Leonie Read Online Free PDF

you again—which one is the prettiest?”
    “Well, I’ve always liked this one the most, it’s so delicate.”
    “Then I’ll take those—make it half a dozen pairs—and if you have them in black I’ll take six of those, too.”
    “Yes, madame.” Léonie ran eagerly to the desk to make up the parcel—her first sale! She glanced at Mademoiselle Montalva. She was so beautiful, such wonderful smooth black hair swept back, Spanish-style, into a knot on her neck, the black eyebrows like wings over immense dark eyes. And so chic. That ruby-colored jacket and skirt looked soft and expensive. And her shoes, exactly the same color as her suit—and so tiny! Maroc said that her lover was very aristocratic and very, very rich. He looked nice, not too tall and not particularly aristocratic-looking, she thought, but nice. He caught her glance and winked at her, and she looked down hurriedly, fearful that Marianne would accuse her again of pushing herself forward. She finished the parcel and returned to the counter, handing it to Mademoiselle Montalva.
    “Thank you, my dear, for your advice,” Caro said, smiling, as she took Alphonse’s arm and walked to the door. “By the way, what’s your name?”
    “It’s Léonie, madame.” She could feel Marianne behind her, watching.
    “Léonie.” She studied the girl. “How very suitable. I must remember to ask for you the next time I come in, Léonie.” Ignoring Marianne, she walked down the marble stairs and disappeared with Alphonse onto the street.
    Marianne returned to her desk, speechless, and Léonie retreated back behind the counter. She felt elated. After all, if Mademoiselle Montalva wanted her to assist her next time, that meant she was one step closer to becoming a salesgirl! And she had done well, even Marianne couldn’t deny that.

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    Gilles, Duc de Courmont, glanced at the sky as he emerged from the Elysée Palace. There was no doubt it was going to snow. There was a yellowish cast to the lowering clouds and an edge to the wind that cut through his jacket; he should have worn a coat, but it was too early for this kind of weather. It was the sort you might expect in January, not October. Hunching his shoulders against the chill, he strode purposefully down the rue de Rivoli toward the offices of the European Iron and Steel Company and the third meeting of the day. It was still only ten o’clock and he had already met with two gentlemen from Germany about the joint expansion of the railway links with Russia and had breakfasted with a cabinet minister who had informed him, in confidence, that there was a suggestion that he was to be offered the ambassadorship to the Court of St. James’s in London. Of course, he wouldn’t accept. He had no wish to be stuck in London when his true interests lay in America—damn it, they should have given him Washington! He had already set up his contacts with the new automobile companies there, he could have combined the two perfectly. Who, he wondered, had been against it? He made a mental note to have François Verronet check on it—Verronet had contacts within the palace, he would soon know who it was that didn’t want him in Washington. Of course, he had his suspicions, and he’d bet even money on the minister with whom he had just had breakfast. He’d also have Verronet check on his business affairs in America; if the minister was up to something, there was no doubt that he would want his own man in there. No one crossed Gilles de Courmont and got away with it.
    The men sitting around the oval table sprang to their feet as he came into the room. He had kept them waiting twenty minutes and they were busy men, but not only was Gilles, Duc deCourmont, president of the European Iron and Steel Company, he was the incisive business brain that had promoted its success to one of the most powerful industrial empires in Europe. Gilles made no apology but got straight down to business. “Very well, gentlemen, the