Chapter Nineteen: What Happens at the Theatre…
The hall was similar to Salle de Cent Suisses, with a cherubim-dotted celling and velvet-lined boxes, only this time they were scarlet. Gold filigree ornamented them, and Grecian statues hung in the corners and edges of every lofty surface, including above the stage. The box they resided in was eye level with the raised stage. Others of nobility and stature sat across from as well as above them, and the common folk sat on the main floor, filling the space with an almost deafening chatter.
Their seating arrangement was repeated from the concert at Tuilleries, with Lumière between Bernadette and Nicolas, and Babette sitting on the other side of the vicomte. Lumière was too distracted to do more than exchange a few words with Bernadette, who soon recognized he was figuring out a strategy. Knowing this might be precisely what he had spoken with her about the day before, she took to keeping herself alert for his instruction in whatever form it may take.
On the other hand, Mlle de Chantemerle, in her eagerness to keep herself composed until curtain-up, took all of Nicolas' attention for her own as they perused the program together.
"Let us see what kind of farce we have stumbled into," Babette said as she found the page labeled, Synopsis.
She noticed that particular words were capitalized, and so she cleared her throat and read in an elaborated accent,"'When Lucidor, the son of a wealthy Bourgeois and the Head of a considerable Fortune, fell ill in the Country, a Family of honest and middle-class Country Proprietors took him in. The young Girl especially, Angélique, took special Care of Him. She is a charming young Lady—one Lucidor would be happy to Marry—but before offering Her his Hand, He would like to know if She loves Him or his Fortune…'" She eyed her fiancé. "What are your thoughts, monsieur?"
His lips trembled, but Nicolas did well to keep a straight face. "Could you read it again? I do not think I caught all of the emphases the first time."
With a huff, she exclaimed, "As though I could repeat a performance that brilliant!"
"Are you sure we did not stumble into a farce of our own?"
Babette mirrored his smile. "Not quite. But vraiment, chère, what is your impression?"
His eyebrow rose. "Honestly? I think the problem could be easily resolved with a simple question. But then there would not be much left for a show, would there?"
"Oh, please! Ask a mademoiselle a question?" Babette chastised with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "When has a woman ever given a straight answer, hm? Of course the only way to be sure of a mademoiselle's true feelings is to trick her into telling you what they are. This has been proven to be the only foolproof method, monsieur, I assure you!"
After a moment, Nicolas took his hand away from his mouth, his dimples prominently on display as the remains of his laughter died. "Naturally, mademoiselle. How foolish of me to think otherwise!"
"I should say so," Babette murmured with an offended air. As she returned her attention to the program, she had to smirk in triumph at how well she could leave Nicolas in stiches.
Soon, incidental music cued the start of the show, and a backdrop of a respectable salon was revealed, along with a chaise and other matching furniture. The audience steadily quieted before two handsomely dressed gentlemen walked onto the stage.
The monsieur with a cool, confident bearing spoke first. "So, you're just arriving?"
The man who accompanied him seemed to have an excitement in his gait and energy about his features, and replied accordingly, "I have just landed at the first Hôtellerie du Village. I had asked for the road to the Château as you had instructed in your letter, and here I am, your preferred confidante!" He elegantly turned in place while looking eagerly to his companion. "So? What do you think? Do you recognize your valet de chambre? Do I not perfectly look the part of a lord?" He smoothed his cravat, his expression almost smug.
His master nodded in agreement, and teased, "You are almost respectable!"
The crowd chuckled as the valet visibly deflated and scowled. Lumière nudged his friend. "Why, look! It is practically us in costume!"
Nicolas laughed.
The valet, named Frontin, changed the subject. "At present, what do you plan to do with me and my handsome attire?"
His master, Lucidor, responded casually, "To offer you as a husband to a very amiable girl."
Frontin's mouth dropped in rapture, and looked like he wanted to embrace him. "Tout de bon! Ma foi, monsieur, I must insist you are even more amiable than her, whoever she is!"
Amused, Lucidor didn't hesitate to correct him. "Ah non, you misunderstand. It is me whom she regards."
Disappointed a second time, Frontin waved his hand as though he wanted to shoo Lucidor away. "In that case, I will not insist on anything again."
The audience found that humorous as well. Nicolas then asked Lumière, "So… which one are you?"
"Do not think I act like the valet character merely because I was yours."
"But… don't you?"
As Lumière was about to utter a swift rebuttal, he received a withering stare from Babette, but he refused to be phased. He only smirked at her and shrugged with a nonchalance he knew she would find irksome before he returned his eyes to the stage. Even though Nicolas sat between them, he could feel her growing irritation radiate from her.
"You know that I came here nearly two months ago to see the land that my businessman bought for me," Lucidor was reminding Frontin with a stifled anticipation. "In my newly claimed château, I found a Madame Argante, who seemed like the housekeeper, and who is a little bourgeoise of this country. This good lady has a daughter, Angélique, who has charmed me, and it is to her that I wish you to propose marriage."
Frontin laughed, visibly impressed. "For this girl you love, your plot is salacious! We shall therefore make three," he determined suavely, his insinuation difficult to ignore. "You treat this plight as though it were a game of piquet."
"Bien, fine," Lumière muttered begrudgingly. "In this case, I would play the valet."
Nicolas snorted because he had been thinking the exact same thing. Babette again turned on them, hissing, "Do you mind?"
Guiltily, Nicolas pressed his lips together, but he gave his friend a sly look. What he had neglected to mention to his fiancée was that they normally conducted themselves in this way during plays. In their silent exchange, they agreed that in truth, Babette was playing well the part of Nicolas' theatre-loving mother.
Babette managed to resist rolling her eyes at the two schoolboys beside her and looked to the actors once more.
"Mark me," chastised Lucidor with abstinence. "I intend to marry her myself."
With a smirk still full of innuendo, Frontin patted his master on the shoulder. "I hear you loud and clear: After I have married her."
"Will you let me finish?" Lucidor snapped, his sterner tone snapping the valet out of his daydream as chuckles from Frontin's comment rang around the theatre.
Frontin dropped his head at the reprimand, and Lucidor sighed. Hugging Frontin's shoulders in camaraderie, he informed, "I will present you as a rich man and my friend to see if she will love me enough to refuse you."
"I see…" Frontin said, mulling over the idea as he wandered a little across the stage. "But tell me, monsieur, would you tolerate a small criticism?"
Lucidor eyed him, a one-sided smile visible as though he wasn't surprised. He shrugged and crossed his arms. "I suppose."
With precise wording, Frontin delicately said, "Though barely in the prime of your age, you are altogether wise and reasonable."
Lucidor nodded in thanks.
"But," the valet continued, and Lucidor rolled his eyes as the audience chuckled, "it seems to me that your plan is very…" He pinched all his fingers together and looked to the beyond before stating bluntly, "Lacking."
Lucidor's face dropped instantly into a deadpan expression. Giggles ensued while he looked about to retort.
As Frontin looked at him expectantly, Lucidor divulged with growing vulnerability, "It is true that Angélique is only a simple bourgeoise of the country, but she has meant much to me from the start, and I do not have the contempt others of my rank would hold for her because of that."
Stepping forward, Lucidor sincerely smiled as he faced the audience, his expression alight with adoration. "She is, moreover, so charming, and I can discern, through her innocence, so much honor and so much virtue in her. She is naturally so distinguished in character, that if she loves me as I believe, I shall never be with anyone but her."
From his newly acquired seat on the chaise, Frontin cleared his throat, an eyebrow quirked. "I am sorry, if she loves you? Has that not been decided?"
Lucidor grimaced and shook his head. "No. I have never told her that I love her, but all of my manners have meant that—all of them were expressions of the most ingenuous inclination." He took a seat by his friend, his mien thoughtful. "I fell ill three days after my arrival. I was even in some danger of…"
Gazing at Frontin with meaning, he drew a finger over his throat. Frontin looked aghast. "I have seen her worried—alarmed—more so than I was. I have seen tears flow from her eyes, without her mother catching a glimpse, and since my health has returned, we continue in the same way."
Frontin seemed to sympathize as Lucidor continued, "I still love her, without telling her. She also loves me without telling me anything about it, or realizing it herself, and I want to keep it a secret. Her simple, honest, and true heart knows no more."
"But since you know more than she, why do you not put a little word of love forward?" Frontin asked, baffled. "It would not spoil anything."
"It's not time," the nobleman said. "As sure as I am of her heart, I want to know how much I owe of my own, and whether it is the rich man, or me alone that is loved. This is what I shall clarify by the test I am going to put her through."
"Diabolical," Lumière murmured in admiration to Nicolas. "But may I say 'genius' as well!"
"I wonder if this was written from personal experience," the viscount whispered back.
The maître d' grinned. "If not, this will certainly inspire similar experiences to occur, more so by women than men."
"Why do you sa—Ow!"
Nicolas recoiled his left arm and wondered at Babette, but she was glaring at Lumière, and clearly seething. "Stop encouraging him," she censured.
Looking to Nicolas a little more kindly, she imparted, "I am trying to listen."
Her betrothed bowed his head slightly in shame. "Of course."
Lumière met her eyes again for good measure and made sure not to look at all apologetic. Babette couldn't bear to look for more than a second or she would have been sorely tempted to throttle him.
The play went on: Lucidor enlisted a thirty-year-old landowner named Blaise, a greedy and opportunistic bootlicker whose rapid change of mood amused the skeptics in the crowd, to propose to Angélique as part of his "test." The nobleman also instructed Blaise to flirt with Angélique's attractive maid, Lisette, for a fortune. The poor maid was amazed and vastly irritated by Blaise's impertinence, and Babette giggled in sympathy for her. It was even funnier when Lisette had to withhold her laughter from Blaise's ridiculous excuse for flattery.
As understandable as Lucidor's "test" was for a man in his position, Babette found that the humor the rest of the attendees felt from this farce was falling rather flat on her sensibilities. Count on a man to think a woman only after riches and power, despite her showing nothing but altruistic love and devotion. When it came to marriage, weren't money and status always going to be considered in some way, even if love dominates any other desire? It is only natural for a woman to think of all the merits as well as disadvantages to a match. No one, including women, can survive on love alone.
Soon, Lucidor's intended graced the stage, and she was a lovely and innocent vision indeed. She seemed like a bride already in the way she was carrying a fresh bouquet of field flowers in her hands. As Blaise attempted to make her swoon, Angélique rejected him with surprising and hilarious bluntness, yet the actress managed to say so in a still charming manner. Not offended in the slightest, Blaise made his exit.
Angélique then asked her maid, "Is it true, Lisette, that someone came from Paris to see M. Lucidor?"
"Oui, to my knowledge."
The young lady thought on this, getting a worried look on her pretty features. "Is it said that he was to take him to Paris when this someone arrived?"
Lisette shrugged. "That is what I do not know. M. Lucidor did not tell me anything, except…" She paused thoughtfully. "He spoke about a very grand marriage. He says his friend is a man of the world, but monsieur does not say who he is, nor when this man will come to introduce himself."
With childlike anticipation, Angélique inquired, "Did M. Lucidor really talk about a husband?"
Conspiratorially, Lisette leaned closer. "Oui, of a distinguished husband with a considerable establishment."
Angélique mimicked her maid's smile. "Very considerable, I suspect!"
"Oh? What do you suspect?" Lisette asked in mock-innocence.
Angélique ducked her head. "I would blush too much, if I am wrong."
"Would it not be, by chance," Lisette insisted knowingly, "that you imagine him to be the man in question, the rich and grand monsieur that he is?"
"Well! Him!" Angélique exclaimed, her adoration of Lucidor bubbling over only for a moment before she stopped herself. "I do not know what I mean. One dreams, one lets their thoughts wander, and that's all." She took a deep breath. "I will see about this husband; I will not marry him without seeing him."
"When it is one of his friends, it is always a grand affair," Lisette commented with a smirk.
"I like this maid character," Nicolas noted. He gently nudged Babette as he added, "She reminds me of you."
Babette managed a smile in return but said nothing. Truthfully, she thought the same, but she found that fact disturbing.
Well, this Angélique is certainly not like the one I know, she observed. If she ever saw her friend Angélique as love-struck as her stage counterpart, Babette would never let her forget it.
She grinned at the reminiscence, but a sadness accompanied it. Why had she decided to cut off all connection to the castle? How is she doing? she wondered.
Out of reflex, she glanced over at Lumière. He would be the one to ask, if she felt any compelling notion to speak with him alone.
Never again, she promised. If she felt so compelled, she would rather write a letter to her friend. Babette made sure to stow away that idea for later.
On stage, Lucidor entered and Lisette departed, leaving the two lovers to themselves.
Under Lucidor's consideration, Angélique grinned more widely, touching her cheek to indicate her blush. "What are you thinking of, considering me with such seriousness?"
"I am thinking of how you make every day brighter," he replied.
Pretending not to hear the tenderness in his tone, she said factually, "Not when you were sick. By the way…" Her eyes darted to what she held still. "I know how much you love flowers, so I made sure to pick for you this little bouquet. Here, monsieur. Take it."
Lucidor stepped closer to cover her hands that clasped the flowers, and a similar memory flashed across Babette's mind: Her embarrassment at interfering with Lumière's feud with the real Angélique, his teasing demeanor becoming soothing to calm her choler, and her heart pounding as his warm hands covered her fingers as she gripped her freshly-cut bouquet from Queen Beatrice's gardens.
A potent stab speared her heart, catching her by surprise. Babette's grip tightened on the arm of her chair as a dull pain rose up to rest behind her eyes. She took a deep and discreet breath to stem it. Focus, focus…
"I will take it only to return it to you," Lucidor disclosed. "You would give me more by allowing me that pleasure."
Starry-eyed, Angélique clutched the bouquet to her chest. "And I, from this moment on, like it better than before." Checking herself, she cleared her throat. "Pray, what did you want to speak with me about?"
Lucidor straightened as well. He placed his hands professionally at his back. "To give you testimonies of how highly I regard our friendship, provided that above all you will teach me the state of your heart."
Angélique bit her lip to keep her smile from growing too big. "Its state will soon be known. I will not be telling you anything new; Take away our friendship, and you know well, there would be nothing left in my heart."
Her artlessness softened Lucidor's features once more. "How you speak makes me so happy, that I almost forget what I have to say to you… Ah, yes." Resolute, he declared, "I intend for you to have a husband."
Angélique's eyes grew wide, saying aside to the audience, "Is it possible? Oh, my whole heart beats so quickly!" Willing to play along, she spoke to Lucidor. "Does… he stay with you?"
Lucidor smiled. "Oui, Angélique. We are in the same house."
"That is not enough. I dare not be comfortable with any confidence kept from me," she stipulated. "What kind of man is he?"
"A very rich man," he replied, as if that answered all questions.
Angélique set her arms akimbo. "That is not what I meant. That comes afterwards."
Lucidor quirked an eyebrow but went on. "He is my age and size."
Angélique beamed, satisfied. "Good. That is what I wanted to know."
But Lucidor continued to watch her closely. "Our characters are similar, and he thinks like me."
"Even better and better! I love him already," she said, breathless with excitement.
"He is a man who is just as unified with me as I am him."
"There is nothing more I could want."
"Who has neither ambition nor glory, and who will not demand anything of whom he marries, except her heart."
"He will have it, monsieur, he will have it!" she cried in ecstasy, practically bursting with tears of joy. "He already has it. I love him as much as you, neither more nor less!"
Lucidor took her empty hand. "You will have his, Angélique, I assure you. I know him. It is as if he tells you himself."
Angélique looked up into his eyes adoringly. "Oh, without a doubt! And I answer as if he were here."
A chuckle escaped him as he placed his other hand over hers. "Ah, if his current mood is any indication, you will make him happy."
"I promise you he will not be the only one," she stage-whispered.
A blissful moment of silence between them proved that the entire theatre was enraptured. Angélique looked to Lucidor as though he had given her the world. As endearing as it was, Babette felt a sense of dread creep into her own stomach.
Lucidor managed to grin in response. "I cannot wait to talk to your mother, to have her consent. Before I leave you," he said, releasing her hand to dive into his inside jacket pocket, "accept from me this little wedding present which I have the right to offer you, according to custom and as a friend." He pulled out a dark velvet box, and its contents sparkled upon its opening. "They are petits bijoux from Paris."
"And I take them because they are from you. But it was not necessary to bring jewels." Angélique took the box and cradled it, but barely paid its contents any mind. Her next words were tender. "It is your friendship that is the true one."
He looked away so the audience could see a sign of his doubt. Regaining his composure, he directed to her, "Adieu, ma chère Angélique. Your husband will not be long in appearing."
"Run so that he may come faster," she bid.
He bowed nobly to her before he backed away and hurried off-stage.
Lisette entered and rushed to her mistress's side. "Well, mademoiselle? Did he tell you? Who will you marry?"
Angélique clutched her maid's hand. "It is him, dearest Lisette, it is him I will marry!" She danced away, her arms spread wide in elation before she looked eagerly toward the wing Lucidor exited. "And now I wait for him to return."
Lisette crossed her arms. "To him, did you say? Who is 'him?' Is he here?" she asked, following Angélique's gaze.
"You will meet him," Angélique added, in a trance. "He has gone to find my mother."
Lisette watched her carefully. "I only saw M. Lucidor, and… he is not marrying you."
Angélique faced her maid. "If necessary, I will repeat it to you twenty times! If you knew how we talked to each other, how we got along without him saying…" She took her concerned maid's hands in hers. "He asked me. Oh, it was so clear—so clear, and so pleasant, so tender—"
Lisette hushed her. "Look, here he comes again."
Angélique spun around to see Lucidor and Frontin approach in strides. She tilted her head slightly like a confused puppy.
Oh, you poor girl, Babette mourned.
"I return, belle Angélique!" Lucidor announced. "While going to your mother's house, I found that monsieur had arrived, and I thought there was nothing more urgent than to bring him to you. It is he: the husband for whom you are so favorably prejudiced, and who is in fact another version of myself. He also brought me the portrait of a young and pretty mademoiselle in Paris whom he has recommended I marry."
"Oo's" penetrated the crowd at seeing this "test" officially take fold.
"The plot thickens," Lumière muttered to Nicolas.
To add salt to the wound, Lucidor presented the small framed picture of this fabricated Parisian woman to a stunned Angélique. "See for yourself."
The young bourgeoise stared blankly at the portrait as Lucidor looked to her expectantly. "What do you think?" he prompted in a casual way that irked Babette more than ever.
Angélique turned away, shell-shocked. "I do not know myself," she mumbled.
Doing his best to remain in-character, Lucidor put away the picture and said, "Adieu. I leave you together, and I run to Mme Argante's." He hesitated, sincere concern breaching his demeanor as he watched Angélique, and stepped forward. "Are you well?"
Without answering or looking at him, Angélique thrusted the jewelry box out for him to take. Lucidor blinked, tentatively putting his hand out, and she shoved the box roughly into it. Taken aback, he glanced between her and his intended gift. His mouth stiffened before gripping it tight.
Babette watched him depart in defeat. Just what he deserved.
"Brava," Lumière admired.
Anger flared in Babette's breast. She leapt from her seat and pierced the maître d' with a searing glare. He met her eyes with mild surprise, as though daring her to call him out.
At recognizing this expectation, Babette's words caught in her throat. Setting her mouth, she took her leave.
"Babette, are you-? Babette!" Nicolas called, but she ignored him and stomped through the box's curtains.
Nicolas faced Lumière, who was already on his feet and straightening his jacket.
"I will take care of it," his friend assured.
Nicolas sighed begrudgingly, and reminded, "I am counting on you to do what is right and honorable."
"Trust me," Lumière said, his infamous one-sided smirk on display. "Your fiancée will still be yours when all is said and done."
He turned to Bernadette, and gave her a wink. The maid, though still anxious, granted him a small smile of permission.
With that, he swept out of the box.
Babette strode down corridors lined with lavish décor of deep scarlet and gold. The halls, lobbies, and staircases were thankfully deserted save for a sparse few ushers. She paid them no mind in the hopes they wouldn't inquire after her.
Her says grew tighter as she walked, and her desperation for fresh air almost overpowered her frustration and distress. Being constantly reminded of what she had lost due to circumstances beyond her control had driven her to get out of that damn box. How could she handle being in the same room with Lumière for days longer? Why had she agreed to see this ridiculous play? She almost regretted having wormed her way into joining this entire trip.
Finally, by the third floor, she found glass-paned doors leading outside. She gratefully pushed through them.
Crisp, spring air greeted her like an old friend; it caressed her hot, irritated skin like a salve. Such a release that she couldn't remember feeling in a long time allowed her lungs to breathe.
She took easy steps to the balustrade as she beheld the view. The clouds had started to break, and the sun was at its golden hour. Hues of orange and purple coated the sky and crested the chimneys and tiled roofs that made up the horizon. As Babette watched, the sunlight dimmed as it sunk below the buildings.
Leaning against the stone railing, she gazed down the avenue toward the Seine. She angled her head to try and hear its currents from where she stood, but only the wind and faint sounds of horses' hooves and footsteps met her ears.
A footstep was heard that seemed much closer than the rest. Then the doors behind her were shut.
She started and spun around, her eyes immediately drawn to a pair of familiar greys.
"May I join you?" Lumière asked in that cavalier manner only he could achieve. Babette's fingers itched to strangle him.
She groaned, clinching her fists. "Mon Dieu, must you follow me at every opportunity?"
"Clearly, I follow you without intending to," Lumière replied with aggravating logic before shrugging. "So, I figure… Why fight it?"
Babette could tell he found this humorous, but she was less than amused. "Go. Away."
Lumière's smile faded, and his voice gained a softness she found disarming. "Not until we come to an understanding."
"What is left to say?" Babette snapped. "You made yourself perfectly clear how unworthy you think me of Nicolas and how repelled you are by my past affairs."
He winced, but Babette kept going. "And then you continue to hang over my head that I keep secrets from him! Do you not think I suffer for them well enough on my own?"
His jaw tightened. "I regret having ever given the slightest impression that I think of you as anything less than a nonpareil."
She huffed a bitter laugh. "You think your candied words are going to sway me? Believe me, I have learned my lesson."
Lumière fidgeted with his cravat and swept a hand over his hair, which made Babette take pause. She could hardly recall ever seeing him do so, but they seemed to reflect feelings far from what was characteristic of him… feelings of anxiety.
"I admit," he appealed, "I resented how much information you had kept from me, as well as the amount you are having to withhold from Nicolas. It took some time and serious thought to recognize…" He met her eyes again, this time with a captivating intensity. "You are more a victim of circumstance than anything else."
She stubbornly pursed her lips, but she couldn't look away.
At her silence, he went on. "I did not mean to accuse you today. I know you can easily believe it was a foolish slip of the tongue."
"Were the words you spoke to me in Augustine's garden also 'slips of the tongue?'" she countered with sweetened venom.
He grimaced. Touché. "Non. But I was not yet in my right mind."
Babette raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, inciting him to say, "Since we've arrived in Paris, I am sure you were also aware of my attempts to win your good opinion once more."
"As though you ever had it to begin with?" she said with mock-surprise.
Lumière gave her a charming smile. "Deny that fact all you want, chérie. I will always know the truth."
After swallowing a laugh, lines appeared between her brows. Clutching her forehead, she turned away from him to brace herself on the balustrade.
His mind running a thousand miles per minute, he moved closer to be level with her. "Babette… There are not enough days in a lifetime for me to properly express how sorry I am for having caused you pain, and I will do anything I can to help put you ease."
Babette didn't move, and he could only assume he had her apt attention. He leaned his back against the rail. "As inadequate as my approval might be, I want you to know… I support your marriage to Nicolas."
She lifted her head and gazed at him in wonder. Blinking her astonishment away, she studied him for a moment. "You do?"
An iron vice tightened around his heart, but he nodded. "I do."
Indecision crowded her beautiful face. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples before giving a frustrated shake of her head. "Lumière, I cannot forgive you so easily. What you said to me… the way you glared at me—"
"Chérie…" When her voice cracked, he rushed forward to take her hand in both of his. His heart broke at the sign of her dejection, and he cursed himself that he had any part in it. "Babette, ma très chère, I wish I could erase all of that from memory."
She slipped her hand from his grip. "Well, I can think of little else, not to mention your steady attentions toward Bernadette."
"Bernadette? What does she-?" He tilted his head as his eyes brightened. A smirk began to grow on his lips. "No… Are you implying that I…"
But Babette looked dead serious, and then more annoyed when he had the audacity to laugh.
"Come now, you know me better than that!" Lumière insisted.
"You are not above having your own fun with other women in front of me, remember?" Babette reminded spitefully.
"But Bernadette?"
Babette's cheeks flushed. "She cannot speak a cross word against you—has even expressed her concern for your well-being! Hmm…" She poked her chin in an overly contemplative pose. "Why do you think that is?"
"Par le Dieu, you are worse than Nicolas," Lumière said, exasperated. "There could be nothing more platonic than my feelings for Bernadette, and she feels the same. Besides, there is another man quite interested in her."
"Another man?" Babette watched him with doubt as she thought on it. "You do not mean…"
"Apart from your fiancé, is there another monsieur currently living with us? If so, please, enlighten me!"
Her expression swayed between suspicion to uncertainty. "But… you and Bernadette: She became so comfortable with you so quickly!"
Lumière spread his hands. "My career is in hospitality. How can you be so surprised?"
Crossing her arms, she begrudged him that reason. He smiled before sighing. "Fine. I understand that you cannot forgive me just yet. But Babette," he gently urged, "know that I am on your side. In the days and… events to come, I hope that we can once again be friends."
He held out an open palm. "Will you accept a truce between two relentless forces of nature?"
With an eyebrow raised, she narrowed her eyes at him, but a corner of her mouth lifted. "I suppose we are, non?"
He mimicked her grin. "I would not say so if we weren't."
Pouting her ruby lips in consideration, she eyed his offered hand carefully, and for a moment, Lumière thought she was going to deny him.
Then she removed her hand from the crook of her elbow and shook his. "Truce."
He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and gratefully clasped her delicate fingers. "Thank you."
She took her hand from his grasp to point. "Do not let me regret it. Comprends?"
His smile widened as she exhibited that signature passion of hers. "Perfectly."
Under his gaze, Babette couldn't help feeling vulnerable. Did he realize how tenderly he regarded her? She gripped her arms as if she were cold.
He nodded to the doors. "Shall we?"
"Yes," she breathed, taking the initiative.
He escorted her in companionable silence back to their box, and though she denied it, even if halfheartedly, she was comforted by the company.
When I discovered this play, L'Épreuve (or The Test), I was able to find it in its entirety in a digital library - that is, the original libretto in 18th century French.
I took it upon myself to translate it using Google Translate, Word Reference, and my basic knowledge of French. I'm not going to lie: It was a challenge, and one of the most tedious things I've ever done. Prior to this, I was unfamiliar with French type font from back then - as one typically would be - and it just so happens that they used f's as s's, ladies and gentlemen. Why? My initial guess was that an "f" resembled the IPA symbol [∫] which stands for the "sh" sound, or in this case, a plain old "s" sound. But it could be as simple as the character of "s" was not yet established in the French alphabet - or, more likely, installed in their printing presses - at the time this play was published.
Whatever the case may be, I had to figure out based on context what was supposed to be an "s" versus an "f." I also had to adapt the wording and phrasing of the translations so they flowed better and made more sense in English. I did my best!
I chose this play based off the year it premiered (1740, the year this fic takes place) and a pretty general synopsis on Wikipedia. I wish I could say it was carefully and meticulously chosen based on the events and characters, but its plots and personalities ended up working out marvelously well, and for that, I'm eternally grateful! I'm very pleased with the effect its elements had on this quartet of characters, and I hope you enjoyed it as well.
In case you're interested, I have the Google Docs link to my super unofficial transcript of the play on my profile page. Sincerely, it's a cute and funny story!