Most days after that Marie spent in Christian's apartment, talking to him of her troubles at home and what it was like in Montmarte back when the bohemian revolution was at its peak. Though he had not told her any more of his story and she would not pressure him. She wanted to tell him of her dream; that she suspected Satine was her mother but was scared that he would realise that he was her father.
It was the thing Marie feared the most.
Was Christian her father? Could she possibly be attracted to her real father? She shook away her thoughts in disgust; there was only one way to know for sure.
"Christian" she said one sunny day, lying on his bed as he sat at his typewriter, unsure of what to write. "What year was it that you met Satine?"
Christian looked away; he thought that he had gotton the message through to her that he didn't want to talk of Satine any longer; that it hurt too much.
"Christian? Please, this is of some importance" she pleaded, looking at him imploringly.
He sighed "why?"
She stopped. She didn't want to tell him, she didn't want him to know in any case-whether he was her father or not, she didn't want him to know that she was a product of his lovers career.
He looked at her, stood up and walked over to her and sat down on the floor, looking straight at her, his face only inches from hers.
"What's troubling you Marie?"
She looked away from that piercing gaze; those sweet hazel eyes, or were they grey? It was a colour caught between those two, neither hazel nor grey but then again, it was both.
"Marie?"
"Please, just tell me" she pleaded, looking down at her hands, fidgeting with her handkerchief.
"I met her in the summer of 1899, you know that, it was when I arrived in Paris. I told you," he said finally, confused of what she needed to know.
She sighed a sigh of relief; he was not her father. She was found on the doorstep in 1892, her birth date being February 14th 1892. He was not her father. She was born years before Satine and Christian met, now her father could be any man, but Christian. Then she thought of something. Satines journal. If she could find the months she was conceived then it could point the truth if she really was Satines daughter, the daughter of a courtesan.
"Where's Satine's diary?" she asked, still not meeting his gaze.
"What do you mean by all of this? I've told you so much and now you pry and when I ask questions you refuse to answer!" he raged, standing up and walking to his bedside table, picking up Satines diary. "I haven't even read this myself! Why are you so fascinated? What does this mean to you? Why do you want it?" he yelled, holding the diary out in front of her. He continued to yell in rage until she couldn't take it.
"Stop it! Stop it! She's my mother!" she screamed standing up, and upon realising what she said, dropping back onto the bed and bowing her head.
He looked at her, realisation dawning onto his face. He dropped the diary in shock and sat down next to her on the bed.
"What do you mean?" he asked, surprised and shocked at her statement.
She explained about the dream, the fight with her parents about her birth mother, the idea she had to prove that Satine was or wasn't her mother was to read the diary.
Christian looked at her, stunned that they had met.
"You don't need that diary, I can take one look at you and say you're related to her. It's something that's troubled me ever since I met you. When you first approached me I thought you were her; an angel come to tell me that everything would be alright," he said slowly.
"I was scared to tell you after what happened the morning after we met, how I kinda-"
"-Jumped on me?"
"Yes"
She returned home that evening, ready to face her parents, knowing that they wouldn't refuse her once she said the name of her mother.
She came into the kitchen and looked straight at them.
"I am going to ask you this and I don't want you to lie. Was my mother's name Satine?" she asked firmly, her hand gripping the tabletop in fear.
Catherine and Jean looked at her in wonderment, shocked at the mention of her others name.
Catherine stopped stirring the boiling pot and gasped, she grabbed at the table and concentrated on breathing for a moment; the very mention of the woman who tried to take her baby. Yes it wasn't Catherine's by birth, but she loved Marie just as much as any mother and the thought of losing her was frightening.
"Marie? Where did you hear this name?" jean said quietly.
"I had a dream, though I think it was a memory, you can tell whether it really happened or not and this did. Well anyway, you two were fighting, over me, about my birth mother Satine, I was only 6, and I was hiding under the kitchen table. Do either of you remember this?" Marie said slowly and clearly, gathering her thoughts.
Yvonne had entered and stood their gaping at Marie, who had already told her about the dream but still was shocked to hear her confront their parents over it.
Catherine sighed and looked away. She was caught between protecting and telling her daughter, she didn't want it resting on Marie's shoulders that she was the daughter of a whore, but she hated lying and treating her like a child. In a few years she'd be married with children.
"It's true" Catherine said quietly, a tear running down her face. She knew that after this Marie would just preoccupy herself with finding Satine, and what if she found her, what if she accepted her as her mother and they became the best of friends?
Marie sat down. She thought she was certain and yet it was a shock for her all the same.
"When we found you, there was a note explaining her situation and everything" Catherine continued getting up and searching though the drawers of the kitchen, full of papers and things Marie had never bothered herself with. She pulled out what they thought was the bottom of the drawer-but it was a piece of wood, hiding things of her parents. She pulled out a couple papers and a gold heart-shaped locket and handed them one by one to Marie.
Marie looked at the things that lay in her lap and she picked up the first note, it was the one that was with her when she was found.
Monsieur/Madame,
I have seen you two with your child and seen how loving and caring you are of her. That's why I'm asking you please look after this child.
My name was Marguerite Richàrd, but I am known to most as Satine. I am a dancer and courtesan at the Moulin Rouge in the bohemian town of Montmarte, on the hill that your street is quite near to. If I had any choice in this matter I would keep my dear child but it is not my decision.
I am a streetwalker, a prostitute, and yet I haven't gotten pregnant before, even though I have been in the business since I was thirteen (I am now 18). If you have ever visited the moulin rouge I am known as one of the "Diamond Dogs" and my manager says I have a lot of potential as a head dancer in the club.
But a new actor and dancer came to the moulin and he changed everything for me. I fell in love and I felt true happiness. This baby is the result of my happiness and since my profession destroys love, we decided it wouldn't work out. I cried for days after this and felt sicker each day. Then I realised I was with child.
For nine months I have carried this baby, knowing I will not be allowed to keep her. My employer/manager/advisor, Harold Zidler, told me to start looking for a kind loving family who will take this amazing girl in. I would walk from Montmarte on all my time off, looking for a family that would love her as if she were their own. I'm sorry if this was an imposition, and if you cannot or will not care for her then just send for me and I shall take her to an orphanage.
I wish with all my heart that you take her in, I grew up in an orphanage and I know it just ends any girl back on the streets. They have no titles, no family to guide them and women generally have no other career options. Most orphans end up turning to prostitution. I never wished to be a whore, I've always wanted to be an actress, so please don't think I had a choice in my professions-at least the moulin rouge is more than a common brothel. I don't want my girl ending up like me: a sad woman who cannot love or keep her own children.
Keep her safe,
And please, I would like to call her 'Marie'
Mademoiselle Satine Richàrd
14 Moulin Rouge, Main Street Montmarte
Marie gaped at the letter, unsure how to react. More than ever now she wanted to know what had happened in the end, to her mother.
She shuffled through the rest of the papers then picked up the locket, there was a piece of paper titled 'Locket' underneath.
She picked it up and read…
Locket,
This locket was a gift from the girl's father to me, it is solid gold and I still don't know how he got the money to buy it. He gave it to me when he asked me to elope and run away from the Moulin Rouge. I refused as an actors wages are next to nothing and my wages were getting higher and higher at the moulin. No other dance hall pays as high and I was becoming lead dancer soon and head courtesan.
I now wish I had said yes, even though we would've had very little money I would have been allowed to keep my little girl, she is the world to me.
You probably wont want to tell her the truth about her birth mother until she is quite older, old enough to understand these things anyway. So I ask if you ever tell her about her mother and her profession, give her this locket and tell her that no matter what I'll always be with her, even though I only saw you as a baby, with your sparkling blue eyes and dark hair on your head.
I shall not go on about you as a baby as you were too beautiful to describe
I wish I could know what you turn out to look like; would you have my red hair or your father's dark brown? Will you keep your pale skin or look Argentinean like him?
I only wish I could've raised you.
But I hope we do meet in the future.
I love you my dear Marie
Mademoiselle Satine Richàrd
14 Moulin Rouge, Main Street Montmarte
Marie looked closely at the locket. It was heart shaped and dusty. She wiped the dust off and opened it. Inscribed was "To my beloved, Satine, may this locket always remind you of our love" and on the other half there was a photo of a beautiful woman, with long wavy hair and pale skin. She was very elegant and sophisticated but there was a glint of cheekiness in her eye. It was like looking in a mirror in a couple years for Marie, what she would look like when she was fully grown. Standing next to her was a man, tall and olive skinned. He had short dark hair and dark eyes. He was obviously foreign and from what Marie gathered from the letter, Argentinean? Where was that country? She didn't know.
This was a photo of her mother and father, an amazingly attractive pair of people, which was surprising as they were supposed to be poor.
She looked up at Marie and Jean, not sure what to say.
"I suppose you want to try to find her now?" Jean said tentatively.
"Who?" Marie said, surprised.
"Satine, your birth mother" jean said, confused on who she thought her might've meant.
"Oh, no, she's dead. I already knew" Marie answered. Catherine and jean looked surprised at her knowledge of Satine.
"How did you know?" jean asked, unsure.
"Umm, I met someone who knew her and her told me about her. I don't know how or when but I know she's dead" she said flatly. She looked around at her parent's shocked faces, unsure what to say next.
Then it came to her.
"Thankyou, for finally telling the truth" she said looking at Catherine, her face wet with tears. Marie stood and walked to her, and hugged her adoptive mother.
