The Midsummer Night's Ball
Part 4. Noussoir's Story
“Oh, look, Noussoir! Isn’t he one of yours?” asked the Princess Dolores in a mixture of disgust and cheer.
“My dear, Dolores, you truly have a strange sense of humor, finding enjoyment in seeing a hapless grown man lying pitifully on a ballroom floor, squirming... Eh bien! If it isn’t Gaston du Lac!”
“Qui est-ce? Noussoir? C’est toi?” asked Gaston from the floor.
“Whatever are you doing down there?” inquired Princess Dolores politely, as if it were the most natural thing.
“Who’s that? I know that voice! Dolores? Dolores?” said Gaston in a panic.
“That’s Princess Dolores to you, mundaner!” said Dolores, kicking the helpless Gaston in the ribs with her delicate foot. Noussoir, who had no love for the pathetic scoundrel, decided Dolores’ sadistic pleasure was justified.
“Please, Princess! Noussoir! You have to help me. I’m blind! I can’t see! He blinded me!”
“Who did?” asked Noussoir, bending down in an attempt to help his colleague get up. But when Noussoir saw that the deed would have involved getting wet with a fluid that was not just champagne, he decided otherwise.
“The Ethengar! Ta-ta-…”
“My dear,” explained Dolores, “There are Ethengar everywhere! Prince Urmahid and his party just arrived.”
“And I think Prince Ralindi is here as well, Dolores.”
“Tabak! Tabak! He did this to me!”
“I think Gaston has had too much to drink. Don’t you think, chérie?” suggested Noussoir.
“Yes, I agree.”
“No! Please! Don’t leave me! Noussoir!”
“À toût à l’heure, Gaston! Maybe I’ll ask one of the zombie garçons to help you up.”
“I don’t think the Belcadizans like undead servants, dear.”
“Oh, well, bad luck then!”
Noussoir and Dolores continued their meaningless banter as they walked on. When they were in the crowd (and away from the pathetic Gaston), the couple stopped and took stock of the party.
Princess Carnelia’s party was a definite success. No one in Glantri could ever hope to outdo the Princess of Belcadiz when it came to social extravaganzas. There were nobles, aristocrats, socialites, politicians, celebrities, luminaries and glitterati everywhere! Everywhere was a handsome face, a perfumed hand, a powdered cheek, a gleaming eye, a wagging tongue, a chiming laugh, a sparkling glass, a shimmering jewel, a sequined sleeve.
The Midsummer Night’s Ball has come to pass.
And yet, in the middle of the ballroom, where the guests were still mingling before the dancing begins, was the center of attention: a raven-haired beauty dressed in a scarlet dress. She was not Belcadizan, as many would have thought, for she stood tall amidst the several hidalgos that were vying for her attentions, like honeybees buzzing around a perfect red rose.
“Who do you think she is?” asked an entrance Noussoir, almost rhetorically.
“I don’t know! Why don’t you go find out?” insisted Dolores.
“Wouldn’t you mind, my dear?”
“No! I want to know as well. Go, Noussoir! Introduce yourself and find out!” ordered Dolores, her voice a peculiar mix of curiosity and jealousy.
Noussoir left Dolores’ side and headed towards the scarlet lady. As he approached, he checked her ear to see if they were pointed, but saw that it was covered by a fresh rose bud adorning her black hair. Her vestida was in the Belcadizan style, with its lace crafted in the design of roses and thorns.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle! I am Noussoir du Marais,” Noussoir said in all gallantry. He bowed down politely, and she offered a delicate hand to be kissed.
It smelled of fragrant roses.
