Odette had trained Rosita the best she could, giving her detailed advices when the ballerina needed them. Rosita drank her words as if she was a queen. It was flattering, but Odette kept wondering about her legitimacy on advising her. In ten years, dance had evolved, and Odette was conscious her dancing style could be getting outdated. Yet, the young woman would keep inviting herself in hers and Félicie's private training, to the point where Félicie herself would know the choreography and try to dance it. Not that Odette allowed it, there were many moves a child this age should not be performing yet before proper training.
This didn't last though, as weeks then months passed, official repetitions multiplied themselves and only the week-end became free for their private training. Odette was fine with it. Rosita only needed to train on her own now, and in the meantime, the assistant could actually try to push for something she had been thinking about for a while. But for that, she needed Louis Mérante's approval, which was easier said than done knowing her quiet behaviour every time he was around. Lord, how she wished she had more composure and determination in that regard. Or that he could be less intimidating.
On a Friday Morning of early May, all teachers were reunited by the Ballet Master and the Director of the Opéra. It was a long ago planned meeting, happening twice a year, but it was the first time Odette would partake in it. It was held in the biggest classroom, which was Madame Rochefort's, and chairs were already set in a round figure in the middle of it when Odette entered. Several punctual teachers were discussing, sometimes mimicking dance moves to punctuate their explanations. Odette tensed a bit and took a discrete, deep breath. Come on. She belonged here now.
"Odette!" Madame Rochefort's voice called from the side.
"Madame Rochefort," Odette saluted before stopping briefly. "Monsieur Mérante."
"Good morning, Madame," he saluted her politely, his eyes ever so shiny.
"Dear me Odette, you will have to call me by my name one of these days," the older teacher sighted. "I am glad you came anyway."
"I hope it was the right choice," the young woman muttered.
She knew there were a few teachers that didn't see well her position considering her handicap. She didn't let it get to her, yet wouldn't enjoy a confrontation.
"You have your place here," Louis Mérante frowned. "No one should be questioning that."
That man was too perceptive. She barely nodded before quietly standing next to Madame Rochefort.
"I wish everyone would be on time though," the woman muttered, currently fanning herself lazily.
Everyone was not, of course. It took fifteen more minutes before they were all seated and Auguste Vaucorbeil would open the meeting with revenue numbers from last season, as well as a reminder of rules at the Opéra, both for students and the Troup. He mentioned a decreased level of water under the Opéra being adjusted in the incoming week, which made Odette blink twice. She thought she knew the place by heart now, why didn't she know about that secret and giant water stash under the stage?
Then Louis Mérante talked about the season to come and its numerous ballets. They were aiming for eight different shows, which was quite consequential. They had done six the year before. He listed six selected ballets, three original compositions of his own, one made of original choreographies from the Troup, and two traditional shows, which were Swan Lake and the Nutcracker. It would be easier to deal with all the ballets if students already knew about one of them, and the Nutcracker was always a successful piece at the end of the year.
Now was the time to pick the last two shows nonetheless. It was apparently customary for the teacher staff to select one or two pieces, under the Ballet Master approval of course. Odette was quite surprised by such a possibility, and could feel again in her the need to suggest that idea that had been all over her mind for a while.
"What about including another show with the youngest dancers?" a young Troup dancer, who was also teaching the youngest boys of the school, suggested. "The Nutcracker is quite an opportunity for them, but the public is also very fond of seeing kids perform."
"I don't know many ballets for children," another teacher murmured thoughtfully. "But I guess you are right. They DO love them."
"Maybe we could get all classes to participate," the Director suggested. "Not only Ballet students, but also Music students."
"That would probably be a nightmare to organise," Louis Mérante muttered, legs crossed and visibly hesitant.
"One or several of us could take the organisation in charge," the young male teacher suggested.
"I like that," the Ballet Master approved. "Who has knowledge of ballets for children then? I must admit it is completely out of my league."
Silence fell, faces contorted into thinking, a few ideas were suggested. The Ballet Master frowned upon most, mostly because they were very short ones, while they needed at least a three hours show. Suggestions were made to propose a suite of little ballets for children, and they thought about it for a few seconds.
"We could also adapt one of the existing traditional Ballets at child level," Odette finally dared suggesting in the silence.
All eyes turned to her and she silently battled against herself to remain impassive.
"What do you have in mind my dear?" Madame Rochefort asked curiously.
"I see children outside of class, they keep sneaking into backstage when the Troup is training. Some of them have started mimicking whole sections of Swan Lake, and I'm pretty sure some of the fourteen years old boys are being trained by Rudolph to learn The Fool," she revealed. "Maybe giving them their own version of Swan Lake would arrange everyone."
All teachers seemed to consider her words carefully. Louis Mérante's eyes were particularly sparkling as he contemplated her.
"I like this idea," Madame Rochefort suddenly said. "Louis, would you have some time to work on that in term of simplified choreography?"
"I would not," he answered. "And I won't need to. I believe you and Madame Odette will be more than capable in doing so, if you accept the task."
Both women exchanged a look, and Madame Rochefort hesitated.
"We can do it," Odette assured him, aiming a determined look towards Madame Rochefort. "We will be fine. We know all students since we handle all bar and centre classes, it will be easy to determine how to adjust each role for each age."
"We do indeed," Madame Rochefort approved, turning to the rest of teachers. "If you all agree with it."
Some agreeing mumbles were heard, mostly just nodded.
"I can help too if you need," the young male teacher mentioned.
"That would be nice Arthur, thank you," Louis Mérante nodded.
"Perfect then," Auguste Vaucorbier said, moving forward to lay his elbows on his knees. "This leaves us with one last ballet to plan. Any ideas?"
"Really?" Rosita whispered excitedly in the backstage, while other dancers repeated the ball scene on stage. "Dios, what a wonderful idea, Odette!"
"You mustn't tell the students," Odette murmured, having already checked around for any eavesdropping dancer. "Especially not Félicie, she is completely incapable of keeping such a secret to her friends."
"Of course," Rosita murmured, keeping an eye on the ballet unfolding. "I can't wait to see her face."
"Tomorrow at barre and centre session, we will tell them," Odette smiled. "Almost you, ready?"
"Yes," Rosita nodded decisively. "Embrace the world, cut the air."
"Yes," Odette approved before taking a step back. "Good luck," she murmured as the young woman jumped on stage, full Odile, a seductive smile on her face.
She had chosen to watch the repetition instead of stretching and training. Rosita had not asked anything but she had felt the nervousness emanating from her. Louis Mérante and the Ensemble teacher were attentively observing the dancers from their seats in the public, and she was quick to guess today was a pivotal repetition for all dancers.
Rosita finished her movement and stopped with all other dancers, each breathing hard, ready to listen to both teachers' feedbacks. Odette knew Rosita had been excellent. There was still some work to do on her arabesques, but the young woman was a phenomenal workaholic, and all her progress at impersonating Odile clearly showed now. Odette felt her heart clenching and let go of a trembling but discrete sight. She had been rooting for the woman. She reminded her so strongly of Régine's dancing back then…
"That was some very good work, ladies and gentlemen," came the Ballet Master's voice from the public. "I am really impressed with the progress that has been made. Charles, you will need to work on your arms, they are still a bit stiff, and everything about Von Rothbart is about his arms, as you know, but you really step up on your presence on stage, good job."
"Joseph, very good Prince, remarkable progress on your portés as well. Keep up that good work," the Ensemble teacher's voice added.
The young men nodded before congratulating themselves silently, a bit out of breath.
"Rosita," Louis Mérante finally said. "I do not know how you did it, but you did. And I must especially congratulate you, for you have perfectly embodied Odile. Now I can see the difference with your Odette. Bravo, Mademoiselle, you are very close to perfection."
Blushing deeply, the young woman saluted timidly, gracefully receiving her colleagues' admirative smiles.
"Thank you Monsieur," she breathed.
"You can all go eat now, we will see you tomorrow for the lake scene," the Ballet Master said, walking down the aisle towards the stage.
The Troup Dancers immediately rushed out of the place, congratulating each other and laughing freely, all tension from the exercise forgotten. On stage, Rosita took a few seconds to stretch her body and wait for Louis Mérante to reach her. Her murmured a few amused words to her and she laughed, before walking towards backstage. Odette quietly hid herself in the shadow, careful not to be seen. She wanted to congratulate the young woman too, but would rather not do it in front of Louis Mérante. Maybe if Rosita would join Félicie and her on their private training session in the evening, she could tell her how good she had been…
"No really," Louis Mérante was saying. "I saw what you did with your hands, it is really a remarkable detail, I never thought about it. What gave you the idea?"
Rosita opened her mouth as she was noticing Odette standing silently behind him, but closed it upon seeing the frenetic head shake the woman was giving her.
"Well," she said, hesitating. "It is quite a long story, I am afraid I don't have the time to tell you all, sorry. I must meet with Madame Périssé right now."
"I see. We will talk later then. Take care, Rosita," he said, before bowing to her.
"You too Monsieur," she answered, saluting back.
She waited until he closed the door behind him before turning to Odette, eyebrows high.
"What was that?" She asked with amusement. "I was going to flatter you, you know."
"I know. Thank you. But not in front of him, if you don't mind," Odette rushed awkwardly.
"Not in front of him?" Rosita repeated with a small laugh. "You know he worships you right?"
"Worship is a strong word," Odette muttered. "He sees me as a dancer, that's all."
"Yes," Rosita nodded. "And so do I. You are the reason I did so well today. You taught me dancing in a way I had never learnt before. Monsieur Mérante could really benefit from your dancing insights too."
Odette didn't answer immediately, suddenly wondering why she was so adamant into avoiding the intimidating man. Well, the answer was in her question.
"Sometimes I feel like he sees someone else in me," she murmured embarrassingly. "I am not comfortable with that, you see. I would rather he didn't get too close to me."
"Who do you think he sees?" Rosita replied, surprised and thoughtful.
"Ballerinas. Those he has danced with, or a reflection of them," Odette sighted. "He also behaves around me as if I was one, which I'm not."
Rosita remained silent, observing the other woman, obviously disagreeing.
"I will not tell him you helped me if that is your preference, rest assured," she finally smiled to Odette. "But there is something I wanted to do to thank you for your help, and I would like you not to refuse that."
Odette hesitated.
"Hum," she murmured. "What do you have in mind?"
"I will tell you tonight, if you will be training in the same place, as usual?" She inquired.
"I will be, with Félicie."
"Fantastic. I will see you then," the Prima smiled, before elegantly bowing. "I must take my leave now, I do have to meet with Madame Périssé."
"Before you go," Odette stopped her, smiling kindly. "You did very good, Rosita, on stage. I am proud I gave you some of my Odile."
The young woman blushed and delicately hugged Odette.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She didn't dare say how much this simple sentence meant to her.
He could hear Auguste's voice but had trouble discerning his words. For once, the man was talking in a low voice and his office door was closed. Louis Mérante even hesitated to knock and enter like he always did. Maybe he was in good company… He hated intruding on that kind of scene, and God knew they were a lot of them around the place. Artists liked to live day-by-day. He suddenly heard a woman's voice answering and immediately recognized it. He knocked and entered.
Auguste looked tired, sitting at his desk, deeply absorbed in a paper. Facing him, Madame Rochefort was absently brushing her dress.
"Good evening," Louis Mérante said to warn again of his presence. "Am I interrupting?"
"Actually, it's good you are here Louis," Madame Rochefort said, turning barely to give him a weak, trembling smile.
"You look dreadful, Madame," he commented, observing trails of tears on her face. "Here," he added, holding his clean tissue to her.
"Thank you," she sighted, looking devastated. "You shall sit, my friend."
He complied, starting to feel worried.
"What is happening?" He demanded, turning to Auguste's grim face.
"Louis," he replied, all drama forgotten. "Marie Taglioni died one week ago. We just received word."
He felt a pang in his heart.
"I see," he muttered, embracing the room's atmosphere. "What happened?"
"She was too sick," Madame Rochefort murmured. "I had just sent her my best birthday wishes, she would have turned eighty one day later."
"It is a great loss for Romantic Ballet," the Ballet Master agreed, saddened.
He had always enjoyed her light spirit, and the way students adored her. She had been quite a teacher at the Opéra too. Odette had taken so much after her, despite being out of the Troup for ten years. Oh God, who was going to tell Odette?
"That is not all, Louis," Auguste Vaucorbeil added. "Louise is leaving us."
"What?"
He looked at the woman as if a second head had sprouted from her.
"I am sorry Louis," she said. "The friend who wrote to me about Marie's death was also informing me that she was herself retiring, and that Milan's Ballet Company wanted me as their new Second Ballet Master."
"And you want to accept it?" He said, incredulous. "I thought you liked it here."
"I do. But… I miss Italy. And so does Filippo. He has been asking me to go back… I think it is what would be best for my family, especially since my contract here ends in one month," she explained carefully, a sorry look on her face. "But you needn't worry. Odette will be perfect to replace me. She is patient and has very good reading on the kids. All dancers listen to her advices now, you know. The Opéra will be fine."
"You accepted to create a choreography for all students of the Opéra just seven hours ago," he growled, suddenly stressed. "Surely, you can't expect Odette alone will create it?"
"I am leaving in a month, Louis," Madame Rochefort said firmly, looking him in the eye. "This leaves us plenty of time to adjust Swan Lake with Odette. She will replace me then, and she will be able to carry it on her own. It was her idea, after all."
"Wait, who said I was promoting Odette to a teaching position?" The Director protested, hesitant and a bit lost.
"I am," the Ballet Master immediately countered, glaring at him then at his female colleague. "This is extremely disheartening, Louise. I was counting on you to guide her. To prepare her for that teaching position."
Louise Rochefort suddenly stood, and her eyes were shooting lightning.
"Now, you listen to me Louis Alexandre Mérante. You act around as if you are a Life Master more than a Ballet Master. Odette was Marie's favourite, our sweet Marie, and while you were strutting around in Russia under Marius's Mastering, Odette was here, and she was flourishing. Marie Taglioni died a week ago, but when I look at Odette teaching, it is her I see, it is her legacy. She is stronger than anyone, and she has more resources than I will ever have. If you were less protective of her, you would be thanking me for leaving that position to her in one month. God knows she deserves it, for she should have been teaching years ago. So now you will stop that teenager nonsense and let the woman grow her own greatness, you hear me?"
"I have been nothing but supportive of her," Louis Mérante backfired, outraged. "I gave the assistant position to her, I did everything I could to keep her child in the Coryphées despite their lack of resources, I gave them a room at the Opéra. Why are you accusing me of Life Mastering exactly?"
"Because you did not do all that out of pure kindness, Louis," she answered calmly. "And right now, you are letting your emotions take the better of you. We are both experienced dancers and teachers, and usually you immediately trust me when I hint on someone to be promoted, like you did for Arthur or Joséphine. I beg you now, trust Odette like I do."
"I trust her," he said grimly. "I always have. I never wished to diminish her, Louise. Your words wound me and I do not understand what they mean."
"Louis… You criticize me for not having prepared her enough for the position I occupy and yet you barely came to watch our classes. You have no care for my own family preoccupations, you only have concerns for Odette's well-being. Anyone would see you are deeply infatuated with her, but I am your friend, and as such it is my duty to remind you to take a step back," she finished, both with pity and severity. "Odette has been ready for that position even before she became my assistant."
Silence filled the room, and all three artists stood there for a few seconds like statues.
"Am I really that obvious?" Louis Mérante finally murmured, looking defeated.
"You are obvious to your friends, Louis," Auguste replied gently. "And they keep wondering what you are waiting for, honestly."
"Auguste," Madame Rochefort scolded him. "Don't taunt the man."
"There is nothing to wait for," Louis Mérante said, avoiding both their stares. "It is unrequited."
Both gaped out of surprise.
"Wait, what?" Madame Rochefort exclaimed, all her anger forgotten.
"You cannot be serious," Auguste protested. "Did you actually ask her?"
"Yes. She was… not open to anything," he muttered, visibly struggling against the memory.
"Oh dear," Louise Rochefort murmured, initiating a move to physically comfort him before coming around. "I am sorry, Louis. I honestly would have never guessed. She is a very mysterious woman indeed."
"It doesn't matter," the man shook his head. "I understand what you mean now. Thank you for reminding me, Louise. And I am sorry to see you go. You are honestly a dear friend to me," he sighted.
"Oh Louis," the older woman simply said, before delicately hugging his hands. "You are a dear friend to me too. And I am not gone yet, okay?"
"Not yet."
Rosita had managed to have Félicie help her carry one of the two boxes into the far away classroom. The girl excitedly asked about what they contained but the woman kept displaying a mysterious smile with no answer.
Odette joined them when both were working on arabesques from Odette scene at the lake. Those were very hard movements but somehow, Félicie really wanted to master them.
"Good evening," she said as she entered. "Don't you have something more to your level to train, Félicie?"
"Oh come on Odette!" The girl panted in the middle of her slow leg push. "I'm just training in advance for the day I will dance Odette!" She gave the woman a wicked grin.
Odette laughed briefly, shaking her head.
"Really now? You are that confident, ain't you chiquita?" Rosita exclaimed, one leg in the air behind her, closely watching the kid.
"It seems so funny to dance with all the little swans, I can't wait," Félicie simply answered joyfully.
"And what are those?" Odette asked, spotting both boxes in front of her.
"Gifts," Rosita simply answered, coming back to first position slowly. "For Félicie and you."
"For me too?" the girl realised, forgetting about the arabesque all of a sudden. "That's so neat!"
The Prima Ballerina swiftly joined her and Odette in front of the boxes, and mentioned Félicie that she could start opening one of them. The girl didn't have to be told twice.
"Oh wow," she murmured, as she got out of the box a cute green leotard with ribbons about her size, and its assorted little skirt. "That's… a training leotard? It's so cute…"
"It belonged to me when I was younger, it was a gift from my father. As you can see, I do not really fit in it anymore… It will be more useful to you now," the young woman finished with a smile.
Odette frowned, uncomfortable. After all these years, she was still not used to charity. But Félicie really needed new clothes…
"I was planning on leaving those clothes in the students' changing rooms, but I really would appreciate if you could be first to pick among them," the ballerina added, kneeling next to Félicie and reaching for a fluttering pink dress with ribbons. "I also put normal clothes in there. This dress may be a bit big for you right now, Félicie, but you are growing very fast, I have no doubt you could wear it soon."
"Oh god, this is so awesome," the girl muttered, her eyes shining like it was Christmas day. "You are the best, Rosita! Odette, look, look, I can have a new dress!"
"I see that," the woman smiled with amusement. "It is a very nice gift, thank you Rosita. Félicie was indeed of dire need of new clothes."
"It is my pleasure," the Prima answered peacefully, before dragging the second box towards them. "This one contains clothes of adult size I cannot wear, mortly because I've grown bulkier and I don't fit in them anymore," she grimaced. "You are slightly shorter than me and you have a thinner body, they should suit you really well."
"Well," Odette murmured hesitantly. "I can have a look, but I'm really picky about clothes for myself, so…"
"It's okay," the ballerina said, opening the box. "Go on."
Odette slowly went to the ground, laid her cane next to her and got the clothes out one by one. A few leotards, black, dark blue, white, pink. Several thick and opaque tights, sometimes with half covering feet. A light knee-length red skirt for training. A cute but short forest green skirt with its petticoat (was that knee-length? How tendentious). Two old corsets, assorted to the green skirt and petticoat. A few whitish chemises and other accessories were mixed at the bottom of the box.
A long blue dress with a wide neckline and mid sleeves was carefully tucked inside some paper on one side.
"I wore that twice," Rosita sighted with regret. "It is… a beautiful dress, really, but way too formal for me at the time. And now, it is too tight. I thought this one in particular would look really good on you, Odette."
"It is indeed beautiful…" the assistant murmured, impressed. "It must have cost a fortune though."
"I am a Prima Ballerina. You better than anyone knows that a lot of men are ready to offer anything to us for some kind of favour," the young woman grimaced. "This was one of those gifts, and the man who bought it was actually a decent fellow. Too bad, he is still in Berlin and I am not," she grinned.
"I see," Odette answered with amusement. "Well, there are actually quite a good amount of decent clothes in there. I am surprised you used to wear such dark colours."
"Yes," Rosita sighted. "I had a… dark clothes period at a time. Fortunately, I evolved."
"You have to try on that blue dress, Odette!" Félicie exclaimed with excitement, in the middle of replacing her training skirt with the beautiful pink dress.
"Félicie, we are in the middle of a classroom and you are half undressed," Odette protested, aghast. "Where is your decency?"
"Oh come on, it's the same when we change in the locker room," the girl shrugged, trying to find where to tie her ribbons.
"Here, let me help you," Rosita murmured tenderly. "I would love to see you in the blue dress as well, Odette."
"Yes," the assistant muttered. "Well, I will try it in in the comfort of my room if you don't mind."
"Sure," Rosita smiled, finishing a ribbon tie on Félicie, who looked delighted by her new dress. "You can take the whole box with you and give me back what you don't want once you have tried them on, I do not mind at all."
"If you insist," Odette murmured, softening in front of Félicie dancing a few moves in her dress. "Thank you for that gift in any case, It is really kind of you."
"I am glad you like it," Rosita answered, helping her putting back all clothes in their boxes. "To me it is really not much compared to everything you shared that helped me become a better ballerina."
Odette blushed and nodded.
'You do know most of what you have achieved, you owe it to yourself above all, right?" She mentioned, watching Félicie train her pirouettes, he dress floating around her.
"I do, yes," Rosita smiled.
Class had just ended and all students were ecstatic. The boys were already fighting to guess which one of them would be the Prince, or the dark Sorcerer, or the Fool, or the Friend. The girls were murmuring excitedly about the Swan Princess, of course. Both teacher and assistant were glad they had kept the surprise for end of class. They certainly would have had trouble to teach if they had mentioned the Students Special Swan Lake at the beginning of it.
"Come on students, get in order!" Madame Rochefort called, clapping for quietness. "I know you are all very excited, but you need to hold your horses a bit, for the Ballet has not been adapted for you yet. As such, you will not get any news from us about main characters before some time. This said, I wish you all a nice week-end, and I will see you on Monday."
Chatter resumed with even more intensity as all kids went out slowly, excitation on the border of their lips.
"Well, they certainly liked the idea," Madame Rochefort laughed, turning to her assistant.
"I cannot say I am surprised," Odette murmured, nervously squeezing her cane.
"And you," Madame Rochefort said, turning towards their surprised guest, who had arrived in the middle of class to install himself next to the pianist, silently taking notes in a notebook. "Did you see interesting things from here?"
"I did actually," Louis Mérante answered, his eyes still focused on the notebook. "There are two fourteen-years old girls that seem to have the right discipline and energy to be candidates for the Swan Princess."
"Yes, Zélie and Adélaïde. Good girls, both of them, and close friends with that," approved Madame Rochefort.
"What do you think, Madame Odette?" the man asked, still looking at his notebook. "Which one should be our main ballerina?"
Odette took a breath.
"I agree on both girls, they are good dancers, and complementary. Zélie should be Odette, and Adélaïde, Odile."
Both eyes went to her.
"Why separate Odette from Odile?" Louis Mérante asked with curiosity.
"Because dancing both Odile and Odette demands a maturity that no student of this age possesses. It is a difficult thing to embody a dance style for one character, two is another level," she justified, remembering how hard mastering Odette was.
"That's rather wise, indeed," approved Madame Rochefort with a smile. "What do you think Louis?"
The man remained silent a few seconds, observing Odette curiously.
"I suppose you would know what you are speaking about, having trained for both characters yourself," he finally admitted.
"Louis!" Madame Rochefort protested, flabbergasted. "Some tact maybe?"
"You are right," Odette countered, a defying spark in her eyes. "I know that Ballet by heart. I will have no trouble adjusting it for the students."
"I'm sure you both will," Louis Mérante replied, his eyes furrowing.
"Why are you doubting us then?" Odette said curtly.
"What makes you think I am doubting you?" the Ballet Master protested, surprised.
"You never come to our classes usually. Yet today, you are here. Why?" The assistant asked, her blue eyes shining icily.
Silence fell, and Madame Rochefort awkwardly started to fan herself, not daring to speak. Louis Mérante closed his notebook and stood, calmly straightening his clothes.
"I came here not to intrude into your preparations of Swan Lake," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I came to observe you specifically."
"… I see. Is my position threatened?" She asked, refraining from panicking.
"On the contrary. You can tell her now, Louise," he added, looking a bit desperately towards the silent woman.
Odette turned apprehensively. She had no idea what was happening and she was getting really worried.
"Yes… well," the woman murmured. "No need to raise tension like that, you know."
She took a moment, looking at the ceiling, then stared at the other woman straight in the eyes.
"I have been offered a Second Ballet Master position in Milan. I am going to accept it, so now I have a month to make sure you are ready to replace me, because of course you should be the one to take on my position. I believe you are more than ready, but Monsieur Mérante here wanted to make sure you are fine with it," she ended with a smile.
Odette stood frozen, and found she had lost her voice.
"You don't have to accept immediately," the Ballet Master murmured, carefully watching her face. "You can take some time to think about it."
Madame Rochefort sighted and went to open the window, letting fresh air flow in.
"Anyways," she said. "We will use the time left to really set Swan Lake for the kids together. Louis and Arthur will give you a hand once I'm gone."
"I accept the position," Odette simply said, studying Louis Mérante's face in turn. "Thank you."
He nodded, stoic.
"I will go warn Auguste about it. We will make an official communication at the end of next week. If you ever feel you would like to step down, you will have until Thursday night to do so, Madame," he respectfully bowed before slowly making his way towards the door.
Odette nodded and looked at him as he was leaving. He was behaving strangely, as if his body was under some kind of pain.
"Odette," Madame Rochefort murmured, standing against the balcony. "Come see me."
She obeyed, and paused briefly as fresh air and rumour from the street hit her from far below.
"You are sure you feel ready for teaching, right?" The teacher eyed her peacefully.
"Yes. Thank you for giving me this opportunity," Odette murmured. "I am only sorry you have to go. You are a good teaching example."
"Well I sure hope so," Louise Rochefort admitted. "I like teaching, it is a pleasant job."
"Indeed."
Silence.
"There is something else I need to tell you Odette."
"Yes?"
"I am sorry, I am really not a good bearer of bad news," Madame Rochefort murmured, her face slowly grieving. "But you of all people should know. Marie Taglioni passed away last week."
Félicie was curled in a ball under a table of the busy room. It was late but the overall mood was running high, as was usual in a Celtic bar. The girl was sniffling, her eyes quite red, contemplating people dancing and laughing, most completely drunk. She had been there for a while, hidden, furious, yet terribly hurt. She couldn't believe he would do that to her. She kept maniacally fiddling with her new dress's ribbons, a dress stained with her tears and other unknown liquids. She could feel her mind starting to slip, but her hiccup didn't seem to want to stop. She was close to hating him.
A cane lowered itself softly next to her and tapped the ground once. She barely reacted but blinked from her hideout. Someone crouched and a hand passed through her hair, carefully pulling her head back. She breathed in laboriously, startled and her nose clogged.
"Félicie?" Louis Mérante was looking at her with deep worry. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"
She sniffed, her hiccup not stopping, and got a few gibberish words out, without making any sense. Her reaction seemed to make the man even more worried, as he wouldn't dare letting go of her head.
"Can you come out?" He asked.
She complied slowly, her limbs heavy and her tears flowing again. He helped her up, noticed she couldn't stand and finally decided to lift her from the ground, cradling her in his arms before making for the exit as carefully as he could. She didn't seem to be completely conscious and he was very worried something may have happened to her in such a dark place of the city.
Fresh air hit them both in the face. The night was cool, they were heading towards summer after all. He started walking towards the Opéra, knowing it would take him a good twenty-minutes to reach it from there. Maybe the walk would lull her into a calmer spirit. She was holding onto him like dear life, her fingers white from clenching his vest. She was still hiccupping. God, he hoped so adamantly she had not been touched by anyone. He had not dared ask her.
He walked for ten minutes with her in his arm before reaching the Royal Bridge. She had stopped hiccupping. He was in the middle of crossing it when she shook his jacket a bit. He lowered his eyes and noticed she had cleaned her tears with her dress. He stopped, kneeled and delicately let her get on her feet.
"Are you feeling better?" He asked warily.
"Yes," she sniffed with the smallest voice he had ever heard from her.
"I am going to accompany you back to the Opéra, if you are able to walk?"
"Yes."
He stood and she turned slowly towards the end of the bridge. Her shoulders were slumped, and she kept her arms crossed rigidly. He didn't know what to do but felt a terrible need to take her back in his arms again. She seemed safer up there.
"Did someone do something wrong to you?" He cautiously asked, keeping his arm ready to reach and keep her upright at any time.
She nodded and he felt that dreadful feeling come back.
"What happened?" He insisted.
"Victor," she murmured, the name getting stuck a bit in her throat.
Victor? But he was a kid. And she knew how to handle him. Well, she had given him a kiss on the Nutcracker's first night after all. But him of all people knew now that a kiss didn't have the same meaning for everyone…
"He is leav-leaving," she hiccupped, trying bravely to hold her tears back.
She was twisting her hands now in a painful way. He reached and grabbed her closest hand. Kept it in his as they walked. She grabbed his arm with her other hand, like hanging to a lifeline.
"Leaving?" he repeated.
"To America," she nearly broke on the word, but was starting to master her sobs.
"That is very far."
"Yes. He said he would be gone for years maybe. He said it is the land of dreams. He is stupid," she muttered.
Well, he was not wrong, that kid. But he had enough experience with managing children to know it was not the right thing to say.
"Did he tell you why he wanted to go to America?" He tried to understand.
"He said he was going with the Statue of Liberty, and with the man that invented stuff. That he was going to learn a lot, to earn loads of money, and that he would come back to buy us a house," she listed in a monotone voice. "He is stupid. We are happy as we are. We don't need more money."
Louis was surprised by her maturity. Sometimes he forgot she had to fend for herself most of her life and that she must have had to make choices on her own. And with the boy's help as well.
"You are happy with your current life?" He asked her.
"Yes," she nodded vigorously.
Sparks were coming back into her eyes. He liked that.
"Maybe Victor wants to find the same happiness that you feel, but with his own passion, which is inventing, I believe. Maybe he needs to follow his master to do so. Would you follow Odette if she were to leave for another country too?" He challenged her.
She blinked and seemed to think deeply.
"She wouldn't," she finally muttered. "She likes here too much. But if she did… I dunno. I could convince her to stay, I'm sure."
"Hum," he simply said. "That's not a real solution though."
She shrugged and tightened her hold on his arm. He squeezed her hand back.
"Maybe you would convince her. You are like a daughter to her," he admitted.
She bit her lip.
"I told her she was not my mom," she confessed guiltily. "On audition night for Clara. I… I was stupid."
"That's a terrible thing to tell her indeed. I understand better now why she was so down when you were gone," he murmured.
"She was?" The girl anxiously asked. "I thought so much about her. I missed her terribly."
"She would watch Camille dancing on stage. I think she cried sometimes," he added sadly as an afterthought.
Félicie sniffed and he scolded himself for being so honest. He had lost his train of thoughts while thinking about Odette, as usual.
"I have never seen her that radiant since you came back, though," he tried to comfort her.
She nodded, a thin smile on her lips.
"She has been really getting better those last few months actually," he sighted, trying not to pour too much of his longing into his words.
A child shouldn't be bothered with those adult feelings.
"Yeah," Félicie agreed more joyously. "She even is smiling when she dances now. She looked so grim at first…"
He nearly stopped out of surprise.
"She what?" He exclaimed, before lowering his voice. "She dances?"
Félicie suddenly seemed taken aback.
"Oh man," she groaned. "I'm sure she won't like that I told you."
"You don't have to tell her," he replied. "What does she dance?"
"Ballet. On her left leg. Her right knee is too wounded to support her whole body, she said," Félicie explained, apparently being fine with disclosing absolutely everything now. "I saw the wound, you know," she added in a whisper, her eyes wide. "From behind the curtain. Her skin has so many colours there…"
"This is private, Félicie," he admonished her lightly, fighting to behave normally. "You shouldn't disclose Odette's privacy like that."
"Sorry," she said, suddenly looking remorseful. "But I can't speak about it with anyone… except Victor," she murmured sadly.
"You can talk about it with me if you want," he allowed graciously, trying not to think too much about why he suggested that. "But only when we are alone. You shouldn't talk about it to anyone else though. She really would not like it, I believe."
"Yeah, I guess," the girl admitted, absentmindedly.
She was back into thinking about Victor and he let her be. She needed time to accept the boy's choice. He only hoped Victor would be able to survive long enough to see her again.
She had tried all of them on. She hated each piece of cloth. She had kept the blue dress for last, and seeing herself in it made her think about Marie. Marie, dancing on stage, her long blond hair flying, her perfect use of pointe, her calming voice explaining the moves. Odette didn't feel like she wanted to cry, she only felt an emptiness inside her. She had lost Marie ten years ago, when the woman had laid that lone red rose on the hospital bed, telling her goodbye. She had felt the sorrow in her voice, the blame in her eyes. She would not become her star as she hoped. It devastated both of them.
That blue dress was beautiful. Every piece of cloth that Rosita gave her was beautiful, truthfully speaking. But how could she accept another ballerina's clothes when she threw her own away in front of the best teacher of their generations? She had rejected the fire-proof tutu. It was ugly, she had said, it made her yellow. She was Odile, she was supposed to be the deepest black existing, not that ugly mustard colour.
She took the dress off and laid it on the bed. She had not done anything with her physical appearance since she had become Madame Rochefort's assistant. Maybe it was time for a change, now that she was going to be a teacher herself. Recently she had been looking at her body without disgust, so she could accept dressing it up a bit. Regretting her younger, healthier self would not make it come back. She had a lot of regrets, but mostly, she wished Marie would have visited her, or written a letter or two. Her infirmity was punishment enough.
She put on one of Rosita's black tights, the one with partially covered feet, the dark blue leotard and the dark red skirt to go with it. It was a perfect training outfit. She would have to give back everything that was white and pink, she could see the scars through them in the broken mirror she had found in the attic. She sure was glad Rosita had a thing for dark clothes when she was younger.
She put on a pair of training slippers she had stolen in one locker room. She played slow pirouettes with the red skirt. She liked it. She hurt less nowadays. Maybe it was the cream. The very expensive cream she applied each day. Félicie had immediately agreed to it. She was glad she did.
The door opened on that thought and Odette held her breath as she stopped moving. The door slammed and she rolled her eyes. Félicie's gentleness sometimes…
The curtain opened a bit and Félicie's whole body squeezed into her part of the room. Her dress was dirty, her face muddy and she smelt of alcohol. Odette felt her blood freezing.
"I'm okay," Félicie murmured, and Odette took in the state of her face, drained with tears. "Victor said he was leaving for America and I got really sad, that's all."
"Oh Félicie," Odette said softly, opening her arms in an inviting way. "Why do you smell of alcohol?" She whispered as the girl was hugging her desperately.
"People were drunk and some fell on me," the kid muttered, rubbing her nose against her stomach.
"People fell on you?"
"Alcohol fell on me."
"Oh."
Odette thought it wise not to mention that one benefit of Victor being gone was that the girl would not be frequenting unsavoury places any longer.
"I am sorry, Félicie," she murmured, rubbing the girl's back calmly.
"I'm better now," she said with a sniff, releasing her foster mom from her embrace. "Monsieur Mérante brought me back home and we talked. He is a very good listener, ya know," she remarked timidly.
"Monsieur Mérante was at the bar with you?" Odette's forehead was visibly creasing. "I don't understand, what was going on exactly tonight?"
Félicie bit her lower lip, wiping her face again.
"Oh," she said, suddenly taken aback. "You are wearing Rosita's clothes. Oh, wow! You are so pretty Odette!" She exclaimed with adoration.
"I… Thank you," the woman muttered. "Please answer my question. No wait, you are going to tell me everything about your evening, but you will be cleaning that dress while you do so, because we are not letting Rosita see the dress she just gave you in such a state. Go change kid, we are going to the laundry room."
"Aye, aye!" Félicie sighted, obeying yet dragging her feet. "I'm dead tired you know."
"You should have thought about it before coming back with a dress in such a state," Odette muttered before starting to change back into her own clothes.
She was definitely going to wear that training outfit on Sunday morning training.