He was deeply lost in his thoughts, pacing restlessly in his secret room. Félicie may have tried hiding some facts from him, or minimizing what happened, but in the end it was very clear. Régine Lehaut had tried to kill the girl. Without Victor's resourcefulness , Camille's help and her own determination, Félicie would have perished. Hell, she could have died a thousand different ways that night, and yet when she had joined the stage afterwards, she had danced as if nothing had happened, full of passion as usual. He knew children were basically resilient, but hell, that girl, she was definitely one of a kind.
He knew he should tell Odette immediately, but not only he didn't have the heart to, he also had a feeling she knew already, or at least had guessed the big picture of that night. She was familiar with Régine's behaviour from their time as students, and she had seen the evolution of her life and mind. Maybe that was why she didn't really fight for her position as the Lehauts caretaker once she was sacked.
He would tell her later. For now, he needed to put some space between her and himself. He had crowded her life enough for now.
What could he do for Camille though? She was going to be an asset for the Opéra, she already was, thanks to her mother's training, paradoxically. Auguste, unlike other directors before him, had put his foot down on dancers' contracts, insisting that they be at least fourteen years old to sign one. He was willing to make an exception for Camille, but Louis knew it hurt the man inside to do so. A lot of people nowadays were condemning child's labour after all, and it was only a matter of time before more laws were passed in that regard. But it was the only solution if Régine went head over heels again. You could more easily punish bad behaviour from an employer than from a parent, thus his willingness to take that responsibility.
Camille had not agreed to the contact yet, but had not said no either. She had read it carefully and he had told her to keep it in mind. And to come back to the Opéra if her mother demonstrated violent reactions again. He had seen in her eyes an understanding as she nodded and took the paper from him. Yes, she had said. Thank you for protecting me.
He would always protect his students if he could. Life was hard enough as it was outside of the Opéra, and honestly, he needed his dancers in perfect conditions for dancing. Which actually brought him to Félicie's case, and to his own feelings. Adopt her, Odette had said, with such honesty in her eyes. What would change in his life if he did? He had a guest room in his flat that could become hers, but he would rather she stayed at the Opéra with Odette. She would be so sad without her mother figure, and he was barely home himself anyway. Maybe he would find better clothes with her, he liked the ecstatic look on her face when she paraded around with her new dress. She clearly needed some education reinforcement as well, he remembered a tutor he was told about a few weeks ago…
It scared him to realise how quickly he was getting accustomed to the idea. Damn Odette and her soft eyes. Would he really go to that extent by himself? He was wealthy enough, thanks to his parents' inheritance, and had no plan for marriage, although not for lack of trying recently.
Maybe he would give it another, more serious consideration later in the week. And talk about it with Félicie. He had no idea how she would take it.
Odette knew this week would be tensed in term of training. She had to be available to all students, and she ended up leaving the curtains of her classroom wide open, allowing for anyone who needed it to come speak to her or train next to her actual classes. The only actual closed class was the one from 8 AM to 10 AM, with the Troup. She was determined to have a specific time with no interruption for them, not only because some clearly needed that respite, but also because she knew she would have to show her dedication for all Troup members to really accept her. For now, they were fine with her classes and her rhythm, but she could feel some dancers' disdain any time she couldn't demonstrate and asked for someone (mostly Rosita) to do it for her.
Like when she had to ask Rosita and her Premier Danseur to demonstrate a specific pas de deux to Zélie and Rudolph. They had started repeating Pas de deux and Pas de trois for Students' Special a week ago and clearly, it was not Rudolph's strong suit. They had easily learnt the steps, but Rudolph was an explosive dancer, and a show-off with that. Sometimes, looking at his duo with Zélie felt like they were dancing Prince Lake, not Swan Lake. Amusingly enough, it was not a problem with Adélaïde, for her interpretation of Odile tended to be much more explosive, and thus could calm Rudolph down somehow.
In any case, it had become a traditional sight at Odette's classes, to have a part of her classroom dedicated to the six young principal roles of Students' Special. She would focus mostly on her actual students, but would also drop advices on them while roaming amongst the rows of barres. When it was the Troup last class at the end of day, they would also try to help the kids sometimes, which Odette was grateful for. After all, those six kids were in age to join the Corps de Ballet after the season, it was good they were creating ties with the Troup already.
Rosita was the only one staying late after class though, to watch the kids and Odette, and helpfully give advices. She had waited today until Odette had sent the kids back home earlier than usual, arguing they would need all their strength tomorrow. Louis Mérante had asked for weekly full cast repetitions on stage to begin, and tomorrow would be the first one: the lake scene. She knew kids were not ready, but that was not the purpose of training this early on the big stage. They needed to get used to it, to the space, to the numerous seats, to the pressure of it all.
"I am glad you are wearing the green skirt," Rosita smiled to her after the last student had left. "It does exactly what I wanted it to do."
"Which is?" Odette replied, surprised.
"We can see your feet and lower legs now when you demonstrate."
"Ah, yes," Odette murmured. "Well, it is also getting really hot nowadays, and the skirt is lighter than the blue robe."
She had decided on the fly yesterday morning that the skirt was not that short in the end, especially for dancing. Coupled with dark tights hiding her scars, and dance slippers, it was indeed an attire she would be glad to keep and reuse.
"Indeed," Rosita approved. "Can you remind me again at what time Students' Special will free the stage tomorrow? So that the Troup can resume training."
"We end it at noon. And actually, there was something I wanted to ask the Troup tomorrow morning, tell me if you agree," Odette said, starting to walk with the woman towards the door. "Tomorrow's repetition will be mostly an excuse to prepare the kids for stage pressure. I thought maybe, if some of you guys can come and watch from the public, it could help make it more realistic to them."
"That is a nice idea," Rosita approved. "You should ask tomorrow at morning barre, and I will speak about it with some dancers at diner beforehand, to see if they would be willing to spare some time for that."
"Could be useful indeed," Odette nodded. "Thank you."
It was quite a catastrophe. As she thought it would be. Louis Mérante, on the other side, was clearly not prepared for it.
"NO!" He roared for the umpteenth time, barely startling the kids as they were getting used to his irritated outbursts by now. "No, no and no! Lord, Rudy! Did you not listen to what I said? We are not dancing Prince Lake but Swan Lake right now! You need to accompany her, showcase her, not forget about when she is about to turn!"
"Sorry," the boy muttered, looking defeated.
Odette pitied the child a bit. He was the major focus of the Ballet Master's anger since the beginning of that Stage Practice. He did have the hardest role, the Prince was the character showing on almost all scenes after all. And actually, Rudolph would pull all solo scenes with an easy grace. That pas de deux, though… It was an important moment of the ballet, the first time both the Prince and Odette would really be dancing together. Messing it up was out of the question, and Louis Mérante knew it. Odette and himself had discussed extensively about the simplification of that scene, but it was not a difficult scene because of its steps. It was difficult because of how slow and musical it was.
"Again," Louis Mérante growled. "From Zélie's solo pirouette," he added while going back next to Odette on the front edge of the scene.
She took a quick look at him, noticed his tensed frame and the way he would beat the ground with his cane a bit too hard. He had thrown his vest on the front row earlier, out of impatience and clearly feeling too warm. They had established, before taking all kids to the stage, that he would be dealing with the principals while Odette would synchronize all Corps de Ballet students. She could see he was starting to get impatient, and she knew very well why. Used as he was to coordinating the Troup and the most talented kids of the Opéra, he had forgotten what it was like to conduct students, children actually learning discipline and not used to following exactly what they were being told.
Swans took their position again, discreetly sighting. It was not easy to hold a long pose when principals were dancing for what seemed forever.
"Come on girls," she said compassionately to all eight to ten years old constituting the Corps de Ballet for that scene. "Try to keep it for as long as you can. Don't let it hurt you though," she mentioned as an afterthought. "Go down if you can't hold it any longer."
Zélie did her slow pirouette, as gracefully as she could while keeping her balance, Rudolph accompanying her as gently as he could as well, tired yet attentive. Plié, tendu, Zélie's hand slowly raised to the side, Rudolph mimicking her with less grandiose moves than earlier. She turned, he accompanied her, very well, Odette thought. She almost felt Louis Mérante's hopeful breath by her side. It was the most tensed moment now.
Zélie slowly pointed again, bowing before arching her back swiftly. And Rudolph was late. Odette could read it on his face. He had taken too long to show off his own pose. He tried to hide his lateness in a rushed wide step, and caught Zélie just in time. Louis Mérante stopped beating, the pianist stopped playing and silence fell.
Odette hazarded a look at the Ballet Master. His face was blank and he was looking at the ceiling. Alright. Time to intervene then.
"Manon," she called calmly, slowly walking towards the duo getting back on their feet, attracting everyone's stares. "Come here please."
The Corps girl released her pose and quickly joined her teacher, her face opened.
"Hold my cane, will you please?" Odette smiled at her, handing her the wood cane.
"Yes, Madame," the child murmured before taking a step back with the object.
"Zélie," Odette said to the girl. "Go sit between Monsieur Mérante and us, alright?"
"Yes, Madame," Zélie nodded, obviously relieved for that fortunate respite.
"Rudolph," Odette finally finished, calmly going to where Zélie had started her pirouette, testing her right leg strength on the way. "Take your position and listen to me. I am going to dance Odette. I cannot dance on my right foot though, so I want you to be especially there and to hold me at all time. You wouldn't want me to fall to the ground and hurt myself, right?"
"N- No Madame," the thirteen years old kid stammered, desperately peeking at his male teacher reaction.
"Good," she said. "Get ready then. Hold your poses, girls. Piano, please."
She did not take the time to check on Louis Mérante. Slowly, on the piano note, she raised herself on her left foot and operated a perfect pirouette, feeling Rudolph' hands on her hips, carefully following her. She turned, displaced herself from left to right to left leg. He followed and she crossed his apprehensive look. Good. She bowed as slow as she could, standing on her left leg, raising her right leg on a jetée, then arching backwards, she let herself fall back. Students gasped around them. She felt Rudolph panicked hands grab her waist. He was not late, and he was not showing off either. His eyes were entirely focused on her. He brought her back up, not that easily she noticed, and she did her slow grand battement behind.
The movement was supposed to be repeated once. Rudolph succeeded and was on time to catch her this time as well. She put both her feet down after he brought her up and smiled at him.
"Tell me," she asked him. "Why did you catch me on time twice right now, while you were rushing each first time with Zélie?"
The boy looked dumbfounded.
"I…" he muttered. "I don't know, I… I thought you were going to fall if I didn't hold on you."
"Zélie can fall too. Actually, she fell twice earlier. What made you perfectly execute your part with me but not with her?"
He fell silent, and a few hands started to raise around them. Students were taking in stride the lesson.
"Hélène, what do you think?" She asked a willing ten years old girl.
"He was way more focused on you than on Zélie," the girl said. "He wasn't showing off anymore."
She looked at the boy.
"Do you understand what 'not showing off' looks like?" She said to him.
He hesitated.
"It's… when you dance… but people don't focus on you?" He suggested, fighting with both his French and his thoughts.
Louis Mérante's cane hit the ground, startling all of them.
"You," he said to one girl of the Corps de Ballet on his right. "Come here."
The child timidly approached him and he hold out his cane to her.
"Hold that," he said. "Don't play with it," he added with a brief glare.
He neared both Odette and Rudolph, and his eyes briefly met the woman's.
"Rudy," he said in a calm and measured voice. "Do you know on what major criteria a Premier Danseur is chosen here?"
"His stamina," the boy immediately answered.
"No," the Ballet Master replied at once, and the boy gulped. "They are selected on how beautiful their ballerinas are on their ballet."
The boy frowned and Louis Mérante let out a long sentence that definitely sounded like Russian. Rudolph gaped, understanding dawning on him.
"Go sit next to Zélie," the man then ordered him. "And watch very carefully what I am doing."
The boy obeyed immediately and Louis Mérante took his spot behind Odette, motioning for the pianist to play.
Odette slowly raised herself on her left foot, acutely aware of all students and Troup members watching them. What was he doing?
His hand landed on her hip as she slowly did her pirouette, and she felt the warmth of his body closing part of the gap between them. It was extremely different from Rudolph's uncertain hold. Her apprehension melted like ice next to a flame, and she stepped away on her pas de bourrée as he let go of her hands. They had danced that part together before. They were good at it.
She lost herself into the dancing and into Odette. She knew he would catch her every move, especially on her right foot, like he had done each Sunday of last month. She bowed slowly, their eyes meeting and playing with each other's. She arched back, her leg high, and felt him following the lines of her body, catching her like she was a feather and bringing her back as easily.
They repeated the same move a second time, then finished with the slow arabesque that ended the sequence. He let go of her as her foot was touching the ground again. Her gaze war far, very far away from everything. He made sure she was stable before actually moving his hands away from her.
A sniff on his left side made him take a quick look at the students. He saw a row of unmoving and dazed Swans, two of then trying to discreetly hide their wet eyes. On the floor in the middle, both Rudy and Zélie looked like they had been stricken by lightning.
"You are dancing Swan Lake," Louis repeated, feeling like it was the hundredth time he was saying that today. "It is the story of a Princess turned into a graceful swan. The Prince only exists to show how beautiful she is, especially when they dance together. That is what you must do with your ballerina, Rudy. Your public wants to look at her, not you. Do you understand better now?"
The boy jumped to his feet promptly.
"Yes, Monsieur," he said, his voice very subdued, before deeply bowing in front of the man. "Thank you for showing me what a true Premier Danseur is like, Monsieur."
A clock rang somewhere in the school and Mérante nodded.
"You are welcome. We don't have any time left for today though. Next Wednesday, same hour-span, we will be working on the ball and all the visitors' dances, so you better prepare them well. Good job everyone today, it was your first Stage Practice, it was not easy, and you all held it until the end. You can be proud of yourselves. Now go have lunch."
All kids sighted with relief, and Louis retrieved his cane from the girl, noticing from the corner of his eyes that Odette was absently doing the same, her eyes still lost and roaming absently the kids. He took a quick look at the back of spectators' seats and saw Rosita's silhouette waiting for her Troup companions to leave the place as well, closing the door behind them. He threw his cane next to hist vest on the front seats and turned. All kids were gone faster than a horse smelling stables.
Carefully, he positioned himself in front of the frozen Odette, and grabbed her forearms kindly yet firmly.
"Odette," he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "Are you alright? Did I break you or something?"
Her gaze focused on his, and he didn't know how to understand those wide blue-grey eyes.
"I am sorry," he said apologetically. "I thought a demonstration would speak more than words, like you did. Making him dance with you was actually an excellent idea, his demeanour changed completely. Please, say something," he insisted, not looking away from her and starting to get worried.
She opened her mouth but no sound came out yet, only a slow blush started to spread on her cheeks, giving her a sweet, lively face.
"I won't do that again in front of students if you ask me," he hesitated, realizing his hands were still on her arms and releasing her quickly.
"I…" she began, seeming at a loss for words. "I am growing too fond of you," she finally murmured, an apprehensive, almost scared look on her face.
He blinked, missing his breath briefly. Too fond? What was she saying?
"What?" He dumbly answered.
She embarrassingly looked away, biting her lower lip.
"When we dance together, I forget about everything," she confessed, joining her hands nervously. "Even the scars."
She did a pause, locking his eyes again as he remained silent.
"You are a very dangerous man to me," she murmured, her cheeks still pink and her eyes still wide.
"I am in love with you," he simply decided to reply, and he saw her breath hitch. "You are dangerous to me, Odette."
She was speechless again, her eyes darting from his face to his shoulders and back again.
"What is it that you want us to do then?" He murmured, studying her face intently. "Do you want me to keep on acting as if nothing was going on?"
"I… I don't know," she said, putting her hand on her own cheek while closing her eyes briefly. "I am too warm, I can't… I can't think straight."
"Don't hide please," he said, slowly grabbing her hand to bring it down. "What are you really feeling right now, Odette?"
She gave him an obvious look.
"I am warm. I am… conflicted," she finally admitted.
She didn't say more but he understood her through that simple word.
"Letting yourself love and be loved is not detrimental to your autonomy," he murmured, her hand still in his. "You don't need my assistance to be a strong woman, a beautiful dancer, a good teacher, a caring mother. But if you let me, I would stand by your side and be your ally on all those feats, like I have been those last few months."
She felt acutely the weight of his hand around hers, the perfume of his skin, so close to her. It was a gamble, once again. He made her dance like no one else had ever done, helped her each time she asked, for choreography, for Félicie, he had been an honest friend to talk to. Would she be able to rebound if he were to disappear? Would she have that terrible feeling of abandon again, like after Marie left her? She would not if she kept fighting his wooing.
She would not feel anything if she kept pushing him back, no fear, no humiliation and abandon, but also no joy, no tenderness, no complicity.
She would keep feeling like she had those last years.
"I can't fight my fondness for you," she murmured, not daring to look him in the eye, focusing on his hand entwined with hers.
His fingers moved to caress her chin.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked in a whisper.
She raised her gaze to his and smiled timidly.
"Yes."
He was very tender, very subtle. He wanted his kiss to be symbolic, but she grabbed his waistcoat lightly and deepened it. She felt him smile with her.
They were both happy with her decision.
Félicie had been worried upon the end of Stage Practice, worried for Rudy, who looked like he had been hit by a train, and worried for Odette, whose faraway look at the end of repetition reminded her of that lone silhouette she had found on that same stage, when she came back from the orphanage. She had followed other students because she had seen Louis's equally worried look as he neared his dance partner. He would take care of her, she had thought. She would check on Rudy first.
Rudy was ecstatic. He kept rambling about showcasing and showing off. He would redo some moves they had seen Louis doing with Odette. Because she was used to seeing them both dance together on Sundays, Félicie had been less stricken by their show than the rest of her teammates. She had seen their entranced faces though, the Troup reaction from their seats as well, from laughing and discussing to completely unmoving. She had measured then how mesmerizing Odette and Louis's dancing was, for everyone, not only herself.
She had made sure that Rudy was fine, complacently guided by other principals to the Dining Hall, then she had turned back to backstage, discreetly tip-toeing in the hope of catching Odette before she left as well.
Odette was clearly not leaving the scene yet, though. She was kissing Louis Mérante on stage. Félicie slapped her own hand on her mouth to stop her surprised exclamation. They stopped kissing after a few seconds and they were both smiling. She murmured something and he nodded, before bringing her hand to his lips and taking a step back. She turned around with a murmur, and started going towards backstage, where Félicie was hiding. The girl panicked and managed to tip-toe back to the door, sliding through it before the woman could see her.
She ran through the school, a bit overwhelmed, looking for anything, or rather anyone to talk to. Most students had left the school to eat at home, Camille had promised her mother to join her at her restaurant and the twins had already taken their little brothers home. She skidded to a stop outside of a girls' dressing room and hesitated. She could hear murmurs on the other side, and she pushed the door timidly.
This was not the girls dressing room for students, it was the girls dressing room for the Troup. Félicie was quite sure Rosita was in there, but she had never actually forced her way to her while so many Corps de Ballet girls were present. They were not even looking at her when she closed silently the door behind her, they were all half undressed and talking excitedly in the middle of the room.
"I am ready to bet five Francs they are doing it," one of them was saying adamantly.
"No no no," a group of three was shaking their head. "They have trained, that's all!"
"They have an alchemy!"
"It has to be more than dance," a blond one sighted.
"Exactly!"
"Oh come on, that's too easy!"
"SHHH!" One of the oldest ones suddenly said, spotting Félicie timidly standing in front of them.
They all fell quiet, looking at the child then exchanging looks.
"Hi," the blond one smiled, and Félicie remembered her as being the Neapolitan dancer. "Are you looking for something, honey?"
"Er, yeah," the girl answered, taking a tentative step forward. "Is Rosita here?"
All girls turned around and the group split into two. Behind them, Rosita had turned from her hairdresser, in the middle of putting her pointed shoes on.
"Félicie?" She said with a surprised tone. "What is wrong?"
"I…" The child stammered. "Can I- Can I talk to you if you have time?"
"Sure. What is it?"
"In- In private?" Félicie muttered, blushing profusely under all ballerinas' stares.
"Oh. Yes, of course. Let me put my slippers on and I will join you outside in a few minutes, okay?" Rosita suggested kindly.
"Yes, thank you," The girl slightly bowed before addressing a tensed smile to other ballerinas. "Sorry for disturbing. Bye."
"It's okay sweety," said another ballerina, waving her hand at her as Félicie was hastily making her retreat outside.
"Oh dear, she was in a hurry," muttered another one as the door closed behind the child.
"I'm sure she knows something," the blond one said with a thoughtful look.
"Leave Félicie out of that please," Rosita intervened, finishing one foot and going to the other one. "She is just a child."
"Certainly," the blond one nodded. "But she is very close to both Odette and Monsieur Mérante. She would know if they were having an affair."
Rosita sighted and stood, holding her last slipper in one hand and a fist on her hip.
"She is eleven and has been raised in a catholic orphanage. What do you think she would know about a man and a woman's relationship?" Rosita replied with annoyance. "Just leave her be. For once, we have at the Opéra a child that still has her innocence and dreams. Why spoil that now?"
Others didn't answer, but Rosita saw that some knew what she was talking about. With love interests came curiosity about sex, and with sex came male avidity. There wasn't a dancer here that had not lost their dreams upon meeting men's brutality. If the child could keep living unknowing of that harsh reality a bit longer, no ballerina would stop it.
Rosita finished putting her shoe on while others went back to dressing up, and left the room, knowing very well the rumour mill would restart immediately after her. It had been quite a show after all, that Odette and Louis Mérante had put on. A beautiful sight, the proof that both had been training together for quite some time, and also that, more than any other duo, they were indeed extremely assorted.
Félicie was sitting next to a wall when she came out, looking small and lost. She stood awkwardly upon seeing the Prima, and desperately looked at her.
"Come on," Rosita smiled. "Let's go in this room."
She pushed the door of the training room, fortunately empty, and went to the window. Going to the floor and starting stretching, she sent a questioning look at the girl as she sat beside her.
"They were kissing," Félicie said without preamble, in a low voice. "On stage. When I came back, after everyone left. They… they were kissing."
"Odette and Monsieur Mérante?" Rosita asked with raised eyebrows, and the girl nodded. "Oh. Do you dislike that?"
"I… I don't know. They looked… I fled when I saw them," the girl confessed. "She told me she wasn't in love with anyone, the other day. I thought she really wasn't. But she must be if she kisses Louis."
Rosita gave the girl a piercing look. She had questioned Odette about her love interests, she wasn't that innocent after all. And she called him Louis.
"Maybe she didn't know at the time, that she was in love with him," she finally suggested, having guessed that for a while herself. "What does it make you feel, knowing that there is something between them?"
"I am scared," the child murmured, hugging her knees. "I thought since I came back that I would always be with Odette. What if she went to live with him? I would be on my own again, in the attic."
"What makes you think she wouldn't take you with her, to live with him?" Rosita questioned with surprise.
Félicie hesitated.
"He is my dance teacher," she muttered. "He is not going to adopt one of his students."
"Félicie," Rosita smiled. "You are not just one of his students. I have known Louis Mérante for five years now. He is strict with his students, with the Troup, but he is also a passionate man. He wants what is best for his dancers and he will try to help them if they need it. When I arrived in France, he found me a place to stay immediately, because I told him I didn't want to stay at the Opéra at night. He is kind, and polite, but with you, he has been more than that. I had never seen him like he was when you were taken back to your orphanage and lost your position amongst Coryphées. He was so sad."
"Sad?" Félicie said with surprise. "But I messed up. I should have trained and slept, but I didn't. He should have been furious."
"He was furious too, but mostly sad. He had taken a liking to you really fast. And why are you calling him by his first name anyway?" The Prima added with a slight amused smile.
"I…" Félicie blushed. "Sorry, I slipped. It's because… Sunday night he took us to a restaurant and… uh, it's complicated, but we played Family with Odette and him, and… okay, that's a bit weird to explain," the girl sighted, starting to stretch as well. "But he taught me Step Dancing!"
"He took you out?" Rosita said, flabbergasted.
"Yeah. He took me to see the swans too, oh, have you tried candies? It's sooooo good!" the girl exclaimed excitedly.
Rosita looked at the child and suddenly started laughing.
"What?"
"Oh, Félicie," the Prima said tenderly. "I have known Louis Mérante for five years, and not once has he taken one of the ballerinas out in the evening. You have a very special place in that man's heart, my dear."
"What do you mean?" The child murmured, her green eyes wide and hesitant.
"I mean that Monsieur Mérante would have probably adopted you already, if you were not already having a family life with Odette."
The girl frowned.
"Adopt me? Nah, he is my teacher, and also I'm too old. Adults don't adopt children over six, we saw it at the Orphanage," she shrugged. "Except Odette, but she didn't really adopt me, I just chose to live with her and she let me."
Rosita didn't answer, but her eyes were soft. The girl was sure of her, but the woman knew the ways of the heart.
"And I still don't know what to do," Félicie sighted, leaning on her elbows while working on her split. "I don't want to be alone again."
"Félicie," Rosita smiled while standing. "I have a solution for you. If you find yourself alone, you can come live with me in my flat. How is that?"
"Really?" The girl exclaimed, her face lighting up and jumping to her feet.
"Really," Rosita said adamantly, while knowing perfectly well this would never happen.
"Oh thank you so much!" The girls' eyes were watering as she threw herself into the Prima's arms.
That girl was so sweet, Rosita thought, she was going to be crying of joy when Odette and Louis Mérante would officially adopt her.
When Odette came back to her room in the attic at the end of day, all classes and repetitions finished, she felt the silence around her, and her own body slowly getting down from the intensity of that day. She took a few deep breaths, leaning on her table, her heart starting its wild beating again.
Louis had said he wanted to speak with her when they were less rushed, and she had told him to wait for their Sunday session. He had conceded to it but his eyes were burning hers with their intensity. She needed to cool down, she had almost had a stroke after their dance on stage. She needed to think as well, about what she wanted, about what could be possible now. Things she had not allowed herself to contemplate before, not even in dreams.
A sound behind her disrupted her train of thoughts, and she turned.
Camille was there, slowly standing from her sitting position, hidden behind the door wing. She was in her normal street clothing this time, a blue and light skirt with a child corset. Who gave corset to an eleven years old? Probably Régine indeed, Odette thought bitterly.
"Sorry," Camille began. "I wanted to talk to you, but you were very busy today."
"You can come here whenever you want," Odette simply told her.
"Uh, thanks," the child murmured, holding her elbow in a familiar way. "I… I talked to Mother."
Odette took a few seconds to inspect the girl from head to toe instantly. Régine could have used violence on her again if she didn't like the questioning.
"She did not touch me," Camille said on a reproachful tone.
"That's good," Odette shrugged before slowly taking a chair to seat. "You can take a seat if you want."
Her legs were starting to hurt. Camille complied and looked at her own hands for a few seconds.
"I told Mother you told me she was pregnant with me before the wedding. She said I should not give too much consideration to an infirm like you. I said you had been a Prima Ballerina at least, while she had not," the girl sprouted out.
"Oh dear," Odette's eyes went slightly wide. "That's harsh. What did she say?"
"She said she would have been if she didn't have to marry Dad, but that she didn't have a choice in the matter," Camille murmured.
"Did she say why she didn't have a choice?"
Camille looked her in the eyes, her face slightly confused.
"She said it was all Grandma's fault. She forced Mother to marry Dad, and that's why she lost dance, because she was forced to help him at the restaurant after I was born. She… She said nothing about me," Camille finally frowned.
"Because she didn't blame your birth for losing dance," Odette said with a smile.
"Yeah," the kid muttered, visibly at a loss. "She said I shouldn't marry if I wanted to keep on dancing."
Odette's thoughts briefly drifted to Louis and she fought them back firmly. Later. She would think about that later.
"It's good that Régine doesn't blame you, as she should, but as always, she tends to blame others before reflecting on her own mistakes," Odette sighted.
"But she said she was forced to marry," Camille objected. "How could that be her fault?"
"Why was she forced to marry, all of a sudden?" Replied Odette.
Camille hesitated.
"Because she was pregnant with me?" She murmured, frowning. "And you can't have a child on your own as a woman, you said."
"No," Odette shook her head. "Well, not exactly. Your parents made her marry because they saw she was pregnant and unmarried. They feared for her status, and for you, without any money or man to accompany you both into society. That's how it works, in this world, unfortunately."
"I hope it will change one day," Camille muttered. "Why can't with stand by ourselves? We dance better than them."
Odette let a slight laugh escape her.
"You are right," she said amusingly. "But we are the ones carrying children. And as such, we are judged as weak. Your mother's mistake wasn't to fall pregnant. It was to fall pregnant while not having a secured social status. If she had chosen her wedding before letting a man have her way with her, she would have had security, and she could have even taken back ballet after your birth, if her husband agreed to it."
"But…" Camille hesitated. "Why didn't she do that? She is always so careful, she plans everything, she has planned my whole life!"
"I do not know. She was a great Ballet dancer, and she was respected for her hard work," Odette said sadly before suddenly having an bad feeling, her eyes slightly widening. "But men… Men can be dangerous, Camille. Sometimes when they want something, they may take it even if we say no. Your mother maybe didn't make a mistake. Maybe she didn't have a choice."
"I don't understand," Camille said, her face suddenly apprehensive, and Odette thought for a few seconds how to best explain that.
"Did your mother explain to you how babies were made?" She finally murmured hesitantly.
"Humm, yes?" Camille hesitated. "It takes a man and a woman to make a child, and they have to… to hug very deep?"
"They have to have sexual intercourse," Odette said, feeling herself blush slightly.
That was not the kind of conversation she enjoyed having when she was that tired.
"Sexual intercourse," Camille repeated slowly.
"Their sexes must merge," Odette tried to describe. "A man has a long sex, and a woman's sex is a hole. The man put his sex in the woman's, and that's how a baby is made."
Silence fell.
"Oh," Camille finally said. "It's like Pepito."
"Pepito?"
"It's the restaurant dog. He has a long weenie," Camille shrugged. "Well, it comes out of his body sometimes, and he jumps on other dogs, female dogs. Is that the same?"
"Yes," Odette said with a relieved sight. "It is the same principle."
"I see," Camille thought. "So that's how I was made?"
"Yes. And my point was, sometimes… Sometimes men can act like Pepito. Not always, of course, there are good men that will wait for women's consent. But some men, they will… force women sometimes."
Camille's eyes were wide open. She could see exactly what she meant.
"Why?" She exclaimed, horrified.
"Because they can," Odette shrugged. "Because they are often stronger than us."
Camille stood there, dumbfounded, her eyes wide.
"Is that… Is that what happened with Mother?" She finally murmured, livid.
"I do not know, Camille. It is a possibility," Odette admitted. "There is only one person that would know what happened exactly, though."
"Yes, Mother," the child muttered, her face sad.
"Before you go and ask her Camille, think about one thing please," Odette said, searching for her eyes meaningfully.
"Yes," the girl said, looking at her expectantly.
"Whichever way it happened, you were born, and now you exist. You said Régine planned your whole life, but now you are at the Opéra, and if you keep studying as you do, you will always have a place here. Are you sure you want to get answers from your Mother on such a touchy subject, while everything is going so well now for you?" Odette asked her, trying to keep a straight face.
Messing her relationship with her mother just before her fall had certainly been the second most excruciating thing of her life. The woman had died thinking her child hated her, while she hid at the Lehauts, ashamed and humiliated.
"I…" Camille thought for a few seconds, before raising a determined look towards Odette. "I need to know. I need to talk about it with Mother. If… If she has been forced, or if I was an accident, I need to know where I come from. I… I don't know for real who I am."
"You think knowing how you were made will help you find who you are?"
"Yes."
Odette decided not to debate with her this time. It was her life, her choice.
On Friday, the world seemed to be on fire. Auguste Vaucorbeil arrived early in the morning to warn all staff members about temperatures heights, which were of 39 Celsius degrees in the middle of the afternoon. Odette and Félicie had spent the night boiling up in the attic, and from the sights they heard around them, they were not the only ones. All Troup members usually sleeping in their rooms in the attic were one by one going down the stairs around midnight, their murmurs tired. Félicie left her bed to check on where they were going, and found them in the most extraordinary place she had ever seen, usually closed days and nights: the cave under the stage, with its entry to a bottomless water basin. Not only was it cool to look at, but it also was cool enough to get refreshed, especially when dancers put their feet in the water. It was even a little bit cold.
Unfortunately, Auguste Vaucorbeil didn't really enjoy finding his dancers there in the morning, and was quick to secure the area, closing it tight and forbidding its access. It was, he said, extremely dangerous to be there, for the unstable floors were right above a gigantic water lake that served as counterweight to the whole Opéra. He wouldn't tolerate any trespassing, no matter the heat.
Odette, who usually wore a leotard and dark tights under her chemise, her petticoat and her skirt, stood for a long while in front of her clothes early that morning. If she wore it as she usually did, she would certainly have strokes on strokes until she died. There was enough tissue to choke anyone with this heat. She finally chose to wear her tights and her leotard, took a long look at her corset, and skipped her chemise, just putting her petticoat with the corset on to finish. Forget the skirt, she thought. She wanted to live.
When Troup dancers invaded the classroom at 8 AM, all windows were opened, and Odette was thankful for their exposition to the west. No burning sun in the face at least. Most were not wearing any tights, just a leotard, and Odette briefly envied them for their lack of body scars. At the end of class though, everyone was very hot, and she was quick to dismiss them to stage training, glad as well that she did not have classes before 3 PM after that.
She did a round of the Opéra, making sure that anyone training had water to drink regularly. She even dared take a look at Louis's classroom, leaving water jugs and glasses at the top of the stairs. The man was busy teaching very warm Coryphées, himself wearing only his white (and dampened) shirt with white tights. She actually saw his back muscles through the wet chemise, as he was demonstrating a sauté, and had to seat on the stairs for a moment, listening to his voice while trying to cool down.
At 3 PM, she had a Students' Special rehearsal, more specifically the Swans, Little Swans and Cygnets scene. None of them were ready, but they all needed to work their positioning and synchronizing. She made sure all girls drank some water before showing them their placements on stage, fighting with her own strength.
Around 3:30 PM, she had her first stroke while standing back up, after kneeling to help a kid with her slipper. She didn't feel herself falling. She was woken up by the feeling of water against her lips and little arms holding her from everywhere. Félicie's gaze was the first she saw upon opening her eyes.
"Odette!" The girl exclaimed. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Odette frowned. "Did I fainted?"
"Yes," said Nora's voice as a face came into view as well. "Very. Suddenly."
"I can imagine that," The teacher muttered, slowly sitting up and massaging her hurting hip.
She probably had fallen on it.
"Should we get another teacher?" Camille asked worryingly, ready to dash for reinforcement.
"No, no," Odette shook her head. "I am fine, this is normal for me."
"Oh," the blond girl murmured, surprised. "Okay."
All kids from eight to eleven were timidly sitting around her, and she had to smile upon seeing their calm worry.
"I am fine," she said reassuringly. "I guess I am still wearing too many clothes, though," she added on a second thought, feeling how constraining her corset was.
"Why don't you just wear your training outfit like we do on Sundays?" Félicie frowned. "You are already wearing it under there!"
"I… You are right," Odette frowned. "Alright, listen. I will just take off some clothes, in the meantime, you guys work on synchronizing your positionings, hum?" She said to all kids while standing up.
"Yes, Madame Odette," they answered as one, quickly going back to their spots.
She went into backstage and took off her corset with a deep, relieved sight, before releasing herself of her petticoat as well. Her solace was so intense, and she felt so light suddenly that she almost let a profound moan escape her. When she felt good enough, she went to join the kids back again, leaving her clothes in a disarray. She realised quickly it was the first time she wore so few in a public space since the accident. She was not even wearing a skirt, only her tights and leotard. She sure was glad she was giving class to the youngest students and not the Troup, for she would have sweated even more under their grown-up stares.
She joined the kids back, enjoying her new found freedom of movement, drank a bit of water then continued her teaching, adamant to have each kid know their positions for the lake passage at least. Weirdly enough, most of them were very attentive and studious suddenly. Maybe she should faint more often next classes, she thought with amusement.
Around 5 PM, Louis Mérante left is office, his fresh fourth shirt of the day on his back. He was glad he had so many shirts in his office on a day like this. He kept wetting them with sweat, like most Troup dancers also did, he noticed when joining four male dancers in front of the back stage's door.
"I should have brought more than one spare shirt," a red-haired one muttered, looking with envy towards the Ballet Master.
"Stay strong boys," Louis said with a sight. "Almost end of the day. Is there still a group on stage?"
"Yes," a brunet nodded. "Students' Special."
"Alright, let's see if we can get them out," The Ballet Master muttered, entering back stage.
He first heard Odette's voice, and felt a smile willing to reach his lips. Control yourself, he thought, making his way to the stage. And stopping dead in his tracks upon seeing a familiar corset laying in the middle of the way, coupled with what looked like a woman's petticoat.
His breath caught in his throat, and he dared not look up towards the stage, where he knew the woman was. He had felt his brain freezing, suddenly obsessing over those clothes lying around, as if she had thrown them carelessly. He couldn't stop his mind from imagining her undressing, and felt a sudden familiar tug that woke him from his stupor more efficiently than any water bucket.
CALM DOWN, he thought. He had to calm down. Stop thinking about her, you still have two trainings left, this is no place for that.
He willed his mind and body while his dancers were bypassing him, slowly lurking around the backstage curtains.
"Oh man," one of them suddenly muttered. "Do you see that?"
Louis Mérante took a deep breath and closed the gap between him and the stage, feeling calmer. And stopped as if hit by thunder, his face crumbling with his composure. On stage, Odette was showing some kids the right pose to assume when turning on one foot, wearing only one leotard and one pair of dark tights. Her silhouette was long and elegant, and her movements graceful, as usual. The tightness of her clothing left no space to imagination though.
"Nice," one of the dancers noted aloud, and another one gave him an elbow with a snort.
Louis wanted to obliterate them both for their lack of respect, but he had to run away for a few minutes first. His own training outfit was not helping him enough to hide his own state.
He turned silently, and slid between a few props, hiding efficiently from any eyes around. He was terribly ashamed of his body's reaction, and would rather hide than let Odette see him in such little control of himself. He listened to his dancers joining the stage, Odette's voice directing kids out, and saw a few of them pass by happily but tiredly, pouring out of the backstage door one by one, until only Odette was left, slowly picking her clothes up.
"Where did he go," the red-haired dancer muttered, walking past her to check outside. "Have you seen Monsieur Mérante, Madame?" He then asked Odette.
She shook her head and he grumbled, before leaving through the door. Louis held his breath the best he could, his situation not getting better upon seeing her so close in her tight clothes. He could almost feel her familiar body under his fingers. God, he was obscene. They had barely kissed, and he already wanted more. She had said Sunday. Why couldn't his body listen to his mind?
She sighted suddenly, and her hand caressed her nape. A familiar murmur came through the door as he was hypnotised by her fingers, and he saw a shorter red haired dancer step inside.
"Odette!" Félicie whispered, before trotting closer to her mother figure. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"
"I am fine," the woman answered, readjusting her hold on her petticoat and corset. "I may have to go get my training skirt in the attic, though."
"Camille and I will do it," the girl immediately answered, holding her arms out. "Gimme those, we will bring them upstairs!"
"Don't you have classes to go to?" Odette objected.
"No," the kid shrugged. "Monsieur Vaucorbeil said that all classes for students under eighteen were cancelled, before it is too warm."
"Oh," Odette murmured. "Well, it is a bit hot for intensive ballet training indeed."
"Yeah," Félicie nodded, retrieving her clothes. "And that will allow you to rest as well, which is good."
"Again, I am fine," the woman sighted.
"You fainted," Félicie frowned.
"That's normal for me."
The girl shrugged.
"Whatever you say," she muttered. "Don't move from here, I'm bringing your skirt back!" She called while disappearing through the door.
"Thank you," Odette murmured in the emptiness, before slowly sitting on a chair lying around, using her cane heavily.
Louis took a discrete deep breath and looked around him quickly. He had felt as if an ice bucket had been thrown over him at the word "fainted". He needed to find a way out of those props to join her, to check on her. He followed the maze of objects the opposite way of her, and slowly reached the end of backstage, and then a curtain leading to the front stage. Avoiding his Troup dancers focused on their training, he went back towards Odette, taking a deep breath before approaching her.
She was dozing off a bit on her chair, her hand mechanically massaging her right thigh. He knelt before her and the pop of his knee startled her awake.
"Louis," she murmured, surprised to see him so close.
"Odette," he answered back, savouring his name on her lips. "You fainted?"
She sighted.
"I knew one of them would tell you," she muttered. "It's because of the scars here," she added in a murmur, caressing her knee lightly. "My skin has trouble absorbing the warmth and I overheat sometimes. It happens regularly."
"Regularly like when?" He frowned, not daring to touch her thigh but really wanting to. "How many times this week?"
"Twice I think," she murmured. "Happened once at the Irish Restaurant, and once during last night."
"At the Restaurant?" He whispered incredulously. "How did I not notice?"
"I went out for a while, you were dancing," she shook her head. "I was fine. I am fine now as well."
He shook his head but did not object more. He would keep an eye on her from now on. If she was sensitive to hot weather, he would make sure she was well cooled.
The red-haired Troup dancer passed the door and frowned upon seeing Mérante.
"Where did you go?" The Ballet Master said, cutting him before he could say anything. "Go quick on stage, I will join the four of you once you boys are ready."
"Yes, Monsieur," the red-haired muttered, shrugging and clearly too tired to protest.
Louis waited for him to have joined the stage before looking back at Odette.
"I have to go," he murmured, still not daring to touch her. "Did you drink water at least?"
She nodded.
"Plenty. The kids were very caring with me," she admitted with a smile.
He was starting to stand when she grabbed his shoulder curiously. He froze.
"How many spare shirts do you have at the Opéra," she muttered. "It's the third different one I see on you today."
He felt himself smile.
"Have you been spying on me, Madame?" He murmured, slowly towering her teasingly. "This is my fourth one by the way."
She shook her head, amused, and retrieved her hand with a light caress on his pectoral.
"I do not spy on you," she replied in a low voice. "I just wanted to make sure you were not exhausting the Coryphées, I needed them alert for my class."
"Of course," he said, before stepping back slowly. "If you really need to know, I have only one spare left."
"Oh dear," she murmured as he turned around to go on stage, giving her one last look from it. "We wouldn't want you without a shirt on, right," she muttered to herself, then closed her eyes and sighted, fanning herself with her hand.
God, that heat. She couldn't even fantasize in peace.
Louis Mérante woke up with a start. He had gone back to his office after training, and lied down on his couch after taking off his fourth shirt, on his way for his fifth and last. Apparently, he had fallen asleep immediately, he realised with a grimace, feeling like his sweaty back had merged with the couch's tissue. Good thing he had locked his door honestly.
He stood and opened his curtain. Everything was dark outside, and when he opened the window, he felt the most disgusting mix of heavy heat and macerated street smells hit his face. Wonderful. He checked his watch, 11 PM. Darn, he had slept more than he thought, he had wanted to catch Odette and Félicie before they went to sleep in the attic. He had heard all Troup dancers complaining about the heat up there the night before, and had meant to propose his office for the night to both of them.
The sound of rumbling thunder suddenly startled him, and he realised that was why he had woken up at first. The awaited storm was finally coming down on them, thank God. He leaned on the window and watched with fascination light bolts briefly lighting up the city, closely followed by claps of thunders that made all dogs howl to the night in fear. The Ballet Master was not scared of thunder. Having lived his whole life in Paris, he knew buildings were usually protected by lightning rods a bit everywhere. He could even see from his window lighting hitting the Eiffel Tower in a shower of sparks, redirecting electricity in the ground. Industrial and scientific progress sure were amazing to look at.
He went to put on his shirt and decided he would use that specific and amazing atmosphere to dance in his classroom, for he felt a surge of energy and ideas coming through him. He loved that feeling, the electricity in the air, his body ready to jump at any time.
He danced amidst lightning bolts, using thunder claps to rhythm his steps. When he didn't have a ballerina to dance with, Louis Mérante liked to push his body into dancing surprising steps, mixing all genres he had learnt throughout his life, ballet, step dancing, some flamenco he got from Rosita, some squat dancing he brought back from Russia, and others he didn't remember the name but remembered a few steps of.
His far away mind took quite some time to realise there were people running and calling loudly downstairs, in the corridors. He listened for a few seconds upon noticing the noise, then quickly went down the stairs, opening the door widely with a frown.
Two ballerinas were running while holding empty metal buckets, seemingly panicked, and his appearance stopped them both in their tracks.
"What in God's name is going on here?" Louis Mérante exclaimed, frowning even more upon seeing they were only wearing a night chemise.
"Monsieur," one of them stammered, visibly panicked.
"There is fire in the attic," the other explained with a grim face.
Louis's mind went blank while they kept explaining they were getting buckets for water. He suddenly muttered something before running towards the attic stairs wildly.
It was not happening again.
No, he refused that.
In the attic, the fumes were dense and ballerinas were crying and covering their mouths while heavily coughing.
"Hurry up!" Odette thundered, her face hidden behind a wet tissue and her tress jolting with her every moves. "Is that all of you?"
Everything had happened so fast. Thunder had struck the Opéra and fire had brutally caught at the far end of the attic. The window there had been destroyed by the deafening impact, waking up most ballerinas brutally and throwing wood splinters and plaster everywhere in the attic's corridor. Fire was now progressing wildly, eating up avidly all those wood planks around. Félicie was one of the firsts to get out of her room, calling for fire quickly, her panic intense as she was joined by Odette.
The woman had reacted very fast. She had ordered everyone downstairs, forcibly entering rooms and waking up those still sleeping, or pushing out firmly those that couldn't stand leaving behind their precious possessions.
"Your body is more important than your jewels!" She had thundered over one of the Principals of the Troup that was hurrying to gather her properties. "Go downstairs now unless you want to end up with a cane like me!"
The woman had taken one look at Odette before rushing out of the room, terrified by the fire licking the corridor and progressing quickly towards them. The teacher had gone down last, taking one last look at the burning wood, feeling in her that terrible dread and familiarity. You will not get me this time, she thought defyingly, feeling strangely fired up herself. She had left the door open behind her, and came down to a terrified Félicie that kept calling her name, held back by ballerinas.
"I am here," she had told the girl, who hugged her strongly, coughing and sniffing at the same time. "Listen up everyone," she had then called.
All twenty-five girls and boys were looking apprehensively at the door leading to the attic, startling with each crack and snap of the burning wood. Odette hit her cane loudly to the ground and their eyes focused hastily on her.
"If you want to save some of your possessions, we need to act fast and efficiently," Odette said in her loudest voice. "Go get buckets from the kitchen and laundry room, and bring them to the lake under the stage. We will fill them and form a human chain to bring them up here. Listen! I am not finished! Your health is the most important thing. For those throwing water up there, you will need to wet a cloth and cover your mouth and nose with it first. Don't breath the fumes!"
"But Monsieur Vaucorbeil closed the way to the lake!" One of the boys protested.
"I will open it, I have the key," Odette said, adjusting her damp hold on her cane. "Now hurry!"
They all ran away, and Félicie was about to follow them when Odette held her back.
"Félicie," she said. "You are coming with me. We will retrieve the keys and you will have to run to bring them to the Troup at the lake. Okay?"
"I will be faster than you," the girl nodded, her lips trembling slightly.
"Yes," Odette admitted, already rushing towards the caretaker closet.
Caretakers always had a master key, she knew. Would be handy tonight.
Louis Mérante was barely out of breath when he reached the corridor leading to the attic. He had helped a ballerina bring her bucket full of water there, while she explained to him breathlessly how Odette had organized them in order to save some of their possessions, if they could. Louis had told her he would replace her in the chain, and had asked her to go to the nearest police station, to warn about the fire and get the firemen in as fast as possible. She was quick to obey.
He had given the bucket to one of the ballerinos from the Troup, his face covered and his eyes red as he exchanged his empty bucket with the Master's full one.
"Monsieur," the boy said. "I don't think we will be able to stop the fire, it's too intense!"
"We have to hold until the firemen are here!" Louis countered him. "Do you want us to exchange positions?"
The boy looked relieved.
"I wouldn't mind a break!" He admitted, and they exchanged buckets again. "Mind the fumes! Madame Odette said to wet a cloth and put it over our mouth and nose!"
"Alright," the man nodded, dipping his handkerchief in the water. "Did you see her?"
"What?"
"Did you see Madame Odette?" Louis insisted.
"Ah, yes!" The man said, coughing a bit as he was taking off his own handkerchief. "She must be around with her child, they were running left and right to find more buckets."
"I see, thank you," Louis nodded before heading in the stairs.
The attic felt like a fiery furnace, fire roaring around and wood beams wailing painfully. The furthest part of the corridor had collapsed and gave way to rooftops, lighting bolts still visible from afar. Louis launched the content of his bucket over a burning door, provoking a sudden hiss and fumes as water hit coal starting to form. He went down as fast as he could, careful not to slip over some wet steps.
A full bucket was already there, and he exchanged it with his empty one. This was going to take some time.
Odette made sure she checked on each dancer in the chain, reminding them that they should not run for the floor was wet. She reached a ballerino with very red eyes and stopped him with an imperative hand on the arm.
"Look at me," she said, inspecting his eyes closely. "Put that bucket down and clean your eyes with that water."
"What?" The man said, appalled.
"Do you want to keep your eyes in good health?" She argued back, and he did a pause before suddenly nodding and getting water over his face.
He growled painfully as water filled his eyes, and she pat his shoulder complacently.
"I know, it hurts," she sighted. "But we can't risk having ash in your eyes."
"Yeah," he muttered, fighting to get his eyes open after the heavy watering.
"I will get that bucket to its destination," she said. "Go get the next one."
"Okay," the man moaned, coughing and sneezing in his already wet handkerchief. "Thanks."
She took the bucket's handle, the weight familiar from those last ten years as a cleaner, and walked as fast as she could towards the attic's corridor. She found an empty bucket at the bottom of the stairs and exchanged it with her own quickly, before waiting next to the wall with a tired sight. She had ran all over the Opéra and she was starting to feel it in her legs, especially after that intense week of training and classes.
Steps were heard and a man's hand lowered a bucket next to the full one. She turned to get a look at the man's face and startled.
"Louis?"
"Odette!" He instantly reacted, breaking his reach towards the bucket to grab her arm instead. "Are you alright? Is Félicie with you?"
"We are both fine," she reassured him, grabbing his arm back with her own. "Why are you here? I thought you went home already."
"I fell asleep in my office in the evening," he said, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "Some girls told me everyone got out in time, thanks to you. I had one run for the firemen, by the way."
"Oh, I forgot about the firemen," Odette said with a sorry wince. "How is the situation up there?"
"It's burnt up," Louis grimaced. "We are keeping the fire away from the door but the floors are starting to crumble."
"Oh dear," she murmured sadly.
"MADAME ODETTE!"
They both turned towards a few dancers rushing towards them.
"It's raining!" One of the girls said excitedly before rushing towards the stairs.
"Cover your mouth!" Odette ordered her angrily, and the girl obeyed quickly, followed by the others. "Well, it was time," the women added with a sight, listening for the sound of rain hitting the attic's floor.
Louis took off his makeshift mask to be able to breath better and looked at her, really looked at her through his burning red eyes. She was glowing lightly, barefooted, wearing only a knee-length white chemise, her hair loosely braided and moving freely over her bare shoulders. She was using her cane to stand straight, clearly tired and hurting, but her pose defying all that, showing her determination. He had never seen her more alive, and he was struck by how strong and impactful she stood.
She turned to look at him and frowned.
"Louis, your eyes," she said worryingly, catching his face between her hands to inspect him closely.
Her fingers were cool and soft.
"Come here," she added, aiming at the full bucket. "Clean your face and eyes with the water."
He complied, grimacing at how the water stung but not daring to complain. Her hand was fresh on the nape of his neck, as she was putting some water there as well. He finished washing his face and eyes before using the bottom of his shirt to dry himself. Well, here went his fifth shirt.
A booming familiar voice was suddenly heard from the other end of the corridor, and they both stood and turned towards Auguste Vaucorbeil hastily making his way towards them, a few men in uniform behind him and a familiar red-haired child by his side.
"Louis!" Félicie exclaimed, rushing towards him and hugging him strongly.
He nodded towards Auguste and kneeled next to the child.
"Good job," he said to her, taking in stride her wild, un-braided hair and the very light night chemise she was wearing. "I was told you helped a lot, thank you."
She nodded timidly, grabbing his hand as he moved back up, and he squeezed hers affectionately, not letting go either.
"There are no dancers burnt," Odette told Auguste. "Twenty-five of them got out in time, but I cannot say the same about their possessions."
"That is fine," he waved, before taking both her hands. "They told me how you reacted. Thank you, Madame."
"I am both glad and sad my expertise with fire was useful, I guess," she shrugged, embarrassed and self-conscious.
"Indeed it was," the Director nodded as firemen were climbing the stairs.
"What do you plan to do for our dancers?" Louis asked. "They need a new place, and to be checked by a doctor."
"I've sent someone book an hotel for everyone," Auguste nodded towards him. "Doctor Toussaint will go see them there once he is ready."
"Good," Louis said with satisfaction.
"You both can go join other dancers on the forecourt," Auguste said to Odette and Félicie. "My coachman is taking people four by four to the hotel."
"No," Louis cut him. "They are going home with me. Both of them."
"What?" Odette said, looking at him incredulously.
Auguste nodded.
"As you wish," he simply said. "It is true you have room. I will go check upstairs now," he added with a sight, his imposing body slowly sliding in the tight space leading to the attic. "Join me when you can before leaving, Louis, please!"
Odette had not stopped looking at Louis, and he held her glare calmly.
"This is not open for discussion," he said eventually, still not letting go of Félicie's hand.
"People are going to talk," she objected.
"Let them talk," he replied. "I don't want you to be alone at the hotel after a night like that."
She fell quiet but their gazes were still locked, silently communicating.
"Please Odette," Félicie suddenly murmured tiringly. "Can we go with Louis?"
They both looked at her. The woman sighted and turned around to take a few steps, her bare feet silent on the wood.
"Alright," she ended up murmuring, turning again towards them, leaning on her cane with both arms. "As you both wish."
His relief was mirrored by Félicie's, the girl leaning totally against Louis with a sight, her weariness obvious.
"I need to go upstairs with Auguste first, I'm afraid," Louis said towards Odette. "You can both wait in my office in the meantime."
"Okay," she nodded, coming back towards Félicie to grab the girl's hand. "Come on kid," she murmured.
"I won't be long," he assured them both, reluctantly letting go of the girl's other hand before dashing in the stairs.
Félicie came awake feeling warm and moving. She was wearing her skirt, the one she had when arriving in Paris for the first time, the end of the cloth still a bit wet against her legs. Odette and her had retrieved it and one of Odette's corset and petticoat in the Laundry room. Good thing they did a laundry in the evening, they had managed to salvage that and a few other clothes at least.
The girl sighted and took a few seconds to understand her surroundings. She knew those arms. They were Louis's. She could smell him, and feel his heart against her ear, where she was leaning. Someone else was holding her legs as well. She opened her eyes slowly.
They were in a carriage, the night dark around them. She had never rode in one of them before. Her eyes fell on Odette, sitting next to them, her eyes lost in the night. She had a faraway look and her hair was untied. She looked like she was younger than Rosita, Félicie thought.
"Go back to sleep," Louis Mérante's voice suddenly murmured, startling them both. "You need your rest to be able to dance tomorrow."
She bent her neck to look at him, and he gave her a Look from below his hat. She tried to smile but was too tired.
"What happened?" She muttered.
"We will talk tomorrow," Odette answered her, rearranging Louis's coat over her arm. "Sleep."
"I don't want to," Félicie murmured.
"Here," Louis said, his hand fishing something in his pocket and handing it to her.
She startled upon seeing the familiar blue.
"My music box," she whispered, opening it.
The delicate music and ballerina started their show, and Félicie felt her drowsiness coming back slowly. She closed her eyes again. Louis's coat was around her, giving her that warm feeling of cosiness.
"Thankyou," she managed to breathe before falling back to sleep, Odette's hand caressing her ankle.