 
 Come, fair lady, give me your sword. Those are not games for you.
 
Choisy, fuming like a trapped fox, exclaimed:
 
 That's a fine victory for you, I'm sure! It took two to disarm me.
 
 And now, do become again the fair Mrs. De Sancy you are, in spite
of your disguise!
 
D'Haucourt had sheathed his sword and, helped by his valet, succeeded
in wrenching Choisy's weapon from his grasp, but not without great
difficulty. This new victory made him laugh again jeeringly.
 
 And now, he said, you can be sure you won't get out of here without
having belonged to me.
 
 That remains to be seen! Choisy ejaculated. D'Haucourt threw
himself upon her and lifted her from the ground.
 
 It's as well as done! he exclaimed, I would have preferred your
loving me without forcing you to, but, after such a bravado of yours, if I
have to use force I shall.
 
He sank into an armchair without letting go of his prey and started
pawing the fleshy backside which stimulated his desire. Choisy did his best
to struggle and, as he feared Basque would sooner or later come to his
masters aid, he managed to seize a stool and to toss it at the valet. It
was a bull's eye  Basque, hit on the head, sank to the floor with a groan.
Exit valet.
 
 What a fury! exclaimed d'Haucourt with more than a tinge of
admiration in his voice, and without a thought of pity for his servant.
 
And, far from renouncing his project, d'Haucourt now seemed more
intent than ever to realize it.
 
Traitorously, he tripped up Choisy and threw himself bodily on him.
But he had to use both his hands to hold his prey to the ground, so that he
could not reach the treasures he coveted. He squeezed Choisy's wrists and
lay heavily on top of him, using his muscular thighs to good advantage.
Meanwhile, with his face, he searched inside Choisy's bust in the same way
a boar nuzzles for truffles. He even went so far as tearing the lace with
his teeth, and he may have thought it odd not to feel the softness of a
woman's breast underneath. He was getting more and more wrought up like an
exacerbated he-goat and swore to his heart's content.
 
With a powerful loin thrust, Choisy contrived to lift up his
aggressor and make him roll on his side. Then he deftly sprang to his feet,
followed closely by d'Haucourt. Choisy took refuge behind a table, ready to
overturn it to defend himself if need be. D'Haucourt stopped for a moment
to breathe up and exclaimed:
 
 What a strange wench you are!
 
 Let me go away! cried Choisy.
 
 Never! Anyway, you Suddenly he had an inspiration which he thought
would make him be the winner without using brute force any longer. He
unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall to his feet, and lifted up his
shirt.
 
 Now, what do you say to that, madam? he asked, grinning 
satanically.
 
Choisy saw the emblem of virility brandished in all its tumefied
ugliness, almost monstrous.
 
 Well, now? said d'Haucourt, thrusting out his stomach to give more
prominence to his sex, I'm putting my cards on the table With that, one
goes straight to Paradise.
 
Choisy shrugged his shoulders contemptuously and picked up his sword.
Then he blew a little silver whistle.
 
 What are you doing, madam?
 
 I'm calling my valet and my horses, Choisy answered unruffled.
 
D'Haucourt made to throw himself against Choisy, but, forgetting his
trousers which were down at his feet, tripped up and caught himself just in
time with the arm of a chair, then he quickly-but not quickly enough-lifted
up his trousers.
 
But Choisy was quicker and, brushing aside with his foot the
prostrate form of Basque, he opened the door and fled, crying:
 
 We shall have to resume this conversation with swords, at your
convenience, knight, but not here!
 
The door slammed.
 
D'Haucourt eyed sadly the object he was now trying to put back into
its clothes.
 
 What a devil of a woman! Insensible even to that. And yet, how many
women would find it a joy! And, talking to his sex as to a human being, he
added: Poor buggar, what an affront you've been dealt with!
 
He had just finished dressing up when he heard the sound of hooves
pass in front of his window and gradually dwindle away.
 
 Is she made of ice, this confounded female? he exclaimed.
 
It is a fact that nearly all men endowed by nature with a monstrously
big penis believe they are irresistible to the fair sex. All the spouses of
the King of Spain have secretly dreamed of experiencing the strong
advantages attributed to the dwarfs made famous by Velasquez's painting,
smiling and lascivious. D'Haucourt was wrong to imagine that his deformity
which he should have dissimulated rather than paraded, would be of pleasing
effect to the lady he loved. Mrs. de Sancy might be a sensual woman but she
certainly was not a mare in heat. Fools like d'Haucourt fail to seduce with
the silly show off of their attributes, where they could have succeeded had
they sparked up in women the curiosity that is inherent in every human
being. But that reasoning was too subtle for vainglorious and foolish
people.



 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 
Lisette, who was impatiently waiting for the return of her lover,
kissed him passionately when she saw him arrive.
 
 I was worried, she admitted.
 
 What for? For my virtue?
 
 That invitation sounded like a trap, she said.
 
 And it was a trap, ducks, said Choisy.
 
 So he was disappointed?
 
 More than that-he still doesn't know I am not a woman.
 
 How did it happen?
 
 I'll tell you later. I'm starving.
 
Lisette ran to the pantry and brought back victuals for her master,
then watched him eat ravenously, and between mouthfuls he recounted to her
the unusual adventure he had just experienced. When Choisy arrived at the
final description of what d'Haucourt had exhibited in the hope of
conquering his indifference, Lisette exclaimed:
 
 And you never saw anything like it?
 
 On donkeys, yes but, come to think of it, you women are more in a
position to make comparisons.
 
Lisette shrank back in mock horror.
 
 I am not one of those who bite at such baits. I was seduced when
very young by a gentleman who was far from being a cunt-ripper-fortunately
for the sheath you vouchsafe to honour, she said in the language she had
picked up partly from her boor of a husband and partly from the priggish
talk of the salons.
 
 And your husband? queried Choisy.
 
 Sometimes I have to submit to him-seldom, I'm glad to say.-but so
far he has never hurt me.
 
 By the way, is he on duty now, your Nicholas?
 
 No, he isn't. He was even ready to ride at a gallop to your help if
you had needed any.
 
 A pity, Choisy sighed.
 
For he was already pawing the familiar shapes of Lisette, who was
beginning to feel quite in the mood.
 
In the mood for what?
 
Come on, readers, ain't you got no blinking imagination?
 
 Wait for me a while, I'll go and see what's cooking, she said, not
referring to the kitchen.
 
Choisy went to his room. He had hardly had time to take off his
doublet when he saw Lisette hurrying back with a beam on her face.
 
 He's sleeping like a log, she said, but we'd better hurry just the
same.
 
She started undressing, and two breasts in revolt jumped out of their
prison and gave their master all the eloquence needed. At the sight of this
eloquence, Lisette exclaimed:
 
 This one will do, it's just my size.
 
 As for me, I think I shall always have before my eyes that
d'Haucourt brandishing his preposterous cock, Choisy said with a smile.
 
 You have better things to do than relating such horrors.
 
She threw herself on the bed, with her hair disheveled, her breasts
taut with desire and expectation, her thighs apart, offering to her lover's
sight ft crater gaping with impatience, contracting and lathering. Choisy
knelt down before her to grant her the homage she was expecting. She
imprisoned his head between her thighs, then, after a while, she drew them
apart and claimed the rod. And, although Choisy's instrument was far from
being the size of d'Haucourt's, he contented her as well as she could wish,
with a passion that shook her to the core: she moaned with pleasure and all
but swooned.
 
After a while, just enough time to regain their breath and energy,
they did it again, but this time, from the side, she turning her back to
him: while he fucked her from behind, he passed his right hand round her
and rolled between his fingers Lisette's teats, while, with his left hand,
he rubbed her clitoris. Under this triple action, Lisette's voluptuousness
knew no bounds and, as she came, she bit her lover's arm to the blood. But,
as he was coming at the same time the pain made his orgasm still more
savagely pleasurable.
 
Although Nicholas had immense powers of sleep, he was not without
noticing that his wife, when she lay down at his side at dawn that night,
had her skin all wet and shuddering with voluptuousness. But then he was a
cuckold almost by vocation.
 
A few days later, Choisy saw d'Haucourt come into his salon all
spruced up, with new lace and reeking with perfume. As there were other
guests, he contented himself with bowing to Choisy-or rather Mrs. de
Sancy-and whispering:
 
 Still bewitching, I see.
 
 More than ever! I was just waiting for you to resume our
conversation with swords in hand, retorted Mrs. de Sancy.
 
 We'll talk about it later, said d'Haucourt evasively, but why are
you laughing?
 
The reason was that Choisy, looking at d'Haucourt, recalled in his
mind the sight of his brandished cock. It seemed that henceforth he would
never see d'Haucourt without this image superimposing itself on his actual
sight. And Lisette thought exactly the same as her master for she had a
mocking temperament by nature. D'Haucourt who had planned to make Mrs. de
Sancy's heart melt at the sight of his monstrous instrument, had only
succeeded in bringing about her jeers.
 
Choisy, while going from guest to guest in his perfect imitation of a
lady, was a little worried, wondering whether d'Haucourt had smelt a rat
and was not beginning to wonder about Mrs. de Sancy's strange personality.
Was he at last glimpsing the truth?
 
Rosalie, who was there that evening in the salon, was more
affectionate to Choisy than usual, which, if d'Haucourt had any suspicious,
would have fortified them. Choisy even feared the scandal that d'Haucourt's
discovery of his true sex would have caused, for d'Haucourt would not have
kept the fact to himself. He even thought it might be best to have a duel 
without witnesses with d'Haucourt, so that, whether one or the other should
be injured, the affair would be over at last. Except of course if
d'Haucourt had still chosen to shout it about as a revenge for having been
made a fool of.
 
Choisy had been using all his self-control not to tell off Rosalie
for being so demonstrative in public. At last, he decided to speak up:
 
 Please take a hold upon yourself, Rosalie, he whispered to her,
keep your effusions for later.
 
 Not this evening, Rosalie answered, piqued, we're playing Mr. de
Moliere's new comedy.
 
 'The Countess of Escarbaquas'?
 
 Yes, and we shall probably be taking encores till far into the
evening.
 
 Well, we shall be all the more passionate the next night, said
Choisy philosophically.
 
 You don't seem to mind, Rosalie retorted huffily, and, getting up,
left Choisy for another group of guests.
 
D'Haucourt, who had been watching the scene, stepped near Mrs. de
Sancy and insinuated:
 
 A lovers' quarrel?
 
 What do you mean?
 
 One could swear that  What? said Choisy aggressively.
 
 It would look as if between you and this actress there should be a
strange relationship.
 
 Stop this persiflage, Mr. d'Haucourt, you and I don't speak the
same language.
 
 I won't leave it at that, d'Haucourt threatened in a tone which
Choisy did not like at all.
 
But they left it at that for this time, as if, on a tacit
understanding they reserved their antagonism for another time.
 
A while later, Nicholas being on duty, Choisy explained to Lisette:
 
 This d'Haucourt is becoming insufferable. As long as I haven't put
into his body a few inches of steel  That would create a lot of troubles,
Lisette answered. I have an idea, I think it would be better to find a
person to replace you. Yes, some woman who, at night, would take your place
in the dark and fool d'Haucourt into believing it was you. I wouldn't mind
doing it myself, except that, well, he's not my size, if you see what I
mean.
 
And, to emphasize her words, Lisette put up her forearm with her
clenched fist.
 
Choisy smiled understandingly.
 
 I should never dream of asking such a painful service of you,
Lisette.
 
Meanwhile, his busy fingers probed the cavern of love and Lisette
squirmed with pleasure. But she still found enough energy to suggest with a
stroke of genius:
 
 And if we found a woman who would accept to  Yes, good idea, said
Choisy, but she would have to be endowed with a sizeable receptacle.
 
 Let's put an advertisement in the gazette, said Lisette.
 
 It would have to be in veiled terms, for no one would ever boast of
such an apparel, Choisy remarked.
 
They did not pursue the subject for Lisette was drawing towards her
the man she loved, and she guided his virility into her flower, which was
ripe-ready for receiving you-know-what.
 
And so they did it again, and they grunted with pleasure and their
kisses took in the form of sucking bites, so intense was their passion.
 
But Choisy was soon to have another cause for preoccupation.
 
On the following day he received a note from Rosalie in which she
begged him to come and see her urgently. He had just time to make himself
beautiful and order his coach, and he arrived a few moments later at
Rosalie's. He found her in tears and still in bed.
 
 Is there a fire in the house? mocked Choisy.
 
 A fire? That could be extinguished, Rosalie answered in a
double-entendre which Choisy did not grasp fully until later, my darling,
do you forgive me for having been a little nervous last night?
 
 Forgive you? Why should you ask me that? I have nothing to forgive
you. I know that on the day of a premiere one is always awfully busy. And
I'm certain you had a lot of success in this new play.
 
 Yes, I had, but that's trifle compared with what's worrying me.
Listen to my confession And she told Choisy that she was expecting a child
from him, adding:
 
 Haven't we done everything to arrive at such a result?
 
Choisy laughed it off.
 
 So I'm going to be a father, me, Mrs. de Sancy? That's nothing
short of a miracle! he exclaimed.
 
But Rosalie was in no mood for laughs and her eyes became wet with
swelling tears.
 
 The miracle would be for the poor little child to have a father,
she said, would you be willing to recognize your paternity.
 
 Oh, dear, that is a problem which I can't solve at once, it demands
reflection.
 
 Yes, I suppose it's with a certain purpose that you took on the
identity of Mrs. de Sancy?
 
 I do no wrong to anybody by doing that, Choisy remarked, but, come
to think of it, you have so many wooers that you should have no difficulty
in finding a man to accept the responsibility of fatherhood.
 
 Yes, it would be easy if they had done the work themselves, but
finding it already done is another matter altogether.
 
Choisy thoughtfully rubbed his chin with his forefinger, glad to find
that its smoothness deceived people into believing he was really a woman,
then, all of a sudden, he had an idea:
 
 What about du Rozan?
 
 Him! she cried, you're not seriously thinking  Doesn't he swear to
everybody that he adores you?
 
 Not to that point.
 
 Who knows, said Choisy, human credulity is infinite.
 
 You know that as well as women do, Rosalie observed in a tone full
in insinuations.
 
 Don't worry, darling, and trust me to fix things all right, he told
her, caressing her teats the while.
 
That evening, Choisy broke the news to Lisette, who exclaimed:
 
 At least I have nothing to fear from that side: Nicholas is there
to take the blame.
 
 Would you fancy being in Rosalie's predicament?
 
 I wouldn't mind provided my child resembled the real father.
 
 And that his putative father did not discover the truth, Choisy
added. But let's come back to du Rozan. How are we going to decide him?
 
 Yes, that's a problem not easily solved, Lisette admitted. But it
was no use thinking about it yet, they reflected, for they were beginning
to feel their senses at work, calling them urgently for immediate
satisfaction.
 
So they threw themselves on the bed and rolled to and fro before
finding the position they liked best. They laughed gaily at first to be so
happy compared to Rosalie and all the rest of the world, all full of
worries. Then they stopped laughing and kissed full on the mouth and
Lisette's crater watered abundantly, ready to receive the now very stiff
and warm prick of her lover, which soon found its target and belaboured it
with conviction.
 
They certainly forgot all about d'Haucourt and Rosalie and all other
worries and problems. Lisette, though, was not without taking her share of
her master's worries, but she knew very well that what she did in bed with
him had the power of making him forget about everything but the matter in
hand, and so, that evening, she concentrated on making herself a better
loving creature than ever. She sucked him off and caressed him and showed
more outward signs of pleasure than ever in order to excite him all the
more.
 
 Have you ever tried the caress of the apron? she asked him
suddenly.
 
 What the hell are you talking about? he asked, perplexed but
curious, and all agog at the mention of the word caress.
 
 Stay there a while, she said with a laugh creasing her eyes.
 
She got up and came back with one of her aprons, a black satin one,
very soft to the touch. Then she knelt beside him on the bed, and, holding
the apron with both hands, she let it softly touch Choisy's erected penis
and ran it gently along its sensitive front, and again she lowered it and
softly lifted it up along his penis, quivering with delight at such a
hellishly soft and pleasurable touch.
 
 Wow, that's delicious, Choisy exclaimed, Lisette, you're a genius!
 
Without hurry, Lisette continued for a while to excite her lover with
the apron, then, judging that she had better stop if she didn't want to
have it all sullied by you-know-what, she suddenly threw it away and lay
herself down on top of Choisy, impaling herself savagely on his exacerbated
penis. And he was so near the goal that two or three seconds sufficed to
procure the most pleasurable orgasm he thought he had ever had.
 
Lisette, he thought, was really one of the best mistresses he had
ever had, and perhaps even the best.



 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 
Du Rozan came from a respectable provincial family. He had come to
the capital like a moth attracted by the flame and had mixed in the world
of Letters and Theatre. He had even written a few poems which he had
succeeded in selling, and, on the stage, he had had at first a few minor
jobs which had gradually developed into better roles, and now that he was a
handsome actor, he believed the world was his oyster.
 
He deceived himself into thinking that Rosalie would follow in the
footsteps of so many other well-known actresses who had fallen for his
charms. He used to boast, that he had been the cause of so many deceived
husbands that he had lost the count, although he did not give specific
names.
 
But the mocking Rosalie was not keen on being just another of his
feminine victories. When he complimented her on the agreeable curves of her
body, she replied tartly:
 
 Why, don't you see anything else in a woman but these superficial
qualities?
 
 Well, I I see what you show me, he answered lamely.
 
 But I am not showing anything.
 
 You make one guess.
 
 I also have less apparent merits, and that's why I am such an
admired woman.
 
 You have the complexion of a rose and a heart as pure as crystal.
 
 Mind! Crystal is eminently breakable.
 
 But yours does not run the risk of being hit.
 
 Du Rozan, you speaking as at the Hotel de Rambouillet.
 
 Or as in a scene from Moliere's plays.
 
 Well, that is surely not the way to get me, she said drily.
 
Du Rozan was getting desperate. Vainly did he dress and perfume
himself as best he could, vainly did he try to be as witty as he could
be-Rosalie remained insensible to his charms and to all his advances.
 
Besides, he frowned up on the too demonstrative friendship between
his beloved and Mrs. de Sancy, a friendship that bordered a little too much
on tenderness. He tackled her once on that ticklish point.
 
 Are you by any chance hoping to find in the salon of Mrs. de Sancy
the rare bird that will move you?
 
 Who knows? she answered tauntingly.
 
And she laughed gaily, thinking of the rare bird that was hidden in
the skirt of Mrs. de Sancy, that rare bird which knew so well how to give
her a pleasure which du Rozan himself would probably never be able to
equal.
 
Du Rozan's jealousy, as it growed and growed, needed fixing itself on
somebody in particular. D'Haucourt was his victim.
 
 You should be careful, Rosalie, he said, d'Haucourt is looking at
you with amorous eyes.
 
 He doesn't care a whit about me, Rosalie assured him.
 
 I am well informed, du Rozan insisted.
 
 But, my dear, he's after Mrs. de Sancy, not me. She's very
attractive and well-off and  Well, let him marry her then!
 
Whereupon Rosalie, who knew the truth about Mrs. de Sancy, laughed at
the very idea.
 
 If d'Haucourt got what he's after, it would be all over with your
intimacy with Mrs. de Sancy, du Rozan said, oh, you can laugh. I'm gifted
with foresight.
 
Rosalie became less ironical when she became certain she was
pregnant. Choisy gave her some ingenious advice which she followed. She
announced to du Rozan that Mrs. de Sancy had accepted to marry d'Haucourt.
The comedian triumphantly exclaimed:
 
 What did I tell you? I knew the knight was playing a double game.
 
 Alas! sighed Rosalie.
 
And she played the best scene of her career, this time on the real
stage of live.
 
 Give him a good lesson, du Rozan suggested, jumping at this
unforeseen heaven-sent opportunity (or rather Choisy-sent"), get married,
you too: so, the knight won't have the satisfaction of seeing you
disconsolate.
 
He took one of her hands, held it and kissed it with more effusion
than he had ever done on the stage.
 
 I've been looking forward so long to this happiness, he whispered.
 
Rosalie did not answer but opposed no resistance. And she even gave
du Rozan a kiss, which was the first he ever got from her. Secretly she
thanked Choisy for the success of his stratagem. She had at last found a
father for her child to come. She soon spread the news of her forthcoming
marriage with du Rozan. But matters became complicated when du Rozan
started bruiting about that Mrs. de Sancy was giving way to d'Haucourt. The
latter, joyous with this piece of news, divulged it still more so that it
was soon all over the salons. Then he brought an engagement-ring and gave
it to Mrs. de Sancy, saying:
 
 I knew you would give way one day or the other, but I never
imagined I would have won your heart with a sword.
 
 You still have to make your conquest concrete, Choisy said.
 
 I'll do your bidding, my love, he said, then, falling on his knees
before Mrs. de Sancy, he added:
 
 But not as at Meudon? It's a dangerous game.
 
 Would you be afraid?
 
 Yes-to hurt you.
 
 Or to be hurt by me?
 
D'Haucourt laid a nervous hand on his beloved's knee and looked at
her with burning eyes.
 
 Will you renounce fencing after we're married? he asked timidly.
 
 It would make a widow or a widower of one of us, remarked Choisy,
and, in this non-committal remark, d'Haucourt read a glimpse of hope.
 
Nevertheless, he could not help recalling how Mrs. de Sancy,
disguised as a knight, had put his life in peril at Meudon, and he wondered
if by any chance she was not intending to marry him and then kill him in a
duel in order to inherit his riches. That tigress was capable of
everything!
 
Those thoughts made him hesitate to marry. Better, he reflected,
become her lover. After all, to make love with her, they did not have to be
married. So he continued to court her, but, at the back of his mind, he was
seeking the means of springing a new trap on her at the earliest
opportunity.
 
He was far from imagining that Choisy and Lisette were going to
spring a trap on him into which he was about to fall as easily as a naive
youngster.
 
Lisette had been busy trying to find a replacement for Choisy, one
who would not suffer unduly from the gigantic size of d'Haucourt's limb.
She had noticed in the neighborhood a laundress whose mouth looked like a
sabre gash, which was a promising sign. Besides, her body was rough-hewn
and course, Lisette hired her as a laundress, and, after a few days work,
she deemed the moment ripe to ask her the burning question. Zoe (that was
the laundress's name) laughed lasciviously and said:
 
 I nearly married the valet of a curator once, but I had to give him
up for he was sort of lost inside, if you see what I mean.
 
 Quite, said Lisette.
 
And a bargain was concluded there and then. And d'Haucourt fell into
the trap with the ingenuousness of a man who thinks that because he has a
sword dangling from his side, he is invulnerable.
 
Choisy, having invited d'Haucourt to supper, showed herself so
coquettish with him, and she was so attractively dressed and perfumed
that evening, that d'Haucourt became pressing, which is what Choisy wanted.
He gave a successful parody of carnal emotion and, as soon as the other
guests had left, he kept d'Haucourt aside and told him:
 
 They're talking a lot about ourselves. I think we should have at
last a frank explanation, don't you?
 
 What kind of a trap are you preparing for me this time? asked 
d'Haucourt.
 
 I wanted to see what stuff you were made of, Choisy replied with an
incendiary look, you see, you had drawn me to that village  Meudon?
 
 I'm prepared to forget it, but my pride made me fix up myself the
moment when-need I say more?
 
Choisy lowered her head (I mean his head. Oh dear, it's confusing!)
looking troubled, which made the knight blush and become all agog.
 
 My dear, please forgive me. All I did was dictated by the interest
I have in you, you see-He was getting more and more muddled in his
unnecessary explanations, nervous as he was with his sexual desire. At last
he exclaimed:
 
 Please don't keep me waiting any longer!
 
Choisy got up from his chair and, pressing a handkerchief to his lips
to hide his incipient laughter, whispered:
 
 This will be our Eden.
 
And he indicated his room to his suitor. As d'Haucourt went in he saw
a bed with the curtains drawn and the sheets open.
 
 At last! he sighed.
 
D'Haucourt quickly undressed and slipped into the tempting bed and
waited patiently, but not for long. A feminine silhouette appeared, wrapped
in a dressing gown, her face concealed behind a timid hand, the candles
were extinguished and d'Haucourt received in his arms a body dressed only
in a thin night-gown. A greedy mouth met his.
 
He wondered a bit that his hands should encircle a plumper shape than
he would have imagined, but he soon stopped thinking when he felt a hand
seizing his sex and caressing it boldly. Then he thought that the way women
dressed was deceptive and they were often quite different when they were
naked. Nevertheless he ventured:
 
 You don't seem to be the same
 
But Zoe did not answer. Instead she caressed him into oblivion of
anything else but the matter in hand (and a very big matter it was, too!).
She rolled on to her back and drew him to her. He carefully approached,
knowing that his beloved would suffer from the forceful entry of his ugly
rod. But Zoe was drawing him to her so insistently that he went in and was
surprised to see that he needn't have worried-she seemed to like it, and it
wasn't unduly narrow inside. Then he stopped thinking, for, after only a
few thrusts, he came in gigantic spurts.
 
He remained a moment too dazed to think or move, then, when he had
gradually recovered, he whispered with gratitude:
 
 Really, darling, I was far from imagining that we were so suited to
each other.
 
Zoe, well-rehearsed, contented by herself with murmuring in a voice
that was low enough not to betray her:
 
 Hush, you're making me blush.
 
And immediately she started exciting d'Haucourt again in such a way
that he gave up solving the mystery. This Mrs. de Sancy, who knew so 
expertly how to handle a sword, and who had kept him waiting so long, was
now revealed as a very hot female indeed, and so expert-all that was too
complicated for him. Wasn't it better to give up trying to understand and
concentrate on the singularly good fortune that had suddenly befallen him?
 
And he did just that. He continued making love with that hot woman
until she had drawn from him every ounce of his virility. After which, he
slept like a log and Zoe left him in bed, while she went to get the
monetary reward which she had well earned.
 
The same joke was played on d'Haucourt several times, but with
variations. For instance, Lisette would wait for him at the door and lead
him mysteriously to the room where Zoe, in complete darkness, was waiting
for him in bed.
 
The readers (if they are still with us, that is), may wonder indeed
how foolish men are to pursue and worry about some woman, when, to satisfy
their passion, any other woman would do, provided they didn't see her in
the dark and imagined she was the woman they loved. It's a bit like butter
and margarine. We all say that there is so much difference between the two
that it is impossible to take one for the other, and yet, in all
experiments conducted on that subject, it is found that less than ten
percent can distinguish between one and the other. Another experiment is to
blindfold a man and make him smoke a lighted cigarette for a few seconds,
then an unlighted one, then alternate one and the other and tell him to
name which is lit and which is not: believe it or not-he's fooled most of
the time.
 
For a woman, though, we should imagine it would be more difficult to
fool a man into taking a woman for another in bed in complete darkness. But
perhaps not after all, particularly if the other woman resembles the
genuine one in size and if the man has never before made love to her, and
provided she wears the same perfume and doesn't speak. I wonder, have any
of you readers tried it with a friend? And was he fooled?
 
Farces of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are full of these
deceptions of a man or a woman taking the place of another in bed with the
other party getting wise to the substitution.



 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 
But the shortest jokes are the best, we all know that. So, Choisy
wished to find a way of ending his would-be liaison with the knight of
d'Haucourt who was now beginning to become openly familiar with him in
public and talked about his conquest to one and all.
 
Choisy did not hesitate-Mrs. de Sancy would have to disappear. There
was also another motive: Mrs. de Sancy had accumulated a good deal of debts
what with her luxurious life and her numerous invitations to her salon, and
the creditors were becoming impatient.
 
Her disappearance was facilitated by the death of the Pope.
 
That might seem strange but then Choisy had a protector who was the
Cardinal of Bouillon, duke of Albret and nephew of the great Turenne. The
cardinal had to go to Rome to take part in the conclave which was going to
assemble in order to elect the successor of Clement X, the deceased pope.
He offered Choisy to take him as a secretary and it was a heaven-sent
opportunity for Choisy who accepted readily. He donned again his abbot
clothes, for, as we have already mentioned, Choisy was an abbot by his
being an heir to the ground of an abbey, that of Saint-Rene in Burgundy.
 
One morning, the creditors found Mrs. De Sancy's house closed. The
rumour ran that she had retired to a convent. In reality Choisy was
travelling with the cardinal in the direction of Rome.
 
He left behind two victims: Lisette, who could not decently accompany
a man of church in such a mission, and the knight D'Haucourt who was very
sorry to lose a mistress made to measure for him.
 
Lisette's cunt was wetting when she recalled how passionately Choisy
used to make love to her while he was supposed to be in bed in the next
room with d'Haucourt.
 
As for the latter, he avenged himself of his loss by spreading all
sorts of calumnies. He reflected bitterly that he would not so soon find
another receptacle with a convenient size for him.
 
The Cardinal of Bouillon was a pleasant travelling companion who
liked not only good eating and drinking, but was not loath to hearing
Choisy tell him salacious adventures. Of course. Choisy did not mention
that he was the person to whom these adventures had actually happened. He
contented himself with narrating his adventures as if they were those of
another man he knew.
 
 So, that Dutch girl sacrificed her tulips when her lover left her,
did she? the cardinal asked interestedly.
 
 That's what I was told, Eminence, but I was told that in Venice
 
And Choisy revived all his past to the cardinal who was all ears,
without imagining that his protege himself had lived them.
 
And so they reached Rome after several days' journey without the trip
seeming too long.
 
Rome was in a feverish effervescence. Clans had formed up and were
battling against one another, couriers were galloping their horses till
they fell from fatigue in order to carry news to their sovereigns faster
than other couriers, and pick up new instructions from them.
 
Choisy enjoyed this atmosphere. The cardinal had given him the
mission of mixing with the good society and trying to gather information as
to which candidate was the most in favour among the aristocratic circle to
succeed the deceased pope.
 
In the salons, Choisy was received with warmth and he even met there
a few persons he had already been acquainted with some time in the past, or
else people who had heard of him and were glad to make his acquaintance.
His title and his priestly robes were a good point in his favour.
 
Besides, there were, in the different salons, quite a few would-be
ladies, who Choisy knew to be in reality former dancers or actresses, and
they did their best to be in Choisy's good books, fearing that he should
betray them to the wealthy lords who had married them, not knowing that
they had such low origins. For, in those times, actresses and dancers were
considered very non-U indeed!
 
Choisy profited from this situation to the best and he was glad to be
such a well-informed man.
 
He found in a salon a Miss Rose de Montprofit who struck him as being
familiar, but he could not recall where he had met her, or even if he had
once been her love-he had had so many mistresses! He went to her and, after
the preliminary civilities, instead of his asking her questions, he was
anticipated by her:
 
 I recall, she said, that not long ago you had some, well,
difficulties with the authorities of Venice.
 
 Indeed, I was there, Choisy answered evasively, it's a city
where-
 
  Where all follies are permitted at Carnival time, she completed
his sentence.
 
 Yes, I've heard about that.
 
Looking more carefully at the woman's face, he saw a mischievous
glint in her eyes. She looked impertinent and he reflected again that her
face looked familiar yet he couldn't put a name on it. She was wearing an
artificial beauty-spot near her left eye.
 
 Anyway, in Venice, he said, I knew a a nymph, who, just like you,
had a beauty-spot in the corner of an eye as well as  And where did you
meet her?
 
 Well, she was a dancer at the Opera. Have you heard of that Venus
called Callipyge?
 
 She's a goddess who disobeys the rules of modesty, isn't she?
 
 In public, yes, but in the intimacy?
 
 And you saw her in all her impudicity, is that it?
 
 As near as can be. She had the name of a flower.
 
Rose of Montprofit blushed under her make-up and her bust heaved as
if under the effect of a caress.
 
 Abbey, you're shameless.
 
But she said it without malice or anger, and even with a shade of
tenderness.
 
 I've stopped dancing, she explained, now that Mr. de Montprofit has
done me the honour of marrying me.
 
 What a pity! said Choisy.
 
A fop looking as if he was coming out a bandbox came up and
interrupted their conversation. In a strong Italian accent, he said in
French:
 
 You're wanting Madame all for yourself, Signor But it is true what
they are saying, that the marchioness of Montespan is no longer loved by 
the King of France?
 
 I wouldn't know about such things, Choisy answered a trifle coldly,
and he received a wink from Mrs. de Montprofit which confirmed to him that
he was not wrong in his belief that she was indeed the woman whose buttock
had the same kind of beauty-spot that was adorning her cheek. He
acknowledged her wink with another, which put a seal on their agreement.
 
Two days later, he arrived early at the house of Mrs. de Montprofit,
for he had heard that her husband was away on a hunting expedition. A
French maid ushered him into a boudoir and begged him to wait a while. The
door being ajar, Choisy could hear a ripple of water. Upon investigating,
he saw Rose de Montprofit in her bath. She looked up with mock indignation.
 
 You're an early riser to-day, abbot!
 
 It's the time for investigators, said Choisy.
 
 And what have you come to investigate? she asked.
 
 Whether you're still as beautiful as in the past, he bantered.
 
Sure that the answer would be in the affirmative, she did not ask
him, but got up from her bath and handed him a sheet, telling him to hold
it in front of him as a shield and to turn his back on her.
 
He did as he was told, but, in a mirror, he could safely watch all he
wanted and he had the confirmation of his belief: she was the famous
Callipyge, the renowned dancer and she did have a brown spot on her right
buttock.
 
 I think I can remember that in the past, in Paris, I used to help
you get dressed, didn't I? he asked roguishly.
 
 You must have somebody else in mind.
 
 No, my goddess, there is a detail that makes mistakes impossible.
 
 I hate you! she exclaimed in a mock tone.
 
And, as her skin was now well-nigh dry, she threw herself into
Choisy's arms.
 
 What a come-back! she cried enthusiastically, between two kisses.
 
It took but little time for their nudities to intermingle on a sofa.
It all began with a struggle: Choisy wanted to make sure the little brown
patch was still in the same place as before but Rose de Montprofit modestly
opposed his search. But soon her exacerbation reached the point when she
needed the intervention of a masculine virility.
 
Oh, how good it felt to find an old flame again and to realize that
she was still better than in the past! There was also the fact that Choisy
had perforce been abstinent during the whole duration of the trip from
Paris to Rome and also during the first few days he had been in Rome,
before he providently met Mrs. de Montprofit.
 
He remembered how tender and passionate she had been several years
ago in Paris when she was a dancer at the Opera.
 
Now her shapes were more plentiful and fleshy and less firm but still
far from adipose. She had gained maturity like a good wine and lost none of
her youthfulness or appetite for love-making.
 
And she still had a liking for the good things of love-making such as
the French specialties for which Choisy was an expert.
 
She cooed with delight when she felt his busy tongue working at its
throbbing target. And how good it felt when, afterwards, he came in with
all his virility which he had kept intact in spite of his so numerous
affairs.
 
 Are we going to resume our follies? she asked.
 
 Have you any remorse? Don't be ungrateful.
 
 It's easy for you to say so, ducks. In Paris I risked being given
the sack by what's-his-name (dashed if I can remember the name of my lawful
lover). And now I have a husband who wouldn't find it a joke  But he's so
fond of hunting  He doesn't go hunting every morning, unfortunately, she
said, and now, you'd better go quickly before he surprises us here. Your
visit has been a trifle too long, I'm afraid.
 
Choisy agreed to go, but not before having obtained her promise that
she would let him know when the next opportunity would take place.
 
He reflected that he was glad of Mrs. de Monprofit's favours because
she was the recipient of many rumours and he did not forget the mission he
had received from the Cardinal of Bouillon.
 
Besides, the hour he had so pleasantly passed with her had the gift
of appeasing his taut nerves and now he felt clear-headed and ready for any
intellectual problem.
 
As he was sitting with his eyes shut sometime later, the better to
think about Rose, he was rudely awakened from his reverie by the old
Cardinal of Retz who told him in a friendly tone:
 
 Are you asleep?
 
 No, Your Eminence, I was just shutting my eyes the better to
listen.
 
The Cardinal of Retz had left temporarily his retreat which had been
imposed upon him by Louis XlV's rancour, to take place in the Conclave as
his dignity commanded him.
 
 It's a good recruit you've got here, the Cardinal of Retz said with
a grin to his neighbour the Cardinal of Bouillon, alluding to Choisy.
 
 Yes, he's quite a favourite with the ladies, and that is often
useful, said the Cardinal of Bouillon.
 
 Ad angusta per angusta, Retz said in Latin, with a grin.
 
Choisy couldn't help risking the pun:
 
 Per angusta!.. That poor d'Haucourt would find himself in a very
narrow strait.
 
Retz guessed from Choisy's features that his thoughts were far from
the election of the new Pope.
 
 What makes you smile, he asked, the merits of the papabile?
 
 No, Eminence, I'm sorry I wasn't thinking of the Pope-to-be, I'm
afraid my thoughts were rather profane. Anyway, I don't take part in the
votes.
 
 Profane thoughts in this place! Well, let's hear about them-they
might be interesting.
 
Choisy complied.
 
 A lady whom I met yesterday told me a story that happened in Paris
and which is rather daring, so that I really don't know if here  Go ahead!
ordered Retz.
 
So Choisy told the story of Mrs. de Sancy, d'Haucourt and Zoe, and it
had a huge success.
 
 And now, let's go and eat, said the venerable
 
Cardinal of Retz, we've done some good work.
 
And, into the ear of the Cardinal of Bouillon, he whispered:
 
 That little abbot will go far.
 
 He's already been far! Bouillon grinned.



 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 
Mr. de Montprofit did not seem to have discovered his wife's affair
with Choisy, but Mrs. de Montprofit kept Choisy waiting. She had promised
him she would let him know when he could come again to her house, but he
waited in vain. One evening he met her in the salon of the signora Uppa,
who was the widow of a high dignitary of the Vatican, and therefore very
influential, that is why Choisy had been sent there by the Cardinal of
Bouillon to collect useful information.
 
The signora Uppa greeted Choisy warmly, for she had travelled a lot
herself and travellers were always welcome, particularly foreigners. She
had even adopted the French name Lydie instead of her real name Lydia, and
her guests often called her Lady Uppa for fun-a bad pun on her name. But
she didn't take offence-which reminds us of the joke: what's the difference
between a woman and a horse? Well, a horse, if you give him a fence he
takes a jump, and a woman, if you give her the jump she takes offence.
 
 My husband heard that you had come to our house one morning, Mrs.
de Montprofit told Choisy, but his suspicions were not aroused because I
assured him that your visit was an obligation, a duty ordered by your
Cardinal. But don't do it again!
 
 Yet, I feel very much like doing it again, Choisy confessed.
 
 Well, my dear, go on feeling like it, she answered, but, really, if
you opened your eyes, you would see that you have a real seraglio here-you
can pick and choose among all the beauties assembled here.
 
 We're not in Venice here, said Choisy.
 
 So you think the Roman girls are less warm than the Venetians or
girls from other provinces of Italy?
 
 You see, the vicinity of the Vatican  There are priests galore to
administrate the remission of sins.
 
 And our hostess? queried Choisy.
 
 She's a Neapolitan, which is still better-she would devour a man
alive.
 
Choisy turned his head towards the woman in question, Lydie Uppa and
observed her attentively. She was the incarnation of the lasciviousness of
her native town, with her mat complexion, her jetblack eyes and her greedy
mouth. Under her ample dress one could guess a voluptuous body and Choisy
sensed that she was rarin' to give that body the sensual pleasure which had
long been denied to it. But she had to keep, both in her attitude and in
her talk, a reserve that was imposed on her by her rank and her widowhood.
 
The problem was how to get near her and talk to her. But that was
solved easily when she herself came to Choisy to remove an empty cup from
his hands and offer him another.
 
 I adore this beautiful kingdom of France, she told him, as well as
everything coming from it.
 
She had spoken in French and in an accent that made her declaration
like a passionate confession. But Choisy was no dupe, for he was familiar
enough with Italy by now to know that the Italians have a tendency to
exaggerate their gestures and statements and one must not put too much
faith in them. Indeed, a few moments later, he heard her talk in the same
tones to another guest. However, when he took his leave, the signora told
him:
 
 They say that Versailles is a marvel. You must come and describe
Versailles to me.
 
And she added:
 
 Before the other guests arrive.
 
Choisy, bowing, answered that it would be a pleasure.
 
On the way out, he came upon Rose de Montprofit who had observed the
scene and told him:
 
 Well, Abbot, I see you've made progress.
 
 The signora Uppa is exquisitely courteous, Choisy said.
 
 Didn't I tell you?
 
Choisy noticed the somewhat cool tone in which Mrs. de Montprofit
made her remark, and wondered if by any chance she would not be jealous. He
concluded that the more attentionate he would be towards the signora Uppa,
the more chances he would have of overcoming the scruples of the former
dancer, who was more than ever desirable  like a dish that one relishes
still more at the second helping.
 
But he let her simmer in her juice, knowing full well that in spite
of her apprehension, she wanted very much to confide her warm senses to
Choisy's skill and passion. And it was easy for him to lie low for a while
for now all the cardinals were present in Rome and the Conclave was about
to open, so that he was busier than ever.
 
He was present, of course, at the great reception given by one of the
most prominent personalities of Rome, where the high prelates mixed with
the ladies from the cream of society. Also there: Rose de Montprofit and
her husband, and Lydie Uppa, both held in high esteem by the ecclesiastical
dignitaries.
 
First, he bowed discreetly to signora Uppa, who was occupied with 
other guests, then he came near Rose de Montprofit.
 
 What are the latest previsions? he asked her.
 
 You should ask Lydie Uppa-she knows better than I do.
 
 They say it will be a long choice for there is some hard
competition.
 
 That will give you more time to amuse yourself.
 
Women have a way of speaking and looking at men that Choisy knew by
heart, and this time there was no doubt about it: Rose de Montprofit was
suffering from too much sensuality and yet was in fear of a scandal.
Choisy, to make her jealous, went to the signora Lydie and asked her:
 
 Don't you think the struggle will be a difficult one for the choice
of the new Pope?
 
 Yes, Lydie answered vivaciously, the more so as your King has shown
himself unfavourable to a certain candidate Don't look so astonished, Mr.
Abbot, you must know more than I do on this subject.
 
 Rut I assure you  I shall be expecting you tomorrow early in the
afternoon-we'll be able to speak more freely than here.
 
 About Versailles? Choisy scoffed.
 
 A little, yes, but mainly about our points of view on the matters
of Rome.
 
He acquiesced with a smile and slid away between discussing groups,
gathering enough information here and there to edify his employer.
 
At the end of the reception, as the guests were gathering on the way
out, Rose de Montprofit managed to tell Choisy:
 
 Congratulations, Abbot: you're doing quick progress.
 
He feigned surprise but the ex-dancer was no dupe. He wondered
whether she had been capable of reading lips while Lydie Uppa was talking
to him. Jealous women have uncanny powers of detection, he reflected.
 
The very next day, Choisy went to the signora Uppa after having
advised the Cardinal of Bouillon.
 
Lydie Uppa received him in the intimacy of her boudoir.
 
 I was expecting you, Mr. Abbot. You're punctual. Sit down beside
me-the walls don't have to hear what we have to say.
 
He had hardly sat down when the beautiful Neapolitan woman asked him
in a low confidential voice:
 
 What news from Versailles?
 
 None to-day, Choisy answered.
 
 Really?
 
She edged nearer to him and there wafted to his nostrils a violent
whiff of perfume which made his heart miss two beats and a half. The
signora seemed nervous and Choisy put it down to his presence. (Not very
modest, was he? But, with all his feminine successes, he can be excused).
But he dominated his impulses for he disliked easy victories which he
deemed good enough for men who are in too much of a hurry. For him,
voluptuousness was one of those fruits that are all the better for having
been given time to ripen.
 
Lydie Uppa fired all sorts of questions at him. Some were difficult
to answer diplomatically, as when she wanted to know which cardinal the
King of France wished to become the new Pope. Choisy hedged and answered
noncommittally and he was more and more aware of her very close presence
and he felt his virility gradually awaken.
 
 The Pope, he said, whoever he may be, will always be in conflict
with the King of France, even if he were an ecclesiastic from France.
 
 You don't want to tell me what you know, Lydie Uppa said in a
sulking tone.
 
 My mission is to gather useful information, that's all. But you,
Signora, which candidate would you choose?
 
She did not answer and gazed absently, in a meditation that gave her
face a sudden moving gravity. She seemed to have forgotten Choisy's
presence. But then, suddenly, she smiled at him.
 
 Do you intend going back to your country as soon as the new Pope
has been named? she asked.
 
 I'm under the orders of the Cardinal of Bouillon, who himself is
under orders from the king.
 
 Oh! How secretive you are! she exclaimed, as for me, I intend going
to France as soon as this affair is over.
 
 To see Versailles?
 
 Yes, I feel so much like it.
 
 I hope to be of some use to you there.
 
 Do you? she asked with a kind of naive spontaneity that made her
more attractive still.
 
 You would really agree to help me? she went on, I'm glad of your
offer, for I shall be in need of protection, I think. French people, I mean
the men, are often so hasty in their courting. I'll feel safer knowing you
are near me.
 
Choisy was not sure he liked what she'd said. Was she taking him for
a eunuch? He looked at her and saw that she was becoming warm and a little
agitated inside. Was it only because of her thoughts of her impending
travel to France?.- Do you honestly think French men are inclined to raping
women? Choisy asked. - I think one shouldn't stir up their appetites too
much, or else She stretched like a voluptuous cat and her curves made her
dress bulge provocatingly. With a sigh that seemed to issue from the
deepest part of her body, she whispered:
 
 Oh, to be made love to by a Frenchman!
 
In her emotion, her native accent gave a more passionate note to her
words.
 
She lowered her eyelids and Choisy read it as an invitation. He
became bolder and, bending towards her, he brushed with his lips one of her
arms, which shuddered slightly. He had been expecting a revolt, but
instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Lydie offer to his lips her own
warm, humid lips.
 
But, as he wanted to go further, she stiffened.
 
 Abbot, you're not seriously thinking that  I can't resist you,
Choisy said.
 
 I must be getting dressed up-my guests will be here soon, she
whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion.
 
 One more reason not to waste any time, was Choisy's bold retort.
 
He had succeeded in slipping under her dress a hand that had reached
her garter, then the top of a bare thigh and Lydie imprisoned that hand in
a contraction that was but a defensive jerk. In a whisper, she asked:
 
 Will you tell me everything?
 
 Certainly.
 
 Ah! Those French men Was it a bargain, or a scruple of modesty?
Choisy did not linger in trying to solve the riddle. Lydie was consenting,
obviously, but did not want to give herself to him at once. Probably she
preferred waiting till her senses had reached that degree of fusion that
opens up the door to supreme voluptuousness.
 
With his searching fingers, Choisy groped round the fortress whose
capitulation was but a matter of seconds. Lydie was breathing stentoriously
but was still loath to surrender and Choisy planned to use still more
effective means of conquest.
 
But at last Lydie let herself fall backwards on the sofa where she
was sitting, and at once Choisy was on top of her and his sex was inside a
warm sheath the moistness of which assured him that he had been expected
with impatience.
 
Such was their state of excitation that they could not prolong their
voluptuousness-they came nearly at once, and practically together and
remained a long time in an ecstatically amorous embrace and a total
enchantment.
 
Lydie was the first to come back to her senses.
 
 And the Pope? she scoffed.
 
 The Pope? Choisy said, oh, yes-but, after all, what importance has
it for us whether one or the other is elected?
 
 I'm looking forward to your going away so that I have the pleasure
of meeting you in Paris, she said, but, between ourselves, I think I've
been raped!
 
 It wasn't a rape-just an election, he said in the bantering tone
she had adopted, as people in love often do, out of sheer joie-de-vivre.
 
She rose up from the sofa with a satisfied smile and Choisy, having
brushed his clothes and put them back into decent shape, strode out with
the dignity that his rank demanded of him.
 
He reflected that amorous friendship-to-day we would say
flirtation-is the shortest way to gaining respect for those outrages that
are not the last although they are qualified as such, provided the partners
know how to go about it the right way, as was the case with him and Lydie.


 
 
CHAPTER NINETEEN

 
Choisy contemplated the naked, disheveled woman on his bed: how
ribald, and how different from her dignified self she paraded in front of
her guests in the salon! Lydie was sprawling on the bed, with her sexual
cleft all open as if awaiting a new assault, and palpitating lasciviously.
 
None of the women he had possessed had aroused his sexual impulses to
such a degree as Lydie. She seemed insatiable and he had to resort to
exceptional means in order to content her. Among his many victims there had
been all kinds- some gay, some tender, some emotional-but none that had
given him such a sensation of a furiously unleashed passion. He thought of
Rose's remark that Neapolitan girls were capable of devouring a man, and
saw what she meant now. He reflected how easily the polite veneer she had
at receptions cracked under the unbearable strain of her awakening senses.
 
She had kept Choisy with her after all the other guests had gone from
a reception to which they had both been invited, and, sitting in the
carriage with him, she kept his hand crushed in hers, passionate and
silent, until the coach had reached her home, and there, she had
surrendered to Choisy. And she had done so with a savage passion: after
stripping off the clothes she had almost tom Choisy's clothes off him in
her boiling impatience. From her naked body there came a perfume that would
have aroused an eunuch, and her breasts were swollen with pent up desire.
 
She had taken hold of his penis and soon Choisy, not wanting to wait
till it was too late, had drawn her towards him, and she had lain on top of
him and almost raped him till his sap was exhausted.
 
And there she was lying languidly by him, whispering:
 
 Caro, you're a demon. Are all the subjects of the King of France
like you? In Naples, when I was young, I knew a few fishermen, handsome men
like those that had served as models for the sculptors of the Antiquity,
and yet none of them has feasted me like you.
 
 Not all women can inspire such an eloquence, said Choisy, who knew
those compliments by heart, having used them so much.
 
Do you know that you've made me renounce my intensions to remain
faithful to my departed husband? Yes, my husband was a real bull, who was
so ardent that he died of it, poor man. Even dead I never deceived him, and
I would never have done so had not the pope Clement X given up the ghost so
that you came to Rome for the election of his successor. By the way, who's
going to be that successor, according to you?
 
But she did not wait for an answer. She laughed, which agitated her
voluptuous bosom.
 
 I couldn't care less, she cried, all those plotting people I only
wanted to go to France in order to make love without restraint, for here I
am a respected widow. But then France came to me!
 
 I shan't stay here, alas, said Choisy.
 
 I shall follow you if I cannot accompany you in your travels. They
say French women are coquettish, but I shall know the way to keep you all 
to myself alone.
 
Choisy was not too enthusiastic about that statement of hers. To
avoid taking a formal engagement, he did not answer but started again
caressing her demanding flesh. He half-pinched, half-stroked her breasts
which very soon became taut, and ran his hands along her body, up dale and
down vale. Lydie wriggled with delight and uttered little cries of
pleasure, meeting his caresses half way.
 
Soon this little game made his sex become stiff again and he was
ready for new effusions. When Lydie saw it, she whispered in a deliriously
sensual voice:  You'll be the death of me. She opened up to him so that he
could penetrate her more deeply, she clung to him desperately, while Choisy
was going slowly in order to keep his voluptuousness as long as he could.
And soon they were engulfed in a whirl and eddy of passion, unrestrainable
like fury unleashed, and they gave themselves so wholly to the demands of
their flesh that they soon lay too exhausted even to speak.
 
Lydie ended up asleep in the arms of her man, unable to say a single
work (and yet she was by nature very talkative). But then her silence was
eloquent enough!
 
The conclave had begun and the electors were shut up in a room with
no communications with the outside world. Choisy found himself with no work
to do, so that he was completely at the mercy of the insatiable Lydie, and
such was her passion that soon the whole Roman society had learned about
her affair with Choisy and they were gossiping about it all the more
eagerly as they were by now tired of the subject of who was going to become
the new Pope.
 
Thus Mrs. de Montprofit heard about Choisy's success and her vanity
was injured, for she had thought that Choisy was chained to her hands and
feet and waiting impatiently for her to condescend at last to receive him.
It was only in order that he should not become too pressing that she had
suggested to him that he should give his attention to Lydie Uppa. But she
had been far from anticipating his success with her, for she knew the
widow's firm intention to remain forever faithful to her husband's memory.
So her rage can be imagined when she learned that Choisy had triumphed over
such a seemingly impregnable virtue. She felt hatred for the happy couple
boiling up in her and she made up her mind to separate them.
 
She told Choisy that she was surprised not to see him any longer,
which was like an invitation. Choisy, at first, put off his visit, but, one
day, as he was free, he went to see her at a time when he thought she would
certainly not be alone, and, indeed, there were several guests in the
salon.
 
Rose de Montprofit greeted him with seemingly distant politeness but
soon found a way of whispering into his ear:
 
 How seldom I see you these days, Abbot! And yet, you have nothing
to do now that the electors are pent up in their room.
 
 That enables me to get some rest, Choisy answered, laughing
ironically.
 
 Some rest? She exclaimed, inwardly raging.
 
She got up to greet a new-arrived guest, and Choisy reflected:
 
 What is she complaining about? She set up between us the fear of
her husband's anger if he found out, and now she really must see that it's
her fault if I've found an outlet with another woman.
 
Yes, she had changed visibly, but then now, wasn't it too late?
Confronted with the choice of holding in his arms the extraordinarily
sensual Lydie and the comparatively normal Rose de Montprofit, Choisy did
not hesitate-when one is offered a snack or a festive meal, there is no
doubt where one's choice goes. But Choisy knew one had to be careful with a
woman scorned.
 
A few days later, meeting her again, he saw the feverish warmth in
her eyes as she told him:
 
 When are you going to give me the pleasure of talking, er-more
freely with you?
 
 As soon as I have obtained Mr. de Montprofit's authorization, was
Choisy's cynical answer, which he delivered with a disarming smile.
 
Although she did not reply (for there were guests present), Choisy
saw from the expression on her face that his shot had gone home. But he did
not worry unduly and ran to Lydie, to whom he recounted his brief incident.
 
 She's French, the ardent Neapolitan woman remarked, with her, as
with the other ladies of France, nothing's real-it's all make-believe,
grimaces, kisses, oaths that are not kept, and then, from time to time
Call that love? Have you ever known a woman who really loved you?
 
 Like you, never, I swear it.
 
And this time Choisy was sincere: Lydie loved him passionately, even
too much-it was getting monotonous and he wished the Conclave would end
soon in order to leave Rome and Lydie. He had enough of those luxurious
orgies with her and he was more and more inclined to prefer the mild
flirtation with Rose de Montprofit. But, in order to avoid a scandal, he
bore up with the bondage in which Lydie kept him.
 
And so he neglected the French woman who attracted him with her
perversity, for the Neapolitan woman who wearied him with her devilish
carnal avidity. Then, one night, something happened which, shrewd as he
was, he would never have foretold.
 
There he was with Lydie, during a pause between two furious
love-making bouts, waiting patiently for their love-juice to re-create
itself. They were not even caressing each other, but just lying with their
bodies close together, in a bliss of happiness and contentment, waiting
patiently for the next frenzy of their senses.
 
They were so deeply engrossed in each other, as it were, that they
failed to hear the door of the room open slightly and a masked woman
wrapped up in a cloak came near their bed, her footsteps making no sound on
the thick carpet. Then they heard a strident laugh, which made their hearts
beat violently and they sat up like a double jack-in-the-box.
 
 Who're you and what d'you want? Asked Lydie.
 
Choisy, who had recognized, in spite of her disguise, who the
unexpected visitor was, told her:
 
 Madam, your place is not here.
 
Mrs. de Montprofit put out her arm, at the end of which the blade of
a dagger glinted ominously. Choisy warded off the blow that was destined
for him and seized the attacker's wrist with such force that she dropped
her weapon.
 
 You ridiculed me and now you're hurting me!
 
Rose complained unreasonably.
 
 Go away, that's the best thing you can do! Choisy advised her.
 
Meanwhile, Lydie had quickly stolen behind her and ripped the mask
off her face.
 
 Mrs. de Montprofit! she cried, what's the meaning of this? Do you
want to murder us?
 
 I want to murder you, to get my lover back!
 
 Your lover? Lydie laughed wickedly.
 
Choisy let go of Rose's wrist and picked up the dagger.
 
 You're better at comedy than at tragedy, Lydie scoffed.
 
 Shut up! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Rose asked.
 
 Ashamed? Of what? I am free, not like you.
 
Choisy intervened:
 
 Please don't prolong this useless scene. Go home, madam. We shall
forget that you But, furious, Mrs. de Montprofit seized the dagger which
Choisy was holding carelessly and stabbed him before he could ward off the
blow and his shoulder-blade was scratched, fortunately not deeply, but
enough to draw blood, the sight of which set up different reactions in both
women: frightened, Mrs. de Montprofit ran away, laughing madly, while Lydie
shouted at her:
 
 You were only a whore, but now you're a murderer as well!
 
Then she drank up avidly the blood that was running down the back of
her lover. The wound was superficial and, by dint of gorging herself of the
blood, she managed to stop the hemorrhage. Then she said:
 
 Now your blood has gone into my body-we're now one!
 
And disregarding his wound, she pushed Choisy on to the bed, bestrode
him and pushed her cunt onto his penis. What a dame!
 
When she had had her fill (both figuratively and in the proper
sense), she saw that the bed-sheets were red.
 
 How beautiful! she exclaimed, we've loved each other in blood!
 
 A good thing it doesn't happen every day, said Choisy, who was not
such a foolish romantic creature as that Neapolitan jane.
 
He got up and washed his back, and was still witty enough to say:
 
 You should thank Mrs. de Montprofit: you owe her an exceptional
thrill.
 
Lydie sighed.
 
 Yes, it can't happen often, was all she found fit to say.
 
But Choisy thought that he'd rather have a quieter sort of love. He 
felt himself weakened by his loss of blood and virility. Weakened and
disgusted, too.
 
Disgusted because of Lydie's selfishness in love. She thought only of
her own pleasure, emptied her lover of all his sap and then felt angry
because she could not get anything out of him, like someone who squashes a
lemon dry and then is unpleasantly shocked to find there is no more juice
in it.
 
Neapolitan women are to Italy what the women from Toulouse are to
France, that is mezzo-soprano voiced conceited women made for music and
love. For them, a bed is a battle-field where the lover plays the part of
the vanquished. A Parisian girl, on the contrary, understands a lover whose
forces begin to fail him: she helps him get revived, by means of skilful
and patient caresses with her breasts, lips and fingers. But in Naples or
in Toulouse, making love implies none of those tender complicities: the
woman is naked and after two hours of uninterrupted voluptuousness she
feels indignant that her wearied lover cannot find back his aggressive
humour through the mere contemplation of her nudity. And she will make no
effort to help him restore himself gradually through caresses-she considers
caresses unworthy of her and only good for whores.
 
They are just too proud, they think it would be immodest to caress
their men, but they are just plain selfish. As for modesty, the bestial way
in which they make love has little modesty about it.



 
CHAPTER TWENTY

 
Choisy had not imagined that Rose de Montprofit's feelings would lead
her to such extremities.
 
 Does she love me really that much? he wondered. And she a former
dancer: usually dancers are not so spiteful or at least spite does not take
such sanguinary forms.
 
Placed between an ex-mistress who would perhaps attempt to murder
him, having failed the first time, and another mistress with such
extraordinary sensuality, Choisy began to find his stay in Rome unpleasant
and even dangerous. The sittings at the Conclave continued without any sign
that they would come to an end. True, there had been no scandal, but the
threat was still there. Choisy even had the impression that Lydie was
expecting such an incident to happen again, for the blood had given her an
appetite for it.
 
She was now unconcerned with public opinion and even felt proud to
show herself with Choisy in society.
 
The result was that Choisy was now the object of a competition among
women that could very well lead to a drama. He could not venture into a
salon without having a lot of women flirting around him. And that, of
course, only made Lydie more possessive than ever.
 
 Did you see that woman Genoa, she told Choisy. She wouldn't
hesitate to wear a dress with the neckline as low as her navel, to try to
seduce you. And that French girl-what is she doing in Rome anyway? Women
are not admitted in conclaves. And did you see the way she looked at you.
Shameful I call it.
 
Choisy protested as a matter of course. And he was naturally
innocent, as he did absolutely nothing to encourage women, for indeed, he
had quite enough with Lydie, who consumed all his energy. He had lost not
only all his physical energy but also the mental stimulation necessary for
love-making. When he saw Lydie undress with unseemly haste, she no longer
looked to him like a nude model who could inspire painters and sculptors,
but rather like a devilish female, and he started criticising to himself
her too pronounced curves. As for the sight of her sex, it assumed an
obscene aspect that disgusted him.
 
But Lydie failed to diagnose Choisy's disgust. She taunted him for
his local laziness, and it began to become more and more difficult for
her to make his sex stiffen for the benefit of her insatiable sex.
 
She had finally condescended to use her fingers to caress Choisy's
sex and make him stiff enough for her taste. But it was becoming more and
more difficult and one night, she got nothing out of her caresses, except a
cramp in her fingers. So she started abusing him.
 
 So you've become an angel, have you? At your age, it's a shame. Do
you intend going into retirement like an old soldier?
 
 I think I've deserved it, I've proved myself enough as it is,
Choisy answered, not in the least humiliated by Lydie's biting remark.
 
 You haven't proved yourself long, as you say, a mere three of four
weeks. Call that endurance!
 
 If you had been less demanding I could have gone on, Choisy
retorted.
 
 Enough! she cried, exasperated, you fooled me. For you I broke my
widowhood. What's going to become of me now?
 
 Get married again.
 
 With whom? With a man like you who will soon be emptied and flaccid
like you. You're a criminal.
 
 But Uppa, your bull of a husband  I forbid you to insult his
memory. Go into retirement since you're good for nothing now.
 
Choisy got dressed again, without haste, and with a secret inner joy
of being free again, at last. But Lydie had not finished with her taunts.
 
 Your Montprofit must be waiting for you. She'll be fine for you-no
breasts, a petty behind and the appetite of a bird.
 
 And a brown beauty spot on her right buttock, Choisy added.
 
 That's what you like: kids' stuff. Your blood is as weak as  You
found it to your taste one night.
 
That thought made Lydie become tender again, and she clung to him.
 
 Do become strong again, please. Don't go and flirt with the
Montprofit woman, she whispered tenderly, I could never forgive you that, 
caro.
 
 You would avenge yourself if I did? Asked Choisy.
 
For an answer, she bit his lips and pushed him outside.
 
The cool night air gave back to Choisy, if not his ardour, at least
his liking for life, now that he was out of reach of that fiend.
 
He gathered information and was told that the whole Roman population
was looking anxiously at the sfumata (wisp of smoke coming out of the
chimney of the room in which the election was taking place, and which,
according to its colour, would announce that the new Pope had been
nominated), but, so far the electors were still wrangling, so that Choisy
had to stay in Rome.
 
So he went back to see Lydie, for he feared her vindictive humour.
She grumbled and pampered him so that he should regain his old form.
 
One evening, he went to Lydie's house unexpectedly and found it
closed. He did not insist but his curiosity incited him to walk round the
house and thus he came under the window of her room and saw that it was
half-lit, with the sort of lighting that is reserved for love-making.
 
So he stopped and listened carefully and soon he heard sighs and
moans that were quite unmistakable. Yes, Lydie had found a successor. He
heard her whisper ecstatically:
 
 Caro, caro, more more!
 
Choisy pictured the scene easily in his imagination: Lydie, a loving
fury, in the arms of a stapling whom she gradually emptied of all his sap
till he cried mercy. Poor fellow! Choisy felt sorry for him  that chap had
got intricaded in a mesh out of which there was no honourable exit. Soon he
would be, like him, emptied of all his sap. Like him? No, for Choisy was
now free and would slowly recover.
 
But that replacing male had no such luck: he would try his hardest
till he became too weak. Uppa, Lydie's deceased husband, had probably died
of that kind of exhaustion, he thought, for even a bull of a man cannot for
a long time survive such an unceasing rhythm of love-making.
 
 One gets tired of everything, even of making a mistress vibrate in
one's arms, reflected Choisy. It's always the same in the long run.
 
Yes, the same gestures, the same movements, over and over again. In a
dream he saw a covey of naked females, dishevelled and wriggling their
buttocks, who ran away from him uttering foul oaths.
 
The next day there was a great effervescence in the holy city for a
white sfumata was rising from the room of the Papal palace. The cardinals
had at last agreed on a successor to Clement X, and that was Innocent XI,
Choisy felt glad that the election had taken place at last, but for
personal reasons.
 
He ran to the Cardinal of Bouillon's who narrated to him in detail
all the wrangles that had taken place in the elector's room. Choisy found
it quite interesting, for now he did not think of women any more.
 
 And you, my son, what did you do while we were writing a page out
of History of Religion? the cardinal asked.
 
 If I told you, Eminence, you wouldn't believe me, Choisy replied.
 
 Do tell me, the cardinal urged.
 
 Being idle, I meditated a lot and now you have before you a
repented sinner.
 
The cardinal smiled skeptically.
 
 Let God hear you, my son, but I fear you'll find Him a little hard
of hearing.
 
 The climate of Rome doesn't agree with me, Choisy said.
 
 You do look tired. Is it due to having done penance?
 
 In my way, Eminence.
 
And he asked for permission to go back to France. The cardinal, who
had to stay in Rome for a little while more, granted it.
 
As soon as he had finished dealing with a few papers, Choisy left
Rome.
 
Up to the last moment, he had feared that Lydie should try to hold
him back and he prayed that the fellow who was replacing him would last
until his own departure. Heaven heard his prayer for he could go without
any hindrance from the luxurious beast that Lydie was.
 
He arrived in Paris without mishap or incident and saluted with
emotion this land of France where love remains the privilege of civilized
people and does not degenerate into savagery.
 
He at once went to Versailles to report before Mr. de Chamillard.
 
 Ah, Choisy! the latter exclaimed genially, you had quite
disappeared for a time-and that's a good thing, haha! Rut then your last
mission gives you impunity. You're welcome here.
 
And he told Choisy the good news: he had been pardoned for having
killed a man in a duel, and now he had no necessity to hide or disguise
himself.
 
Louise XIV had a royal memory but he had forgiven. Few people
remembered Choisy, who used to be the best friend of the frivolous brother
of the king, whom they called Monsieur. Even that Monsieur had by now
renounced his doubtful habits, for he had got married for the second time,
and he found his new wife to his taste. His companion of debauch, the
knight of Lorraine, had gone away. So Choisy was now nearly unknown in
Versailles, and, at least, free from the temptations that his former
companions might have put in his way. Lydie had given him an enduring
disgust for love-making.
 
Providentially, Louis XIV confided to Choisy the task of accompanying
the knight of Chaumont, who had recently been appointed Ambassador to the
King of Siam, to that country. So Choisy left France aboard a ship in
Brest. It was one of the best ships of the fleet, reconstituted by Colbert.
 
After four months they arrived in Siam where the king greeted them
with sumptuousness. But something unexpected happened then. Perhaps his
long sea voyage had had its influence on Choisy? The fact is that he was
ordained Priest in Siam. So far he had been only an abbot, and that merely
because he had inherited the grounds of an abbey.
 
Within a few days he received the minor orders, soon followed by the
superior ones. The bishop of Metellopolis consecrated him, and, aboard the
ship on her return voyage, Choisy held his first mass.
 
Gone for ever were Mrs. de Sancy, the countess of Barres, as well as
the frivolous Choisy of old. After his return to France he was appointed
Dean-Canon of Bayeux, entered the French Academy and his main occupation
became the study of history-It is to be wondered whether he was merciful
enough to pray God that He should grant His pardon to that Lydie Uppa who
had providentially cured him of his bad habits. Without her over-demanding
character, who knows how long he would have continued his life of sin? Now,
his luxurious visions were but a memory.
 
The French of the twentieth century still read the writings of the
countess of Barres and are delighted with them, but how many of them have
read or even heard of the learned works left by the Abbot of Choisy? The
pages that are best remembered by posterity are, alas, those saucy ones
left by the countess of Barres who was in reality a man-a man who had know
the best flowers among women and who, now wise and becalmed, like the sea
after a storm, had drawn out of his lewd experiences the ultimate wisdom.
 
Posterity knows nothing of the respectable side of Choisy, that of
his old age (he died at the age of eighty-four!), but only knows about the
dissipated years of his youth. Readers probably vicariously enjoy his many
adventures which they cannot experience themselves, and that is who such
writings as the memoirs of the countess of Barres, or those of Casanova,
command such a large readership.
