The Magician's Wife Read Online Free PDF

manners. Besides, I think it’s better to dance than to stand around among a crowd of people whom I don’t yet know. By this time tomorrow we will have met several interesting men and women and you’ll feel more at home.’
    ‘Will I?’
    Turning her in a wide waltz step, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed. ‘I’ll never understand you. Do you know that tonight you look more beautiful than ever? That dress is wonderful, simply wonderful. And your hair and those jewels. I’m so proud of you, my darling.’
    What was there to say? Whatever it was he wanted to achieve by coming to Compiègne, he would, as always, be ruthless in pursuit of it. If that meant spending a fortune on dresses for her, then so be it. If it meant a cold damp attic room, then so be it. If it meant that in the next days she would be ignored or snubbed, then so be it. He was not Henri Lambert for nothing, he was the man who had sat alone in a room for hundreds and hundreds of hours, his fingers manipulating cards and coins until he had learned and could perfectly reproduce every form of prestidigitation found in books of magic lore: he was the inventor of mechanical marionettes that made pastries and potions, opened gates and balanced on tightropes, an electrical wizard who used the new secrets of science to instil in his more gullible audiences the belief that he might be in league with the powers of darkness. Yes, he was kind and, yes, she believed that he loved her. But his love was not that of an ordinary man. It was, like everything he had achieved, like everything he sought to do, bound up in some way with his life of illusion.
    Shortly after nine the Colonel rejoined them, introducing them to an elderly banker who had seen Lambert perform at St  Petersburg before the Empress of Russia. ‘An astonishing evening, sir. I remember that the Empress was most impressed. I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’re to be with us this week. It’s going to be a much more interesting série than the last one I attended. I assume we will have the honour of a performance?’
    ‘I am not here to perform,’ Lambert said stiffly. ‘But if I am asked, I may take part in some entertainment.’
    ‘The old banker smiled. ‘Wonderful. I look forward to it, sir.’
    ‘And the série you attended last time?’ Colonel Deniau asked. ‘Who were the guests?’
    ‘Prince Metternich, that crowd. And a few titled foreigners. The Duke of Hamilton came for the shooting and there was a Russian grand duke. That’s known as the elegant série . Actually, very boring.’
    She saw that Henri was not pleased by this. ‘So there are several different séries then?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh, yes. The Emperor gives four different séries each season. And people worry about which one they’ve been asked to attend. Everyone wants to be invited, of course, but to which one? It’s a matter of status. There’s a story  –  ’ The old banker broke into an alarmingly loud laugh. ‘They say one lady asked another, “Are you in the elegant série ?” “No, indeed,” was the reply. “I’m in yours.” ’
    ‘And which série is this?’ Lambert asked.
    ‘The political, I’d say. There are some engineers concerned with the Suez canal project, and bankers like myself – because these great works have to be financed, and, of course, Baron Haussmann is here with further plans for the Paris boulevards. And there are quite a few political figures. Like yourself, Colonel. You’re part of the Emperor’s African adventure, no?’
    The Colonel smiled. ‘I serve in Africa, yes. But I’m here as a friend of Monsieur Lambert. The Emperor is fascinated by his skills.’
    ‘Well, I hope we shall all have a chance to enjoy them,’ the old banker said. ‘Ah! They’re going in now.’
    Emmeline, looking in the direction he indicated, saw the Emperor and Empress enter the small private salon, accompanied by a dozen guests. ‘Now, the dancing should pick up,’ the old