Marguerite's Salon
<Marguerite>
Marguerite�s circle met twice from five o'clock until nine in the evening. There one was sure to find choice men of all orders, foreigners, artists, and the most distinguished men of letters. To receive an invitation to one of her salons was a high honor, for Marguerite surrounded herself with only the most intelligent, the most fascinating and fashionable. Such an invitation could start the career of a hopeful artist. Politics, religion, philosophy, anecdotes, news, nothing was excluded from the conversation, news of all kinds was gathered there in its first freshness.
They had come from here and there in society, but so well assorted were they that once there they fell into harmony like the strings of an instrument touched by an able hand. And following out that comparison, Marguerite played the instrument with an art that came of genius. Nowhere was conversation more lively, more brilliant, or better regulated than at her apartment. It was a rare phenomenon indeed, the degree of tempered, equable heat which she knew so well how to maintain, sometimes by moderating it, sometimes by quickening it.
Her talent for casting out a thought and giving it for discussion to men of that class, her own talent in discussing it with precision, sometimes with eloquence, her talent for bringing forward new ideas and varying the topic-always with the facility and ease of a fairy, who, with one touch of her wand, can change the scene of her enchantment-these talents, were not those of an ordinary woman. It was not with the follies of fashion and vanity that daily, during four hours of conversation, without languor and without vacuum, she knew how to make herself interesting to a wide circle of strong minds.
On this occasion Marguerite had sent one of these famous invitations to her dear friend Suzanne. Despite the livelihood that the old Comptess would violently object to Suzanne attending such an affair, it was Marguerite�s hope that Suzanne might slip out just once. �You really must exhibit at the Salon, Marie!� Marguerite prodded Jacques Louis David�s young friend. �You must Mdm. Vig�e-Lebrun�s teaching and show this stuffy society the talent you have.�
<Robespierre>
Maximilien Robespierre arrived fashionably late, nodding acknowledgements to faces he knew as he passed. He wound he way to the hostess who sat beside Marie-Guillemine Benoist and seemed engaged in light conversation. " Madamioselle St . Just, madamioselle Benoist," he bowed stiffly, kissing the fingertips of the proferred hand. "I thank you for having me in your home once again." He straightened up. "I've seen your latest performance, quite remarkable really."
<Marguerite>
Marguerite smiled up at Robespierre. �How kind of you to say, my dear little Maximilien! I think more the credit to the playwright, it is always a delight to play Moli�re and C�lim�ne is an honor to play. But I prattle on... how do you fair? My brother brings me news of political turmoil, what news can you tell me? Is he still being difficult?�
<Suzanne>
The young girl paced in the foyer of the Du Tournai home. Her father had, as he had so many times before, fought for Suzanne to attend Marguerite's salon. This time he had won. Suzanne was uncertain how to react when her father told her. She hadn't a clue why her dear friend had invited her in the first place! Usually these salon's were considered affairs for the revolutionary, political, philosophical, and intellectual set of Paris . Suzanne, being born into the aristocracy, was none of those things. At best, Suzanne could barely muster a "Bonjour" when in a room of new and unknown faces. Despite the fact that she had opened up considerably with Margot, she could barely look anyone in the face when walking down the street.
She roughly tugged her gloves onto her petite hands. She stopped in front of the mirror and examined herself. The light green gown was the most simple robe she owned. It was a plain cotton, no embroidery or accessories. Suzanne hadn't even bothered to place anything in her hair! Times were changing and she feared her presence would be frowned upon by many guests at the Salon. Would they attack her because of her family? Could she count on Marguerite for protection if they did? That was foolish, she knew she could trust Margot to ensure she was safe and somewhat comfortable.
It was then the coachman opened the door. Suzanne jumped and spun around.
"The carriage is ready Mlle. Du Tournai." He bowed. She smiled a halfhearted smile. "Thank you." Suzanne responded, "Just one moment Pierre ." She stepped into the next room and picked up the basket she'd carefully prepared. Some bread, cheese and Margot's favorite red wine. She wondered if it was inappropriate to bring food to her friend's party. She had no idea... Suzanne had never been to such a social gathering. She sighed, pulled her shawl over her thin frame, and got into the carriage.
When she arrived at Marguerite's apartment, she could feel the butterflies within her abdomen. She squeezed her eyes closed. "Of course you can do this Suzanne. You've done nothing but prove you are stronger than you think since you've met Margot. Go inside and prove it to her now." Suzanne stepped out of the carriage and mounted the steps. She rapped on the door and waited for someone to answer.
When the door opened, she stepped across the threshold and entered the room. Her eyes searched frantically for her bosom friend. It was then that she spotted her, seated in the far end of the room. Suzanne tried to catch Marguerite's eye so she would not have to interrupt any conversations. She gently pulled her gloves off, folded them and placed them in her reticule. "Oh please Margot!" She beckoned mentally. "Come here!"
<Marguerite>
As Marguerite listened to Robespierre�s oration on the faults of their king, she caught a glimpse of Suzanne across the room looking slightly nervous. She made a small gesture which halted Robespierre�s speech. �Do excuse me, my dear little Maximilien! There is someone I must meet before she looses her courage and leaves!� Marguerite rose and swept across the room, guests parting before her like grass in a field. �Suzanne! I�m so delighted you�ve come!�
�Remember everything you hear,� she whispered quickly into her friend�s ear as she embraced the girl in welcome. Marguerite linked her arm through Suzanne�s and led her into the room to the settle where she bade her take a seat. An ardent supporter of Revolution Marguerite was, but she was not blind to the fervor with which some of her colleagues spoke. It was possible that should they go forward, people, like the Du Tournais, who were so closely affiliated with the crown might be hurt. She hoped that Suzanne might report to her finds to her father, that her father would see the seriousness of the situation and moved the family away from the center of the conflict until things settled down. Beyond that it gave Marguerite some time with Suzanne which was so often denied by the ridged Marquess, who disliked the fact that her daughter was close friends with an actress. �This is Marie-Guillemine Benoist,� Marguerite gestured to a woman sitting nearby. �She�s an artist, works in David�s studio� and this is M. Robespierre.� She gestured to the thin pale man he had been speaking with. �This is my dearest friend, Suzanne.�
<Robespierre>
Robespierre�s high cheek-bones were unusually prominent, his coarse, sensuous lips tightly pressed together as he recognized Suzanne as the daughter of Du Tournai, a nobleman who worked under Necker. When had he seen the girl? He could du Tournai handing the girl down out of a coche, but the details did not seem to come readily to mind. He bowed stiffly to the girl, scarcely creasing his immaculate sea-green coat and carefully gauffered linen. �Madamioselle... du Tournai, if I�m not mistaken,� Robespierre said in acknowledgement. �Your father is the Comte duTournai, is he not?�
He watched the girl�s cheeks flush. Why was such a child present? A spy? Not what he would expect, but there was potential... there was always potential. With such odds at stake, one had to expect anything from anyone. The crown was only now beginning to realize the power of the Third Estate, they might stoop to using children to gather intelligence on its intentions.
<Suzanne>
She embraced Marguerite and gave her a quick peck on each cheek in greeting. "Remember everything you hear," Margot breathed into her ear. Suzanne nodded once to express she understood her friends instructions.
Then, the introductions... Suzanne could feel the color drain from her face as she recognized Maximilien Robespierre from across the room. Good God! Why did *he*, of all people, have to be at this gathering? And speaking so intently with her dearest friend!
Suzanne blushed when she heard Marguerite speak her name. She lifted her eyes to meet Robespierre's.
"Yes, Msr. Robespierre, I am the daughter of the Compte du Tournai." Suzanne employed some of the acting lessons she had received from Marguerite and smiled warmly at him before taking a deep and respectful curtsey. "It is an honour to meet you."
Suzanne tried to look at Margot from the corner of her eye to see if her friend approved of her "act". Suzanne had been hoping the two of them would have some time alone so they could have a chat, but that would have to wait until Suzanne had finished her trip down the gauntlet. "Marguerite," she vowed silently, "you owe me for this cherie!!" Suzanne waited intently for the revolutionary's response.
<Robespierre>
Robespierre�s eyebrow raised, �Indeed.� Her presence was most intriguing. �Do you regularly frequent the salons, or is this a novel circumstance? It was my impression that the aristocracy felt that such gathering tarnished their reputations.� She watched Suzanne color.
<Chauvelin>
Armand Chauvelin was usually quite composed. His calm intelligence had seen him through many scrapes, he usually felt confident in any situation. But an invitation to the salon of the lovely actress, Marguerite St . Just, this was a rare occasion, something which benefit him greatly in the future. Everyone who was anyone attended her salons. He had met her after seeing a play, he had never seen such talent. She was freshness and dignity itself. He smiled and bowed as he walked in. He noticed Marguerite, a young girl and Maximilien Robespierre, standing among others! Blast, the two people who could make him break out in cold sweat, all in the same room. Chauvelin was a deputy for the 3rd estate, he was an important man, but at this moment, he felt scared, terrified. Well, onward, he was not a coward, this could be his chance! He waited at the corner of the room for Marguerite to notice him.
<Marguerite>
Marguerite worried that the noble intentions of her invitation to Suzanne might be diminished by Robespierre�s suspicious nature. Suzanne put up a brave front which made Marguerite swell with pride, but how long could she maintain it. �My dear Maximilien, everyone with an open mind and a ready wit is welcome! Suzanne happens to be a dear friend of mine and always welcome.� Marguerite felt a pair of intent eyes upon her, her keen eyes sought out who they belonged too and found them to be Chauvelin�s. Perfect. She beckoned him foreword. �Ah! Dear Maximilien, don�t believe you�ve met M. Chauvelin. I think you two will find that you have much in common.� She said as Chauvelin drew near.
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin noticed Marguerite's eyes falling on him, and with a slim hand, beckoned her close. Close to the Olympus itself, he felt defenseless, weak and yet exhilarated, the way he felt when he rode his horse along his estate, to see - her! Never mind this wasn't the time to think of those things, another step was to be taken in the journey he called life. Maximillion Robespierre, he was going to speak to him! Fear dripped through every vein, but his face betrayed none of it. He walked over; towards the tiny man who represented every ideal he had in his being. He had the urge to almost genuflect, to show reverence to a true paragon of virtue by a mere mortal. Yes it was like a church service. How did it go again? Benidicte Pater, Quia peccavi nimis, Bless me, Father for I have sinned, I was born an Aristo. Mea Maxima Culpa, my most grievous sin. Would the answer be Ten Hail Rousseau? Nay. If it was not complete revulsion, something which would shrivel him up to a husk, a corpse, it would be a lifetime of service, by his own sweat and blood, giving up everything, starting fresh, and devoting his life to the cause. His eyes burned with fire. Yes, this was the moment. He approached, bowed slightly to Marguerite and her guests. "Marguerite, it is a pleasure to see you again, thank you so much for having me, citizeness, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and Citizen Robespierre, it is a great honor to finally meet you. I am Armand Chauvelin, a humble deputy from Dauphine " he said softly, offering his hand to the revolutionary.
<Robespierre>
Robespierre acknowledged Chauvelin with a nod of the head, then gave Marguerite an appraising glance. She had certainly gather quite a collection of followers. "An honor? Whatever do you mean?" Robespierre said still scrutinizing Marguerite. What was she play at? Who's side was she working for?
<Marguerite>
Marguerite glanced at Suzanne, who was bearing up amazingly under Robespierre�s scrutiny. Perhaps inviting Suzanne had been a bad idea. It had put Robespierre on the defensive. At least Chauvelin was useful in drawing fire from Suzanne. �Ah, forgive me, messieurs, madamioselle! I see someone that I�m most anxious for Suzanne to meet. If you�ll pardon me.� Without waiting for a response, Marguerite rose to her feet and drew Suzanne up behind her. She proceeded slowly across the room, scanning faces and exchanging pleasantries. �I�m sorry for that, Suzanne,� Marguerite whispered into her ear. �I thought a reprieve might be for the best. Let�s see if we can�t find someone a little less... radical.�
<Suzanne>
Her hand was clammy in Marguerite's regal grasp. She whispered, perhaps a bit more urgently than she had intended, "Mon Dieu Margot! That man hates me!" The concept was something that Suzanne had taken little time to consider since the beginning of the Terror. With all that fear in her body, how could she examine what had made all of Paris ... nay, all of France go mad?! Hatred. She took a shaky breath, clamping her eyes shut as she realized exactly what Robespierre meant when he had said those things with such a suspicious tone. "He hates me for being born!" Suzanne felt the color drain from her face and her step began to falter. Did she endanger her family by attending this soiree tonight? She squeezed Margot's hand urgently, trying to catch her attention without causing a scene. She leaned quite close to Margot's ear before speaking. "I haven't eaten yet... I fear I will faint."
<Marguerite>
Marguerite begged her guests� pardon and led Suzanne out of the room into the kitchen where she bade her take a seat by the hearth and produced a few items for Suzanne to partake of. �I was meeting someone for dinner this evening and Armand said that he would take his dinner with a friend, so I fear that my offerings will be meager.� Marguerite stood by and watched her friend eat. �You handled yourself wonderfully, Suzanne... but I fear that inviting you may have been a mistake. I didn�t think things through.� Marguerite sighed.
�A change is coming, Suzanne, it�s only a matter of time. The people of France have been oppressed and ignored far too long,� Marguerite said in a hushed voice. �The people out there will have a hand in that change... and though I support their cause there are a few amongst them are more... might be inclined to make an example of the nobility in the heat of the moment�� Marguerite stopped, wounded by the _expression of horror on Suzanne�s face. �I don�t want you or your family to be hurt when the inevitably comes... you need to convince your father that it would be best if your family left Paris before...� Before what? Certainly it was possible to evoke change without bloodshed. �The people are desperate and may act rashly when was the time comes. I don�t believe they wish to harm anyone, but I would feel more at ease if I knew that you were out of the way.� Marguerite peeked out of the door, then closed it again. �I�ll have to go back out soon. I wish Armand were here... most likely he is dreaming up ways to woo St. Cyr�s youngest daughter.� She gave a little laugh to break the tension. �Do you think you�ll be able to go back out there?�
<Suzanne>
She forced herself to eat despite the nausea she felt. Her nerves had conquered her once again. "I doubt I could convince father of anything! He has been as stubborn as mother lately. He does not want to be driven from his home by the people of his country. He feels that the aristocrates can co-habitate with those less fortunate. Do you think he is foolish?" Suzanne spoke softly, entrenched in thought. 'I can try and convince him, but I can't make any promises. ...If I left Paris , would I ever see you again?" She could feel the sadness grip her throat. She forced a smile. "You don't have to answer that." She sighed and rubbed her temples for a minute. "Margot, I don't know if I can go back out there." She thought a moment, letting her eyes wander to a stack of books next to her chair. "I brought a bottle of wine... would you have a glass with me? Perhaps I'll feel better afterward." She smiled, unable to supress the blush in her cheeks. She was never allowed to consume much alcohol in her home. Neither her mother nor her father approved of it.
<Marguerite>
�...If I left Paris, would I ever see you again?�
What could she say? It was possible that they would never see each other again, but at least if Suzanne were safe... alive somewhere... there was always a chance. Even if it were slim. Marguerite laid out two glasses and poured out wine for them both, before sitting opposite Suzanne. �Listen. Your father must not be entirely closed minded. He allowed you to come here knowing what you would find,� Marguerite said, patting Suzanne�s trembling hand. �You don�t have to go back out there. You can stay in here for a while, then I can escourt you out. You won�t have to speak with Maximilien again.� Marguerite�s eyes darted to the door quickly before returning to her friend. She would have to go back out soon.
�Even if you were to leave I would find a way to visit you,� Marguerite said merrily, if somewhat untruthfully. �There is an English milor that I�ve met recently who seems to have taken a fancy to me. If you were to move to England , I might consider becoming his mistress and move across the channel. I could set the English theater on its ear!� Marguerite laughed. She was speaking fancifully, hoping to ease Suzanne�s tension. �See. There is always hope. I�m meeting him tonight, if you promise me that you will convince your father I will use all my feminine wiles to seduce the young lord.� Not that that would be such a sacrifice, she had to admit that he was attractive, charming... something about him intrigued her. �Are you feeling any better?�
*************************************************
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin's heart beat fast under this chilly reception. He stood up even straighter. "It is an honor to meet someone who has devoted his life to the service of mankind. I have heard your name spoken many times, and have even heard some of your speeches. Your devotion to the cause inspires us all. Forgive my words if they sound like mere flattery, I am a firm believer in truth and speak only that" he said.
<Robespierre>
Robespierre turned his pale eyes on Chauvelin and looked the other man over, appraising. �I do nothing more than any true son of France . I speak out against the great injustice that has been forced upon the people by a cruel, dispassionate, selfish aristocracy. I am merely taking up a cry to arms that is long overdue. Our king, the supposed hand of God, turns his eyes away while the people suffer despite words. Soon the men of note will not be those of words, but those of action.� He locked eyes for a moment. �Truthfully, what matter of man are you?�
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin's dark eyes were locked on Robespierre's green ones, feeling that his soul was being examined. He listened to every word, emblazing it into his mind. He could not believe he was listening to this paragon speak. He did not notice anything going on in the room, it was as if all life consisted in this moment. He pondered the question for but a mere second. "Whatever France requires me to be, that is what I am" he answered.
<Robespierre>
Robespierre's eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. "Indeed." His eyes broke contact and trailed off to watch the women move away. Marguerite Saint-Just was a veritable enigma. Robespierre wondered about her motives at times. She opened her salons to discussion that was possibly treasonable, she spoke passionately about equality and freedom from the tyrrant of the aristocracy, but sometimes she acted in a manner that left one to wonder. Chauvelin returned his gaze to the man standing before him. Another would-be suitor for the lovely actress? Perhaps. Or was he truly intent on serving the cause? "Tell me, Msr... Chauvelin, do you read Rosseau?"
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin felt his heart leap. Oh, need he ask? Of course he had read Rosseau, it was his bible, his guide. "Indeed I have. I carry one of his works wherever I go. I have just
finished "Discourse on the Arts and Sciences" and will reread my personal favorite, "The Social Contract" as soon as I can. I try to reread the latter before every meeting of the
Estates General. As a deputy, M. Robespierre, I look around France and recall the immortal lines, MAN is born free; and everywhere he is in chains. People are starving, the treasury is being drained and instead of being a true leader, our king is ruled by his wife, a foriegn Austrian who knows nothing of the people's plight. Though he can not compare to Rosseau, I found the works of Locke, in "Two Treatises of Government" compelling as well. I recall a quote my mother once said that a cure is always found to every ailment but death. I read Rosseau to give me hope that one day, children can grow up in a better world. I believe his ideas are the cure of the things that ail my country" he said firmly in a calm tone betraying little of his inner feeling.
<Robespierre>
"Indeed," Robespierre remarked. "Then I'm sure you are aware of his views on authority. It is the growing belief of many that the king has broken his part of the social contract with the people. If so, I beleive you know what Rousseu advocates."
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin inwardly shrunk. This was making the leap to treason, as much as he believed in these ideals, he had an infant to care for. A Lettre de Cachet with his name on it, he'd be doomed and who would care for her? He shook those thoughts away, he was making a better world for his little girl. Yes, he was doing the right thing. He nodded. "Indeed I do. If a social contract is breached, a new one must be forged with a better partner, by any means nessecery. It is the natural course of action and I hope I can be of service in any part of it I can. A mistake must be corrected for the good of others" he said levelly.
<Robespierre>
�Perhaps not a better partner, but a restructuring of the existing system,� Robespierre mused. �Doing away with those elements that are harming our beautiful country and allowing those can are ever so willing to lead France to glory.�
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin nodded. People like Robespierre, yes; they could lead France to glory! A revolution like the Glorious one in England, which had given power to the people, a bloodless revolution which all blessed. Yes, that day would come for his country as well. It did not occur to him to ask how the elements harming the country would be done away with, or how a system entrenched in France would be removed bloodlessly. "The people won't stand for the abuses much longer, the day when our words turn to action grows nearer every day. I only hope I can be of service to this greater France when this day comes and power is set in the right hands" he said. And if he was wrong, he'd find himself in a prison cell for his trouble.
<Robespierre>
"Indeed," Robespierre responded, scrutinizing Chauvelin again. "It seems our hostess has disappeared." His brow furrowed slightly. What was the woman's game?
<Camille>
Camille Desmoulins hurried down the crowded street, slipping around people who didn't want to raise the effort to get out of the way of one insignificant journalist. No, not even that. Want-to-be journalist. Pamphleteer who couldn't even get his pamphlets published because his printer was afraid they were too radical! His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at himself, lighting up his over-pale face. His black eyes that could never hide his emotions stung slightly, but he would not cry in humiliation till it was over� He had been given the chance to get himself noticed and he had without a doubt ruined it! Not long ago he had come into contact with an old school friend from Louis-le-Grand, Maximilien Robespierre. Yet more prudent Maxime had enough sense to set up in his hometown and had become a successful lawyer, and here was little Camille, 29 years old and living in a one room flat, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, wearing a single threadbare shirt and second hand coat. Excellent. "And all because I started up in Paris, where there are too many lawyers already... And this damn stutter!" he thought to himself. Nevertheless, people had said he would amount to nothing and here he was, arrived at it.
Still, one opportunity had arisen unexpectedly. Robespierre had been elected to the Estates General and was making a name for himself. Although Camille knew he was not a very social person, he was aware he had attended the salon of Marguerite St Just, quite possibly the most fashionable lady in Paris. Her salon was open to all intelligent people who had something to say for the new ideas that were sweeping the nation... Or so he had heard. He had written his old friend a letter congratulating him on his election and dropping some not so subtle hints that perhaps he could oh-so-kindly put in a word for his old school friend... And it had worked! He wasn't exactly sure what he had said (It had to be nice... Right?) but it had gotten Mademoiselle St Just interested in him. And so he had received an invitation to her salon! It seemed luck was finally giving him his rightful share! He had borrowed a decent coat from a friend, hoping no one would notice it didn't quite fit his lanky frame. He considered powdering his long black hair, but the look never suited him anyway, and this was supposed to be a salon for the forward thinking members of society. Surely no one would mind�
He had set out that morning as groomed as he could be, with his borrowed coat with carefully polished buttons and glossy, un-powdered hair. He had been but a few blocks away when suddenly all thoughts of this potential salvation was wiped from his mind. It seemed like a coincidence in a novel or such, because passing just in front of him were two people he had sought for months... A young woman, not yet twenty, and her mother were walking down the street enjoying each other's company. He called out to them and they turned about. The sun behind their heads made him think of halos. "Madame! Mademoiselle!" Both women's faces lit up, though in a moment the mother's fell. "Camille, may I ask why you accosting my daughter and I on the street?"
"Madame, I meant no d-disrespect, b-but I thought-"
"You know my daughter is not allowed to see you. My husband has thought you neither a good influence, nor an appropriate suitor. Good day, Cam- Monsieur Desmoulins." She turned on her heel, grasped her daughter's arm, and set off in the opposite direction.
"B-But Madame! Lucile!" he called out after them, with no response. He should chase� He should press his case... But he could barely speak, his stutter was so thick at the moment, people around them would hear him and laugh, which would hardly soften Madame's heart. Bah, women! Cruel creatures... He slumped down on a bench with his elbows on his knees, noting that they were rather worn out. The time past with his thoughts far beyond that bench, out walking Paris with a charming young lady, his heart soaring at the imagined encounter, then plummeting back to earth whenever he thought on their falseness. Then, an hour later he shifted position and happened to catch sight of his pocket watch. "God d-damnit!" he groaned and flung himself off the bench. He was supposed to be at the salon, Mademoiselle St Just was probably annoyed at him� Damn, damn, damn!
With these thoughts on his mind he finally reached the salon, gave his name, and was escorted in. He entered nervously, hoping- as he had given up on praying- that someone he knew was there, that he did not look too shabby, that someone knew who he was and that he was actually supposed to be there...
<Robespierre>
Robespierre was about to comment on their hostess�s disappearance when a familiar form caught his eye for a moment as they swept across the crowd. He looked again and recognized Camille�s profile nearly lost among the sea of faces. He suppressed a smile. �You will pardon me a moment, Msr. Chauvelin. I see an old acquaintance of mine. Perhaps I should introduce you, you seem to share his... enthusiasm.� Robespierre crossed the room, not looking to see if the other man followed. �Well, Camille, it�s seems that Madamioselle Saint-Just finally took my advice and invited you.�
<Camille>
"Maxime!" Camille beamed and enthusiastically embraced him, kissing his cheeks. In an age when men called even their close friends by their last names, Camille Desmoulins was plain to Camille to all- friends, enemies, and random associates. Such informality had made him unconcerned about it amongst his own friends, most of whom tolerated it. "Oh, Maxime, I am in your d-debt! Thank you! My c-closest, oldest friend..." He stepped back finally, then realizing he may have embarrassed Robespierre.
<Robespierre>
Stiffly accepted Camille's warm welcome, aware that Chauvelin's eyes were upon him. As of yet he was not entirely sure of the other man and thus kept his guard up even in the presence of his dear friend. "Think nothing of it," Robespierre replied after Camille stepped away. "I would introduce you to Mlle. Saint-Just, but she seems to have disappeared. However, I was just speaking with Msr... Chauvelin. Chauvelin, this is Camille Desmoulins," Robespierre said as Chauvelin approached.
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin approached the paragon of virtue and his new friend. What a strange sort of person, a young man with an ill fitting coat and a nervous disposition. Well, Robespierre seemed to know him well. He was sure that meant the man was someone he should know. He hoped he was finding favor in Robespierre's eyes, it would be a disaster if he offended the man he revered so greatly. He approached and placed out his hand. "Armand Chauvelin, it is a pleasure to meet you, M. Desmoulins" he said, bowing his head slightly.
<Camille>
"A p-pleasure," mumbled Camille, suddenly self-conscious. So, would this new man, like all the rest, find it irresistable to crack a few jokes about his stutter? When in need of a topic of conversation, there was always plenty of odd things about him to comment on. "Take your pick, Monsieur," he thought bitterly. "Are you a regular v-visitor of Mademoiselle d-de Saint-Just's salon?"
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin forced himself not to laugh at the man's stutter. He kept his face friendly, and calm. "This is my first time, I only just came to Paris a few months ago from Dauphine though I do hope to become a regular visitor when I am in town. And yourself?" he said pleasently. He looked over his shoulder to see a tall...all right massive foppishly Lord entering and looking around. He wondered if he should comment.
**********************************
<Percy>
Sir Percy Blakeney stepped from the carriage and glanced up at the house number. This was it, all right. 27, rue de Richelieu. For some reason he hadn�t quite expected it to be like this � although what he *had* expected he couldn�t say either. He was drawn here as a honey bee. Bzzz, bzzz. He was a man in pursuit of a beauty � a bee seeking nectar.
Bzzz bzzz like a bee,
Drawing you near to me . . .
Percy shuddered. Lord, it was bad! On days like this he should give up poetry entirely! He�d hoped that inspiration might drop some sort of rhyming couplet into his lap that he might deliver to The Actress. Other men chased actresses � not Percy. This was uncharted territory for him � but she was something beyond his experience. He could wax poetic for hours � indeed he had � and still not be able to adequately describe the thunderclap of attraction that had overwhelmed him.
He used the gold-topped head of his walking stick to knock at the door and an absurd ditty from a music hall number rose in his mind. He was humming. Damn, the self-confidence of it all!
<Token door-person>
A rather short portly woman opened the door for the towering Baronet, nearly injuring her neck in an attempt to look up at his face. The woman took his name and escorted him in to join those already assembled.
<Percy>
"Sink me, it�s a rout! I had no idea she�d invite half of Paris . . ." Had he expected to find her demurely ensconced between mater and pater, sipping her tea? He blinked away the confusion and continued his way inside, stepping around conversational gatherings.
Look at �em, he told himself, not a decent waistcoat among the bunch! His first perusal of the crowd suggested that The Actress was not here � he remembered the colour of her hair, he was sure of it! Percy blinked. Not here? Absurd! Damned near everyone was here . . . whomever everyone may be.
Everyone seemed to be an argumentative group of men who were definitely not gentlemen. This actress kept odd company and that was a fact. Didn�t most sweet flowers need a protector? He doubted a collection taken among all these badly dressed fellows could conjure enough sous to attract this particular beauty � unless one of these ruffians *was* already her protector. Once again he scanned the room, this time noting the furnishings.
*****************************************
<Camille>
Well, at least he wasn't laughing straight out. He thought he saw the man's lip twist upwards in concealed amusement, but that was all. "My d-dear friend, Robespierre," he said, now conscious not to embarrass Robespierre further, "C-Convinced Mademoiselle to invite me, this is my first t-time as well. I am from G-Guise..." He wondered if he should have said that. A foolish, lethargic country town that had long since cast him out as an insane radical... "B-But I have lived in P-Paris for several years now. I went to Louis-le-Grand for school with Robespierre. Now, I p-practice law." Sort of. He had graduated with a degree in law and shown promise, but that damned stutter had kept him from ever presenting a case and had made him a laughing stock of the courts. Not to mention the fact, even he had to admit, he was not the most reliable lawyer. His whims and fancies alternated with dark, violent moods ten times a day. It was not particularly beneficial for intensive cases. He percieved Chauvelin's eyes were no longer upon him and his gaze followed to see an elaborately dressed man enter the room. Certainly Mademoiselle de Saint-Just did invite all types to her salon. He shifted slightly, more aware than ever of his ill-fitting coat and leaned towards Chauvelin and Robespierre. "Who is that man who just entered?"
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin frowned. "I do not know, I've never seen him before, by his clothes, he seems like a foreigner. I wonder what he is doing here?" he said, his face clouding with anger. Was it Mlle Saint-Just's "patron"? A woman whose salon had such illustrious men like Robespierre, why would she have nobility around? The same reason any woman did, money? He almost cursed himself for giving up his title, a wealthy Marquis would have attracted her far more then a nameless lawyer whose only honor was he had been elected to the Estates General because he was the only person around with a brain. He wasn't even from Dauphine, he had moved there from his family's estate. So Camille (He couldn't think of this man as anything but Camille, Desmoulins seemed too formal) was a schoolfellow of Robespierre? He never had school fellows, he had been privately tutored. "It was truly a lucky stroke to know M. Robespierre, it took me weeks to get invited here. I practiced law now as well, though I did study medicine at first. Guise, it must be hard in the city, sometimes I miss the open fields of home, even though I enjoy Paris life" he said.
<Marguerite>
Marguerite stood up abruptly. �I wish Armand were here. I would have him take you home, but alas he is working late.� It pained her to see Suzanne in such a state, the poor girl was still trembling. Marguerite refilled her glass, then turn to the door. �I have to go back out there, you understand that don�t you, darling?� Marguerite said, she moved to the door and opened it a crack to peer out. She didn�t know exactly what she was looking for, perhaps the false hope that Armand had come hope early.
�I never imagined this would happen,� Marguerite apologized to Suzanne, still looking out the door. �I suppose that was a piece of luck that Chauvelin was here.� She gave a little laugh in the hopes of raising Suzanne�s spirits. �It worked out well for us both. If I had known that introducing him to Maximilien would have had that effect, I would have done so long before this. Poor little Chauvelin has been trailing me like a puppy for several months.� Robespierre and another man she didn�t know came into view for a moment when the crowd shifted and then where lost again. She was foolish to hope Armand would be there.
She was about to turn away and close the door, when she spotted a figure that seemed to tower over the others in room. One couldn�t help but notice the impeccably dressed Sir Percy, a smile rose to her lips as she watched him move among the throng. For a moment she wondered if everything on the towering Baronet was proportional... A light hiccough from Suzanne, drew her attention back to her friend and Marguerite blushed. �Suzanne, would you like to see the English milord I was telling you about? It seems he arrived while we were in here,� Marguerite said, watching Percy once again through the narrow opening. �He certainly stands out. I�ll have to introduce you to him before you leave, he really is quite endearing.�
<Suzanne>
She laughed. "Margot... do you make it a habit to invite aristos to all of your salons?" She asked, half in jest. "I do not wish to leave early mon ami." The combination of Marguerite's jokes and the small bit of wine she had consumed steadied Suzanne's constitution. She stood, placing her wine next to the chair she'd just occupied.
"You should return to your guests. I can manage on my own. Besides, if I'm to leave for England you had better catch that 'endearing' Englishman quickly." Suzanne embraced Marguerite.
<Marguerite>
Marguerite smiled and kissed Suzanne on both cheeks. �Then I take that as a promise! And I will hold you to your promise, my dear little Suzanne!� Marguerite laughed, then became more serious. �When you are ready to leave come see me first, I want to meet this English milord and tell me what you think. But if I don�t see you before long, I�ll come to check on you and be terribly hurt if you�ve slipped out without saying adieu.� She gave Suzanne�s hand an affectionate squeeze before slipping out the door. As she emerged she looked around for Sir Percy over the tops of her guests� heads, but saw no sight of him. Did he become discouraged by the company she kept and fled? He would certainly have reason to feel out of place.
Smiling gaily, Marguerite swept into the room exchanging an occasional pleasantry. She was curious to see if in fact Sir Percy had fled and to discover the identity of the young stranger she had seen with Maximilien.
<Percy>
That the French were a violent breed was well known to everyone, especially Blakeney who had spent much time circulating among Parisians � bourgeoisie and petty nobles. He made money and invested judiciously in a variety of interests throughout Europe; therefore he knew the French intimately. For instance, he knew that Mademoiselle Saint-Just�s �salon� was not the stuff of French salons of the past. Mademoiselle Saint-Just had no *cachet* among the Parisian society Percy knew. That her friends were uncouth was the least surprising element; that she was absent and her salon running wild was rather more amusing.
He hadn�t encountered a single civilised conversation anywhere in the house. One group was arguing over whether the price of bread was the same in each section of Paris; another wondering if the King would be allowed to sit as figurehead after the next elections � and each man had a different opinion! One motley group was discussing their credentials as lawyers. Lawyers, by God! True, French law was interminably muddled, but, still, these lawyers looked shadier than the average criminal. Percy tugged his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hand after touching the same doorknob as the stuttering one had touched.
He found a chair near the fire and determined he would wait a bit and observe. He scooped his watch from his pocket and flicked open the cover. Two-ten. If The Actress did not show up by three, he would depart. After her performance tonight he would corner her once more. Lovely and fascinating as she was, it would be no hardship to attend the play for a second nigh, and if she didn�t appear by three, he could visit Estelle Bernier and enjoy her gay chatter and share her dinner.
<Chauvelin>
Chauevelin's lip curled as he watched the foreigner wipe his hand since he had touched the same doorknob as Camille. He could not believe what kind of garbage Mlle Saint-Just invited to her salon. Even when he had been Marquis, he had never seen himself as above the other boys. Even though he was always punished severally for it, he had enjoyed playing with the servant's children and insisted they call him Armand and not Monsieur. He had always been the type to stand up to bullies due to his short size and fiery ideas. "It always amueses me to see a parasite try to wipe off the sweat of honest man off his hands, but all that wiping, they must be sweating their brains out." He whispered to Camille, patting his shoulder which was hard con. "Come, what say hello, give him a taste of France" he said with a mischievous grin. "He'll most likely faint, speaking to commoners, oh dear me, perhaps we should have smelling salts just in case" he continued softly.
<Camille>
Camille's shoulders sagged as Chauvelin spoke to him. He had purposely ignored the man wiping his hands clean of him. "Alright, if you think that's b-best..." He straightened up and with a glance at Chauvelin to make sure he was coming, walked over to Percy. "B-Bonjour, Monsieur," he said, attempting to be friendly, and offered him his hand.
<Percy>
Confronted with two of the worst-looking ruffians in all of Paris, Percy stood abruptly. He raised his nose so he might look down it measuringly, before sweeping into the lowest, most insulting bow he could manage.
�Bun joor, little ones. A pleasure it is to have you welcome me to Par-ee. Charming bloodletting, what?� Percy extended his slender hand, palm down, then abruptly turned it upright and spit into it. �That�s the way it�s done, nest paw? A little local flavour to grease the hand of friendship?�
He gripped the stutterer�s hand firmly, pumped it up and down as if working a handle. �So bee-en ven-you of you to attempt to ape good English manners, what? How do you do, sir?�
Percy bit his lower lip, hoping that he�d tossed enough French into the mix to sound friendly without being too insulting. It wouldn�t pay at all for one of these dodgy creatures to turn out to be The Actress�s father.
<Robespierre>
Maximilien Robespierre watched Camille and Chauvelin stalk across the room to confront the aloof English man. He would have to put Camille aside later and explain that harassing your hostess�s guest was not wise for the first impression that a potential benefactor to have of a man, regardless of how obnoxious that guest was. Such was Camille�s nature, but it would have to change else it would ultimately be his ruin. He remained for a moment where they had left him, hands on hips and slightly frowning, when he caught sight of the hostess herself rejoining the crowd. With an eye upon the potential conflict in the corner, Robespierre weaved his way to Marguerite.
�Mademoiselle Saint-Just, I feared that you had left for the theater without informing your guests,� Robespierre greeted her with a stiff bow. �I assume that your friend has left for the evening... pity. I would have been most intrigued to hear her view on politics...� Robespierre offered Marguerite his arm. �Might I introduce you to an old friend of mine who appears to be making the acquaintance of a new friend of yours?�
<Marguerite>
Marguerite gave Robespierre a quizzical look and accepted the arm that Robespierre proffered. �I fear the trip here made my dear little Suzanne quite ill, I was seeing to her well-being. At this moment she is resting in the next room with a bottle of smelling salts,� Marguerite replied, as Robespierre lead her across the room. �This friend of yours, is that that Camille Desmoulins that you�ve spoken so highly of?�
It soon became apparent where Robespierre was leading her and where Sir Percy had disappeared to � in front of her stood the impressive Baronet facing off with Chauvelin and the stranger she had seen with Robespierre earlier. The expressions on her country men�s faces indicated that they might have liked to do some considerable harm to the English man. �Ah, Sir Percy! I see you have arrived and made quite an impression,� Marguerite smiled and offered her hand to Sir Percy. �Maximilien, would you do me the honor of introducing your friend?� Marguerite cleverly moved herself between Sir Percy and Chauvelin and Camille, hoping to defuse the situation.
<Percy>
"Madam � Mamzelle Saint . . ." It was as if a shaft of sunlight had pierced him and he was suddenly on fire. Percy stuttered to a stop as if he�d forgotten her name. Oh, she was irresistible! He absorbed the conversation surging around him with a vague expression, trying to decipher who these men were and what their role was in The Actress�s life.
She stared straight into his eyes and he had the impression of dark blue. Bright lights and shadows. Her eyes were unlike any he�d ever encountered before and he felt himself falling into them. That�s what it was � he�d been intrigued by her modulated voice and flame-touched hair from his perch in the box, but when he�d stood before her after the performance, he�d become enchanted by her indescribable eyes.
" . . . made quite an impression," she was saying, her grin fading a little as she gazed directly up at him. Impulsively, Percy once again wiped his palm with the handkerchief before taking Marguerite�s hand and raising it automatically to his lips to kiss. Even as his lips grazed her knuckles, she�d turned away from him to a fussy-looking little man who was at least wearing a clean waistcoat. His shoes had well-kept heels � a sign of prosperity � for all that they were fastened with simple laces rather than buckles.
Marguerite�s palm slid the length of Percy�s as she stepped between him and the other guests and the friction mesmerized him. Briefly she glanced over her shoulder, arching her brow, before she turned away to ask, ". . . introducing your friend?"
Percy�s breath floated away in an outdrawn sigh. Her hair he had remembered precisely, but her eyes � nothing matched the depth and vibrancy of The Actress�s incomparable eyes!
<Camille>
"What in the-!" He yanked his hand back and shoved it protectively back in his pocket. He stared at the man, horrified. Good Lord, was this what all Englishmen were like? He was subconsciously relieved at the arrival of Robespierre and a beautiful young woman, interupting the rage that was building inside him and may have come out as something that would get him thrown from the salon. "Thank you, Maxime," he muttered under his breath and stepped back towards him. Mon Dieu, this must be Mademoiselle Saint-Just... "Allow me," he said to Robespierre. "I am C-Camille," Oh no... "D-Desmoulins." What sick irony had bestowed upon him a name he could not help but stutter upon? He bowed deeply, but the sight that met his eyes when he arose left him lost for words. What was the hand of that beautiful, charming young woman doing in that of... That Englishman! There was no way! Surely fate could not be so cruel!
<Marguerite>
Marguerite smiled as she watched Sir Percy�s eyes darken with adoration, how the tension seemed to fade, as did all thoughts of whatever conflict he had been engaging in. Other men had claimed to worship her, but none with such intensity � and none so completely. In made her feel stronger. How many wives could claim as much devotion from their husbands? She wondered if Sir Percy had left some twittering bride in England. There was so much she wanted to learn about him. What was it that made such a man who could adore her so? Even when their eyes broke contact, she could feel his longing gaze and wondered precisely what Sir Percy was longing to do... perhaps one day she would find out.
How different he was from the other men around her... Her only interest in Robespierre was his intelligence which mirrored his interest in her - she wondered if Armand was more to his liking. Then there was Chauvelin, who had expressed a great deal of interest in her on the point of obsession. He was presence at every performance, bringing flowers and praise, but something about him did not settle well with Marguerite, nor with Armand who had told her that men like Chauvelin were best held at a distance. Then there was this Camille Desmoulins � attractive, but a bit nervous. Marguerite registered shock on Camille�s face as he rose from his bow and puzzled over it, offering him her other hand. It was amazing the power physical contact had, Marguerite long ago discovered art. The simple gesture of offering her hand to Sir Percy had disarmed him, maintaining that contact rendered him harmless as she made some attempt at restoring peace. Even she experienced the thrill of the energy that seemed to pass between them with that light contact. Was there anything more sensuous that the feel of flesh against flesh? She marveled at the perseverance of the men and women who took holy orders, it seems wrong to deny one�s self such simple pleasures. And as Camille took her hand she could sense some of his tension dissipating, though that rush of energy she had experienced with Percy was lack.
�Maximilien has told me you are a lawyer, but you write as well, my dear Camille,� Marguerite said, breaking eye contact with Camille to exchanging a look with Robespierre to determine if her recollection was correct. �Is it possible that I have read something you wrote?�
<Camille>
"Yes, I have b-been writing more than taking c-cases lately..." Thank you again, Maxime, for brushing over the failed law career. "I wrote a p-pamphlet titled Philosophy of the French P-People last year. Just recently I have p-published An Ode to the Estates G-General. In honor of my friends who will be representing the people," he said proudly, with a glance at Robespierre. Both pamphlets had done well enough, but they paled beside the pamphlet that was taking shape amongst the scattered papers that littered his desk and mattress that served as his bed. "I am currently writing a p-pamphlet called Free France, but... Ah... I cannot get it published. My p-publisher took one look at it and shoved it right b-back. �Too radical!� That's what he said of it!" His mind replayed the unpleasant moment of chasing his manuscript down the street after it had been thrown out the window by the printer, Momoro. "He does not understand... Things are changing! Surely, the Estates G-General is a sign of this. It has b-been over 150 years since it was last c-called, surely it means something."
<Robespierre>
Robespierre listened in silence, Camille would have to win the actress over on his on if he wanted to get published. From his view point he noted how the eyes of Chauvelin and the Englishman had settled on Marguerite with more interest than the listening to the topic she spoke of. At the moment both seemed obsessed with the low cut neckline of her dress and the snowy white breast that were so prominently featured. From his vantage point the English milord had quite a view of Marguerite�s wares. He had worried at first about the man�s appearance in the Salon, especially after the appearance of Mlle. Du Tournai, but it was apparent where his interests lay. It was unlikely he noticed anything but. Another love-struck puppy like Chauvelin... it was all Robespierre could do to keep from rolling his eyes.
<Marguerite>
Marguerite�s smiled broadly, she had the distinct impression that Camille was there for more than the enlightening conversation. Ever since she had gained public acclaim, ever since she had begun hosting these salons, she found those, like Camille, who came seeking to use her influence. The fact that Robespierre spoke on his behalf was intriguing, stoked her curiosity.
�Then you will find yourself in good company here, my dear Camille,� Marguerite said, with a sweeping gesture of the room. �Every man here is of the opinion that a change is taking place and that still greater changes need in order for France to reach its full potential. In fact, I believe Msr. Chauvelin was making similar remarks to me just the other, were you not, Chauvelin?� She said lightly as she turned to him. His eyes apparently had settled on the curves of her breast as the conversation progressed and snapped up to her face at the mention of his name, he looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment. Did he think she could feel his eyes upon her? The occasional glance in his direction as she made the appearance of including him into the conservation, told her that all of his attention was focused on her and she rewarded him for his attentions with a gentle squeeze as she laid her hand on his arm in her excitement, by a secret wink and a smile, so expertly implemented that even at such close quarters the other men hadn�t noticed these small gestures, or they had noticed the occasional contact it was dismissed as mere excitement over the topic.
Marguerite observed the manner in which Camille�s face lit up as she mentioned change, Robespierre�s face, however, as un readable. Perhaps whatever he was after had something to do with the pamphlet that he spoke of... there were ways of finding out. �I would be most intrigued to read your ideas. Have you have any ideas on how you can get it published?�
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin had been ready to strike that arrogant blaggard of an Englishman when SHE came. His goddess, his muse, she intervened and everything seemed all right. His anger faded when he saw her, he just stared at her exquisite form, not hearing or seeing anything else. She was so beautiful, like a brilliant stone in the sunlight, it seemed like his whole life he had worshipped people, first his Mother, then people in books, then his wife, and now Marguerite and Robespierre. He always worshipped those higher then himself, trying to emulate them. Suddenly he realized she had noticed mentioned his name and blushed, looking at her lovely face as he nodded politely. He listened to the conversation quietly, trying not to redden every time Mlle Saint Just smiled at him. He was about to ask a question when Marguerite touched his hand, with a pert wink and a smile. Dear merciful heavens, his soul lept for a second, how he adored her � DAMN IT! Why did she make him lose his focus? It was maddening; he wondered what trick of nature had made women so irresistible? Robespierre did not seem to have a problem resisting women, but he, yes, he was weak! He hated himself; he was so easily taken in by Marguerite. He had still not rid himself of his flaws; he was still a Marquis inside, a fact which tortured him! What more had he to do, to become free of all earthly desires? Was there no crucible that could burn away all that made him impure? He decided to listen further to the conversation and maybe have a word with Camille to put in a good word for him to Robespierre.
"Perhaps you could find sponsors, men whose word is trusted to place their name on it. You aren't the only radical thinking man in France, you know" Chauvelin murmured quietly to Camille.
<Percy>
Such dreadful conversation! These people knew nothing about how to be interesting to each other. Percy covered his mouth, stifling a yawn. "Deuced tedious, these radical thinking men you wish to speak upon. Ardent. Serious. Does no one play tennis anymore?" He had their attention now; the stuttering one with big eyes and mouth hanging open, the short-statured one with eyebrows scratching his meticulously powdered wig and the arrogant one who�d swivelled around so quickly he�d spun like a top.
And The Actress - with amusement filling her eyes. "I�m sure all of you must play tennis. Lobbing the ball back and forth, back and forth. Try not to let it bounce. I�m sure you�re all grand tennis players because this topic of conversation is so *tennis* if you get my meaning. I�ve heard it all before. We�ve all heard it all before."
They were all facing him and it mattered not at all, because he had *her* attention. Her pretty hand reaching to touch his sleeve and her face all open and captivated. Her eyes touching his. Exploring his. Warming him all the way inside where the flame of his interest in her was flaring in the oil of her interest.
<Marguerite>
Marguerite turned to face Percy with an amused smile, entirely forgetting Chauvelin and his jealous stares behind her. She had not forgotten that Percy was there, he just seemed to preoccupied. She was utterly surprized to hear that affected drawl enter the conversation, so different from the exquisitely accented tones she had associated to him. She ran her fingertips along his arm, feeling the fine silk of his coat brush along beneath them, as she moved to place her hand upon his sleeve and kept it there, encouraging him to continue.
"Alas, you must forgive me, darling," Marguerite told him as her eyes rose to meet his. "I entirely forgot that Sir Percy might hold a different perspective on the state of France." She meant this for the others, but her eyes remained locked on his, wondering. Percy appeared quite the enigma - there was the persona of the spoilt fop which he shared with the world and the other she had the privilege of discovering when they had spoken in private. An intelligent, passionate man that hid beneath that other guise. There was so much that he kept hidden from the world that she longed to discover, but whether it was upbringing or a deliberate act she had yet to discern. She searched his eyes, trying to seek out the man behind the facade, but her search was clouded by his fascination with her. There seemed to be a look of longing in his gaze and she moved slightly closer to him.
"Sir Percy is not French and therefore has the unique perspective of an outsider in these affairs," Marguerite continued. "I would be most fascinated to hear your view, my dear Percy."
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin's feelings soured as he watched Marguerite flirt with the rude SIR Percy, what kind of woman was she? Was his goddess a siren? He knew it was likely that she was his mistress, many women sold their bodies like that, especially actresses but it disgusted him and tore at his heart. He stared at his shoes darkly and cursed himself again. Why did he give up his title? Why was he thinking such thoughts? Damn it, he needed a drink and soon! "Yes, by all means, enlighten us" he muttered.
<Percy>
Front and centre of the crowd, Blakeney found himself the focus of everyone�s interest when all he�d wanted was to impress The Actress. That she was intrigued buoyed him, giving him the courage to face her angry friends. They were angry! Every one of them wore his finest "firing squad" look. Percy faced them all with a disarming grin.
"You have me confused with your father confessor! I have no path toward enlightenment and am no speaker on either religious or political paths to follow. In fact, I have no political opinions whatsoever. Not allowed to have �em! My friend The Prince of Wales has stated categorically that I must never discuss politics; rather my house is a haven where he will never be bored." His reply had left everyone staring. Not a clenched fist in sight. Perhaps he might become a peace-keeper for Pitt � the yellow-livered first minister who�d allowed France to declare war on England even though every minister in his government had cried for him to make the first move for a year before war had been declared.
Percy fixed once more on The Actress�s eyes. Ah, he could spend hours plumbing their depths. How much deeper blue would they be after a few kisses? He extended his arm to her, then scooped her hand and placed it there, leading her away from the others. "When I look into your eyes, I have found where heaven lies." His muse was back � she lived within those fascinating eyes.
<Marguerite>
As Percy lead her away, Marguerite stole a glance back at the three men they left behind. Robespierre appear suspicious which was how he always appeared, Camille looked dumbstruck, and Chauvelin was livid. "I do believe you'll have Msr. Chauvelin perishing of fits before the night is through, my dear Percy," she laughed, when Chauvelin was out of ear-shot. Pity Suzanne hadn't been presence for it, it would have amused her to end to witness Robespierre's reaction to Percy's statement. Poor Suzanne, she would have to find some way of making today up to the girl.
"When I look into your eyes, I have found where heaven lies." Marguerite's thoughts immediately rushed back to the man on her arm, she smiled up at him.
"You never told me you were a poet, my dear Percy!" Marguerite exclaimed. "Did you come up with that just now?" Another layer to the mystery. If only they were alone, she might find out other facets to the mystery that stood beside her. She might even give him some small token of gratitude. She wonder if there was a way to get her guests to leave sooner, the discussions were getting stale and she had a new interest to pursue.
<Camille>
"Well... My G-God!" muttered Camille to his two companions. "Who, no, WHAT on G-God's name was that? That man, he is so..." He trailed off, watching the couple walk away. "Horrid wretch, I had heard such wonderful things about Mademoiselle's t-tastes, but this hardly seems to support it... Maxime?" He shook his head. "I know little about him, but he d-does not deserve her."
<Robespierre>
Robespierre watched the retreating pair and paused to wonder. �Mademoiselle Saint-Just is young and an actress, such behavior is common. This English lord is one of an endless stream of men who chase after her like duckling after their mother,� Robespierre turned to Camille. �I have been a long time patron of her salons and see such men come and go, it is expected and accepted that she indulge such... individuals. There will be another before long. There are always others.� He saw Chauvelin look quickly away. �No matter, you have met. Perhaps you may request a meeting with her outside this set so that such individuals won�t interfere.�
<Camille>
"I t-take comfort knowing she is only after money and a g-good time, then. I t-take back my previous comment, excellent t-taste. And for it," he sighed dramatically, "Yet another wonderful lady in P-Paris who is out of my league. P-Pity. She was very b-beautiful." He winked at Chauvelin and said innocently, "P-Perhaps she'd be more interested in someone like you, no? Ah well, thank you for introducing me, Maxime. I'll request some such meeting later t-tonight, when she's away from that little thing of hers."
<Chauvelin>
Chauvelin looked away He had been quiet as to not lose his temper around M. Robespierre and look more a fool. How he loathed the Englishmen, loathed him for everything he stood for, everything the name De Chauvelin once stood for. He had rejected it and yet, it seemed like it was the thing which made women fawn. He longed to strike the man, for his insolence to Camille, for his idiocy, and for Marguerite, but no, he couldn't.
He wasn't some love sick puppy who would behave like a brute to win a girl's favor even though watching that blaggard lead Mlle Saint Just away tore at his heart. Why, why did Fate tempt him like this? A beautiful woman who set his dreams on fire and she had to dangling uncouth foreigners. From M. Robespierre's words, he hoped the paragon was not speaking of him, if he was, he knew he must have made a wonderful impression, blast! At this rate, he'd be laughed back to Dauphine and all his years of sacrifice would be in vain. He smiled at Camille's wink, at least some people seemed kind. "Interested in someone like me? Ah, you are too kind but I am afraid I am a mere stargazer, content to look but not touch. I suppose creatures like that must have some use, some people have brains, some people have money, I guess it's one or the other. I am sure Mlle will enjoy speaking to you, after her... ummm work, some intelligent conversation would be welcome" he said with a grin, wanting to use some courser jokes but thinking better of it. "It's a pity, that's brute most likely has a wife at home waiting for him. It's men like that, men who have no sense of duty, who are rich enough not to know the cares of the people, who unnaturally live false gilded lives who are ruining the country. We need men whose minds aren't obsessed with frivolity, men who have worked honest days, they should be ruling the country. It's creatures like that who we call nobility, yet I see nothing noble about them" he said and then chuckled. "Dear me, I've forgotten I am not at work."
<Robespierre>
�Indeed,� Robespierre replied. �Though I might suggest saving some remarks for when you have left your hostess�s home.� Though her behavior had caused him reason to pause, Robespierre did have a degree of respect for the woman courageous enough to host such controversial meetings. Turning to Camille, �I might suggest approaching her after the matinee this evening. I�m certain she will have bored of her current entertainment by then.�
<Camille>
"Maxime, you know I have a g-great deal of t-trouble holding in my thoughts. I am sure it will b-be the d-death of me some day," he laughed, "B-but if I have something to say then I shall!" His thin lips twisted into his warped grin and shook his head. "B-but I think t-tonight I shall try to take your advice, my *esteemed* friend. What is she p-performing in now?"
*********************************************
<Percy>
�I am the poet who will immortalise you, as Solomon did in the Nubian princess in The Song of Songs.� Percy�s voice was a low whisper, an intimacy between them. �My love for you is on a plane quite different from that of these other . . .� � his wave took in everyone beyond the corner of the room where he had drawn her � �admirers.�
Percy closed his eyes as if he could read the words inside his eyelids, �You have made my heart beat faster, my sister, my bride; You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes.� Deftly, he moved his arm, felt Marguerite�s hand slide along the slubbed silk fabric of his coat and over the froth of lace at his cuff until their palms kissed. Heel to heel they rested together while her eyes continued to hold his. He saw the effect of the touch in her brightened glance and impulsively curled his fingers around hers.
�I can offer you more than Biblical worship, dear lady. Of course you inspire worship, but above everyone else I have the ability to adore you completely because I have no other occupation for my days. I shall spend all the rest of my days at your feet.� Impulsively he dropped to his knees before her, then seated himself next to the squatty chair in the corner. Situated next to the window, he knew this was where she sat with her breakfast. There was a cubby for her cup in the corner of the bookshelf and her copy of le Moniteur sat folded where she�d left it.
Marguerite giggled a little nervously, then sat down on the chair. Her skirts pillowed around him, one of his knees was covered by her organdie. Percy lifted a corner of it, raised it to his lips and kissed it, all the while watching her emotions flash in her eyes. The mantra he shot to her in wave after wave of adoration was I love you. I love you. She could not ignore the message; could she resist it?
<Marguerite>
Marguerite gazed down into the deep blue depth of Percy�s eyes, in them she found emotions that had never been found in the eyes of her previous lovers. Percy�s eye radiated love � she had seen it enough times but ever experienced it. She had watched others in love, but never let herself fall into such a trap � such things were dangerous. She had seen careers dashed to pieces because of love... but confronted with the intensity of the emotions that poured from Percy was overwhelming. It touched on something that she hadn�t known was missing. She couldn�t deny she was attracted to him, the merry, laughing eyes, the firm chin and strong mouth, his exquisite physique... She reached out and stroked his soft golden hair with her fingertips.
�I fear you exaggerate, my darling Percy,� Marguerite said coyly, leaning on the arm of the chair so that her face was closer to his. �Certainly you have other things to occupy your attention than to pay homage to so unworthy an idol... a wife, perhaps? Family?� Marguerite felt suddenly possessive, she felt unwilling to share him with a wife � if such a wife existed � he must be hers alone. If she did exist she was probably a dominating, frigid bitch or simpering simpleton who married for money, ignoring the wondrous specimen that sat before her. Isn�t that what the wealthy did, marry for money or title? Pity, she was ignoring the best part.
She leaned closer, her face a matter of inches away, she wanted to kiss him, drew closer before stopping herself, remembering the room full of people. But she didn�t draw back either. His eyes told her his love � how wonderful it was to be so loved! She wanted forever to be that light that lit his eyes. It was almost a tragedy that it was unlikely that she could return it, but she did not earn her reputation being a slave to emotions. Was it cruel to be incapable of returning such overpowering devotion?
Marguerite ran two fingers along his jaw - if only they were alone... �Are you so sure you wish to commit yourself to such devotion? I�m told I can be a very demanding mistress.�
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