Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe Read Online Free PDF Page B

consider.” I opened the file marked “Active” and looked at the clock. “We have only one hour.”
    A review of our projects proved discouraging. We have yet to succeed in getting Citoyen Merode erased, even though he was put on the List * due to his cousin’s emigration. We have succeeded, at last, in getting Citoyenne Daco and her son released from prison, but Citoyens Mercier and Pacout remain. Citoyen Pinson, sadly, died. We’ll see what we can do to help his widow and five children. In addition to our charities, eleven men and women have approached us for help getting their names taken off the List, getting jobs, getting released from jail. In light of the growing number of requests we decided to meet every week, before the ladies gather to play cards.
    “Speaking of whom,” I said, hearing a carriage pull into the courtyard.
    “Ah, it’s the Glories.” Glories? “You haven’t heard that? That’s what Barras calls us,” Thérèse explained. “Because we dress for the glory of the Lord.”
    Glories indeed! ** Before I could tell Lisette to please show them in, they’d entered, filling the dining room with their exotic scents, their fluttering fans and bobbing plumes, their silken ruffles swirling with all the erotic sensuality of a harem.
    “Ah, it appears we’ve interrupted a charity meeting,” tiny Madame de Crény said, the ends of an enormous red and yellow striped bow flopping down into her eyes like rabbit ears.
    “We were just finishing,” I said, gathering up the papers.
    “Is it true you married the Corsican?” Minerva asked, trying to keep her pug dog from sniffing at my pug dog, who was growling menacingly.
    I gave Thérèse an accusing look. “I didn’t tell them,” she protested. “I’m innocent.”
    “Hardly!” Fortunée Hamelin was half-naked in spite of the chill spring day; her gown of India gauze shot with silver revealed more than it concealed. (She boasted that her entire ensemble could fit into her embroidered pocket of Irish linen.)
    “You must not blame Thérèse,” Madame de Crény said, following me into the drawing room where the game table had been set up. “Director Barras is the guilty party.”
    “As usual.” Fortunée propped her mule-heeled slippers on a footstool, displaying to advantage what are generally considered well-turned ankles. (She was wearing drawers! * )
    “He has no willpower, the poor dear,” Minerva lisped softly.
    “And to think he’s running this country.”
    “He is running this country.” Madame de Crény perched on a chair, swinging her feet.
    “Do you think he is dyeing his hair?”
    “It must be that opera singer I’ve seen at his receptions.”
    “More likely it’s her younger brother.” (Laughter.)
    “And he’s wearing a corset.”
    “Just when we ladies have taken ours off.”
    “ That’s liberation.”
    “So, Rose, where exactly is this husband of yours?” Minerva asked, peering into the study.
    “Her husband who loves her madly.”
    “Thérèse!”
    “How romantic.”
    “How inconvenient.”
    “He’s in Nice, taking command of the Army of Italy,” I explained with pride.
    “So are we in an interesting condition yet?”
    “It’s a little early, don’t you think? He left two days after we were married.”
    “It only takes me one minute,” Thérèse groaned. “And look at me, twelve babies,” Minerva boasted. “My husband only has to smile at me and I’m in an interesting condition.” “We’ve noticed.”
    “I’ve noticed that most of the women of Paris are in an interesting condition these days.”
    “It’s the style—even virgins are stuffing their gowns with pillows.” “Did you hear? Even Madame Lebon is in an interesting condition.” “No.”
    “Yes. Finally. After five years of marriage, she went to a German doctor. He told her that barrenness is cured by the presence of immoderate heat in a woman accompanied by turgescence.”
    “Pardon?”
    “I think what it means is that