Chapter 5
The steely tap of the hoofs on the stone driveway slowed to a dead stop. Uncoordinated shrills of ladies and low chuckles of gentlemen were muffled as they waited in line for the others to unload and make their way in. Tiffany desperately thought of something interesting to say. Her family was in the carriage behind. Lawrence was with her the past few days. The weather seemed fine enough. She found absolutely nothing of interest. Hopeless, she silently declared, and gazed out the small window, leaving Lawrence to his newspaper. The carriage moved a few paces.
She figured the Lauriens must really be somebody, to have such a large estate right in the middle of Paris. The château was relatively big, with two levels. The white walls were highlighted with golden banisters of the balconies which jutted out from both sides. The windows and doors were made of thick glass, gleaming in the evening sun. To the side, a gem blue lake twinkled like a sapphire set among lush, proportioned trees. The scent of lavender blew with every small gust of wind, filtering through the nodding bluebells.
She hoped the inhabitants of this fairy-tale mansion shared the same grace as their accommodation. Clattering to a stop, a white-gloved butler swung the door open and offered Tiffany a small bundle of freshly picked lavender, "Bonsior, Mademoiselle Cheldon. Bienvenue." Pleasantly surprised, she sniffed the thoughtful bunch of flowers and summoned the warmest smile.
Her mood lightened considerably, she stepped lightly through the varnished wooden main doors, held open by another pair of gloved butlers into the parquet landing. When she had divested herself of her cloak with the help of Charlotte, Lawrence grabbed her elbow, pulled her to him, put his arm around her trim waist, and steered her to the tall white doors on the left.
Tiffany had almost forgotten to walk if not for Lawrence's firm arm when the butler pushed open the curvy gold handles, revealing the extravagant ballroom inside. She gasped involuntarily at the sight she was entering into. A proud, three-tiered chandelier hung from the center dome, on which flowing mermaids and angels looked down. The front and side walls had full glass panels stretching from the cream marble floor to the high ceiling above. Intricate golden designs skipped around the white walls, exuding clean, simple elegance.
Beautiful French girls giggled, the wives sat gossiping in rapid fire French, the men were in small groups holding a small competition of their performance in the bedroom. Waiters with polished trays skimmed smoothly through the patches of guests, stopping only to offer delicate hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne.
"Mademoiselle, voulez-vous de champagne?" A young waiter stopped by her, expertly balancing a tray of Austrian crystal glasses, advertising the yellow liquid that cheerfully bubbled.
"Sorry, I beg your pardon. I can't understand French-" Tiffany hated that fact. French was the most beautiful language she knew. Presently, she made a silent promise to herself that someday, somehow, she would learn the language.
"Oh. I'm sorry. What I said was "Would you like some champagne, miss?" the young waiter blushed, his French accent heavy.
Tiffany smiled. His French accent sounded so melodious, French accents always did. "Why, thank you!"
France was the homeland of champagne, cognac, and wine. Now Tiffany felt fully the delightful implications of this fact. The champagne here tickled her tongue and released bursts of aroma, lightly warming her face. The champagne back home bit her tongue and tasted of vile alcohol. Glancing curiously at a small stage adjoining with the back wall of the ballroom, Tiffany decided her parents were right once more. She wouldn't have missed coming here for the world. It was the epitome of high living.