The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen

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СКАЧАТЬ pause, Madame de Saint-Étienne turned to her. “My dear, have you met the Baron von Fuchsburg?”

      “No, I—” Babette began.

      “Yes,” Korbinian said quickly, “at Monsieur William Varanus’s ball a fortnight ago.” He turned to Babette and added, “You recall, Mademoiselle, your grandfather introduced us.”

      Clever scoundrel indeed.…

      “Yes, of course,” Babette said demurely. “What a pleasure, Baron. Have you been in Paris long?”

      “Only the week,” Korbinian said.

      “How odd. I am certain I did not see you at any of the social events until now.”

      “No,” Korbinian said, “I fear that I was otherwise engaged until tonight. But I am pleased to have completed my business. I am now entirely at your service…Madame de Saint-Étienne,” he added slyly, turning toward the lady to give the impression that it was she he intended to charm.

      Madame de Saint-Étienne smiled at him, then at Babette, and said, “Mademoiselle Varanus, I think I shall go and find your father. He is surely wondering where you are. I am certain you and the Baron can look after one another for a few moments.”

      “Of course, Madame,” Babette said. “Merci.”

      “Madame, a pleasure,” Korbinian said, bowing.

      Madame de Saint-Étienne looked at them carefully for a moment, as if to say “behave”. Then she spun about and set off through the crowd, cooing in delight at each guest she encountered. It would take her at least a few minutes to find Father, Babette noted.

      Good.

      “What brings you to Paris, Baron?” Babette asked coyly.

      “Why does anyone come to Paris?” Korbinian asked.

      “For the culture?”

      “To find a wife,” Korbinian said.

      “A noble aspiration,” Babette said. “Every young man should find a wife. It provides a certain stability in his life.”

      “And do you have a great deal of experience in that regard?” Korbinian asked.

      “None at all. My mind is unclouded by the frivolities of such an experience.”

      They shared a quiet smile at this.

      “Really, why did you come?” Babette asked softly.

      “To see you, of course,” Korbinian said. “Why did you need to ask such a thing?”

      “You ought not to speak that way,” Babette said, though she was rather pleased that he did.

      “Why would you believe me to be a man who does what he ought to do?” Korbinian asked, laughing softly.

      “Less belief, Baron, than hope,” Babette said. “One hopes that a man such as yourself does what he ought to do.”

      “Such as?” Korbinian asked.

      “To marry, for example,” Babette said. “You have come to Paris to find a wife. A man such as you ought to find one.”

      “Perhaps I already have,” Korbinian said.

      “That would be presumptuous of you,” Babette said. “Why, you have been in Paris for less than two weeks. That is insufficient time to find a wife. A proper one at least.”

      “What makes a proper wife?” Korbinian asked, his eyes twinkling.

      Babette thought for a short while and replied, “The ability to stand upright and to communicate by means of language.”

      “What a curious outlook you have,” Korbinian said. “That would seem to be the most fundamental criteria for a human being.”

      “Clearly you have not been in Society long, nor have you any familiarity with politics.”

      Babette looked at Korbinian, challenging him to dispute the point with her. Korbinian merely cocked his head at her, working to hide his smile. It would not do to be seen as cheerful in public, Babette reasoned. People might talk.

      “I concern myself merely with matters of war…and love,” Korbinian said. “Politics and Society are terribly boring to me.”

      Babette looked into Korbinian’s eyes and asked, “War and love? Are the two often in one another’s company?”

      “Why, they are almost the same thing!” Korbinian replied.

      “I do not think,” a familiar voice said from over Babette’s shoulder, “that war is a suitable topic for a young woman.”

      Alfonse!

      For a moment Babette’s expression was clouded with fury and frustration. She quickly calmed herself and turned around, putting on her best polite smile. There stood Alfonse, resplendent as ever, towering over her like a cockerel come to claim mastery over one of his hens.

      “Ah, Captain des Louveteaux,” Babette said, “a pleasure as always.”

      “Yes,” Alfonse said, “a pleasure Mademoiselle Varanus.”

      He did not sound very convinced of it himself. Why the devil did he have to keep bothering her when his heart was clearly for another? Everything about his manner announced that he despised her, and yet here he was, again, trying to assert his claim on her.

      “I do not agree,” Korbinian said.

      Alfonse snapped his head around and looked at Korbinian.

      “You…what?”

      “I do not agree,” Korbinian repeated. “About war. I think that it is most suitable for young ladies. After all, a young lady will become a bride. Then she will become a mother. She may become the mother of a son. And then one day her son may become a soldier and go off to war. And is it not terrible that the only time a woman may think upon war is when she fears that her son will die in it?” Korbinian shook his head. “Most dreadful, I think.”

      “I did not ask your opinion, Monsier,” Alfonse said, drawing himself up. Tall as Korbinian was, Alfonse still managed to tower over him.

      “Baron,” Korbinian said.

      “What?” Alfonse demanded.

      “I am a baron, Monsieur.” Korbinian’s polite smile was a devious contrast to his commanding tone, which made Babette almost giggle with delight. “You should address me properly.”

      “Very well, Baron,” Alfonse growled. “But I am no monsieur either. I am the son of the Count des Louveteaux.”

      “Ah!” Korbinian cried, clapping his hands in delight. “And is your father yet living?”

      “He is!” Alfonse said proudly, his tone СКАЧАТЬ