An Abrupt Meeting

Suzanne Du Tournai rested her forehead against the cold window pane as the rain beat down outside. It was a cold day in November. Her slow breathing was fogging up the window as she sat, lost in thought.

Suzanne had never been extremely social, despite the urgings of her mother. She always felt uncomfortable in those situations and starting at this school was no exception. There had been a huge argument the night Suzanne was told of her father's decision to send her away for her education. The Comtess wanted Suzanne to be privately educated to ensure she became a lady, and the debate that ensued was something that she would never forget! Suzanne remembered shaking at the top of the stairs as her father screamed, "THIS IS A NEW WORLD! SHE WILL BE EDUCATED AT THE CONVENT!" They raged all night, each matching the other's tone. She fell asleep leaning against the bannister early that morning. She awoke as the Comte was collecting her in his arms, and, kissing her on the forehead, whispered, "I think I've won."

Since her arrival, she had spoken to one girl, her bunk-mate, and that was a forced introduction at best. However, for all of Suzanne's shyness, she was able to listen very intently to almost anything within earshot. Many of the girls had no idea she existed, let alone that she had any interest in their conversations, for Suzanne never made eye contact with any of them for more than a few seconds, and when she did, her cheeks turned a bright red and she scurried off to recover from the incident. She was always so frightened.

Listening, however, was something that was easy, and she heard every word said within the stoney confines of the convent. Who was in trouble, who was loved, picked on, and disliked.

The one student she could not get a solid opinion on was Marguerite Saint-Just. Suzanne had a bad habit of staring at Marguerite, but she was the most beautiful girl in school, and there were few who could keep from turning their heads once she entered the room. Marguerite was mysterious, well-liked, and more than well loathed. She smoldered, she smirked, she looked like one of those women the Comtesse had warned Suzanne against. And what was worse, Suzanne had heard that she was an orphan!

Had the sister's taken pity on her? Was she really alone in the world? Suzanne had too many questions to ask but it was beginning to get dark, and she was feeling rather cold. Suzanne straightened herself, and hopped off the stone window ledge. She turned, still engrossed in thought, and skipped to the archway where she slammed, dead on, into Marguerite Saint-Just. Suzanne fell backwards to the floor, and looked up, staring at the figure now towering over her. Their eyes met and she could feel her face begin to flush. Humiliated, she crawled to her feet and stammered, "I-I am... so sorry! Forgive me?"

Marguerite walked along the corridor, reading a recently received correspondence from Armand. She was happy to see he was doing well, but wished that he had allowed her to stay with him. Even a brother who was away most of the day was better than not seeing him at all. She had pleaded with him to allow her to stay, but he was insistent that she needed to have a proper education, and he would worry about leaving her to her own devices during his long absences. But how she missed him, he was the only family she had, and if anything happened to him, she would be all alone.

When she had arrived, she distinctly felt the influence of class in the manner in which the girls regarded each other. Many were old friends, or old enemies, as if the feuds, and alliance of their ancestry were passed on at birth through blood. There were those who were admired, those who were loathed, and those who were all but forgotten. Marguerite didn't fit in precisely with any particular class. She was a novelty. She looked at the structure of this microcosm with some amusement. It was comical that these girls clung to such a ridged, restrictive, ridiculous social structure, built, not on the merits of the individual, but on name. Without names they were on equal ground. Did not Shakespeare say "A rose but any other name would smell as sweet"?

Marguerite's reflections were interrupted, when another girl appeared, and ran right into her, and was knocked down. Marguerite, being slightly bigger and better balanced, was left slightly winded, but upright. She looked down at the young girl at her feet, a thin, blond, pathetic creature with large, terrified eyes. "I-I am...so sorry! Forgive me?" Marguerite smiled, as she extended her hand to help Suzanne to her feet. "There is no need for forgiveness. It was merely an accident," Marguerite said kindly, trying to remember the girl's name. She couldn't recall ever having spoken to her, but she had often seen her scurry away when one of the other girls did so much as look in her direction. Simone? no... Suzanne. "Are you alright... Suzanne, is it not?"

Suzanne looked up, quite shocked that Marguerite knew her name.

"Why... yes, I am fine... Marguerite." This woman was so confident! Suzanne wished she could feel the same. "I didn't see you... I should have been paying more attention! I did not hurt you, did I?" Suzanne stared at her, avoiding her eyes as she tried to force herself to hold back the color that danced across her cheeks.

�I�m perfectly well. It would seem that you came off the worst for it,� Marguerite smiled kindly to soothe the girl�s apparent tension. It suddenly occurred to Marguerite that this had been the first time she had seen Suzanne speak with anyone. In fact, there had been a rather nasty rumour that the girl was touched. It was no wonder that Suzanne was so hesitant to speak, with so many harpies around to pull her to pieces. It was very easy to feel isolated here, even amongst so many. The structure allowed for little movement amongst the groups, and non-conformity was either ridiculed or shunned.

�Where were you going in such a hurry?� Marguerite asked. �Perhaps if we are going in the same direction, we can walk together, if that is alright with you.�

Suzanne could not get the response to pass from her lips. Instead, she threw her finger out, and pointed in the direction she was heading. Finally, the words came to her.

"You may join me if you would like..." Why is she being so nice to me? Her brain whirled, not comprehending Marguerite's motives for conversing with her. She tried to remember what her mother had taught her to say in situations like this. "How long... I mean, would you find me impertinent if I asked, have you been at the convent for very long?" Suzanne began strolling down the corridor, waiting for Marguerite's response.

How long? Too long. Marguerite wondered how much information she should reveal about herself to the curious child. Would she press Marguerite for the details? But Suzanne appeared harmless, and didn't appear to associate with any of the muckrakers and gossipmongers. For some intangible reason, perhaps sympathy or the fact that she knew what it was like to feel isolated, Marguerite decided to take the girl into her confidence.

"It's quite alright. I've been here since the age of nine," Marguerite said, reflecting. She could still distinctly remember how she pleaded with Armand, to allow her to stay with him, but he needed to find work to support them, and an adolescent sister in tow limited his choices. "You haven't been here very long, have you?"

"I have been here three weeks." Suzanne replied, the heaviness of homesickness invading her tone. She lowered her head as thoughts of her father crept to the fore front of her mind. She missed him dearly, and could feel the tears sting her eyes. She quickly pushed the thoughts aside, and attempted to continue to converse with Marguerite. After all, there was no reason to be shy when a person seemed to be so nice and forthcoming. "Are you from Paris? My family lives there."

�My family hails from Reims, but I spent most of the two years prior to coming here in Paris with my brother,� Marguerite said with a wistful smile. �That is where he is now, but he writes to me often. It�s almost as if I were there with him.� The statement was meant to convince Suzanne as much as herself. �He works in a printing house and sends me books...� Marguerite smiled, and looked around conspirational �...he sent me Voltaire last week,� Marguerite winked and giggled. �The sisters would be ever so cross if they found out. If there are books that you would like, perhaps...� Marguerite stopped herself, here she was speaking to this nervous, awkward girl as though they were old friends, when in fact this was the first conversation they had ever had. Suzanne could go to the sisters now, and turn Marguerite in for possessing that book.

They walked for a moment in pensive silence. Marguerite wondered if she had said too much, or if Suzanne was wholly aware of the dangers of possessing such a contraband. �Do you have any brothers or sisters? That is, if that is not too personal a question.�

She blushed as Marguerite spoke of the volume of Voltaire. "It is all right Marguerite. My father... he is a bit of an unconventional aristocrat. I once found, hidden in the library, a novel by Msr. Voltaire. He told me I was never to mention it to my mother. She would pitch a fit, if she knew."

Suzanne looked down at her hands. She had been tugging on them from being nervous, and now they were quite red. That was a habit she would have to break. "I am an only child. I have no siblings, only cousins, but they are much older than Iam. I do not get to see them much." She admitted, feeling much more at ease now. Suzanne smiled. "How much older is your brother?"

AN ABRUPT MEETING