Chapter 6
Mérante hated the servant's ball. To him it seemed a misguided attempt at magnanimity, but instead, took the servants away from their families on Christmas Eve, and seemed to put unnecessary emphasis on their difference in stations. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Pepita that a Christmas bonus would be better spent, but he'd been overruled. 'The one saving grace of this evening is I might finally find out who that young maid is. But to what end?' He was at war with himself. Fraternizing with a maid would hardly be proper, but she had bewitched him entirely.
Auguste's lyrical voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "You seem miles away," he sang, grating on Louis' nerves.
"Lucien, I don't see the point of the servant's ball."
"It's tradition, Louis. The servants look forward to it all year."
'I somehow doubt it,' Lous thought darkly.
"It's degrading, Lucien, honestly. To dress them up and parade them about? They know their stations and don't need to be reminded of it on Christmas Eve. Let them spend the night with their families."
"Oh, not this again. Please, Louis, understand, this is a tradition that goes back to the start of l'Opéra. Surely even you aren't so arrogant as to think you can change these things?"
Louis crossed his arm, a darkness falling over his face. "Things change, Auguste. Even here. Imagine if we had electric lights on the stage? None of that ugliness would have happened last year. No dead dancers, no repairs, no scandal."
"Dead dancers? Preposterous. Odette is fine. Well, a bit worse for the wear of course. She should be here somewhere. I believe I picked out a blue dress for her for tonight."
"She is here, at the Servant's Ball?" All the pieces fell into place for Mérante. The grace with which she moved, despite her injury; that was from years of training. The way she melted into the shadows and avoided the eyes of everyone she passed; she was avoiding the pitying looks of her former peers. He searched for her all night, but she was no where to be found.