It was a peaceful afternoon for her. After so many nights of laying awake, staring at the darkness, struggling for some relief from the increasing tiredness, she was able to rest at last and take refuge in her dreams. I believe that if she had been deprived of her sleep for a little longer, she would have fallen seriously sick. Why I never thought that her trouble in simply closing her eyes at night and falling asleep could already be the indications of some illness, I am not sure.
I watched a face that looked unnaturaly still and pondered whether I should wake her up to say goodbye or just allow her to sleep longer without being disturbed.
I decided it would be more prudent to let her know where I was going, even though that would imply disturbing her. The medicine turned her sleep incredibly heavy, and even though she had only taken a small dose immediately after lunch, she didn't show signs that she would awaken any time before the next morning.
It was improbable, but I realized that if she woke up before that, she could be suddenly frightened and worried for finding my bed empty and herself alone in a darkened room during her regular working hours.
"Mother?" I called in a whisper. "Mama? I'm leaving now, Mama."
She didn't seem to hear me at all, and I felt bad for interrupting her sleeping. I raised my voice and called her again, but all the response I got was a deep sigh. I sighed myself, realizing I was getting late. No, she could sleep later, but now I had to talk to her and leave! It was not before I was shaking her rather abruptly that she moaned something and opened her eyes.
For a while she showed some confusion, blinking with a dizzy and lost expression, as if trying to understand how exactly the clock would have wandered through so many hours, without her giving notice at all. At the sight of the bottle on the floor, by the couch, with the colorful magic liquid inside, a faint smile came to her face and she said, caressing my hand, "Meg, dear, I slept as a little baby! This medicine is magical!"
She seemed so relieved and content! I was glad I could help her to recover her treasured sleep again. These problems were hindering her even in her job. Thanks to Jonathan...
She took a good look of me and asked, "Are you leaving the Opera, Meg? What time is it?"
It was early evening, and I had told her I would be going out, but apparently she had forgetten it completely. Easily expected, after taking something so powerful as those drops.
"Mother, the dinner, remember?" I hinted suggestively.
My mother had always bragged about her impecable memory, and my remark bothered her. Still under the effects of the drug, she snapped, "Of course I remember! Do you think you have a better mind than me, child? The dinner!"
I laughed at her pride and explained, "Mother, the doctor, Monsieur Ferrat, invited me to have dinner with him tonight." I was going to ask again if she remembered, but I was quick enough to swallow the words.
Her eyes brightened a little with the reminder and she grinned, showing some expectations or suspicions that she hadn't shared with me.
"What time will you be back? I'm not sure I like the idea of you leaving with a stranger such as him, going to random taverns around the city... You know Paris isn't as safe as your home, haven't you learned it yet?"
"Yes, sure," I sighed. "But he is no stranger, you know him in person, you know where he lives, I guess we both know everything about him that it is to be known." Petting her hand, I said smiling, "I won't take long, Mama. Go back to sleep."
I kissed her in a hurry, took a last glance in the mirror and left the room, before she came up with other excuses to delay me.
But despite my demonstration of anxiety, once I reached the dark corridors of the theater, something had died inside me. I rested against the wall and looked up, as if the ceiling held amazing sights, or better, as if it held the answers to my troubles.
No longer was I coquetish, rejoicing the thought of knowing myself to be very attractive, wearing one of my best evening gowns, the make-up carefully applied to my face, my eyes looking bigger and more seductive. No, instead I felt sad, stray, and with every step toward the outside of the Opera, my head hung down, feeling greatly wrong. And I wasn't quite sure why...
Was it the simple fact that I was going out with a man? What was wrong about that? Hadn't I, in the past, gone out with innumerable dancers, patrons and supposed ballet fans to drink some wine after a performance? So what was all this castity about?
Furthermore, I should be happy that what I had gone through didn't cause me a stronger trauma or a terrible shame cast upon my name! Living in the center of gossips in Paris, I couldn't allow myself to take insensible and unthoughtful actions like I had been doing. Imagine if one of those crazy and idle journalists decided to publish something about a ballet rat flirting with a man who lived in the catacombs of the Opera?
Oh, no, tonight it was my night, I wouldn't bother myself with this line of thoughts. I was young and good looking, and I had to take advantage of it! I had a very good looking man courting me, I had a career as a ballerina ahead of me! Forcing upon myself my best smile, I raised my head and sped up my steps.
But I couldn't shake off the vivid feeling that something was terribly wrong in all this.
Jonathan was already inside the main foyer when I got to the entrance of the Opera, pacing impatiently, displaying a gorgeous evening dress, rarely seen among even the richer patrons of the Opera, surely designed and cut by one of the best tailors of the capital. His tall hat added to the charm of his boyish face and his delightful grin.
He bowed courteously and kissed my hand with some exaggerated passion, and out of nowhere, offered me a rose bouquet. I was speechless! He was really dashing! I could feel the stares from the other girls who passed by, and felt proud for having such company with me. Jonathan really drew looks wherever he was, and what was most admirable about him, he seemed totally oblivious about that, as if I was the only girl in the world for him. He made me feel really special...and secure.
Jonathan led me to his carriage, casually chatting about the beauty of the Opera, and complimenting my own beauty. I blushed, feigning a shy smile, as he helped me to get into the cart. He greeted his coach driver in the most familiar tone, asking him to take us to one of the most famous restaurants of Paris, famous for its cuisine and the people who dined there. I wondered how a young doctor, just recently dwelling in Paris, could already afford such an expensive luxury as having his private carriage, among everything else. Still I thought it untactful to inquire.
Superficial talks were our entertainment while riding to the restaurant, and once there, it filled in the empty spaces, and a few withdrawals on my part, mostly because I felt rather odd at such a place. The food was indeed extraordinary, and so was everything else. On the solid wood table, covered with a fine red cloth, the most charming set of greek porcelain was displayed, adorned with flowers in a vase in the center, and two magnificent candelabras.
The dinner was served at his slightest command, maybe a smile or a nod that I failed to observe. Most probably he was well known in that restaurant and had everything ordered and prepared before stopping at the Opera. Even the wine had been chosen previously, being served with remarkable cerimonial courtesy at the Maitre's part. It was definitely one of the best wines, not to mention the most expensive, and just added to my silent questioning, "Why is he doing all that for me?"
Not used to it at all, I began to feel clumsy and shy when facing the finery and the attention from the waiters, and the extended looks of admiration and caring from Jonathan. To disguise it, I sipped the wine rather quickly.
I was feeling somewhat dizzy already, even though I tried to concentrate on his every word.
"I feel that it's time for me to try a new field, Meg, something more challenging than repeating the old procedures of centuries dictated by fool old doctors."
"Well, I must say you do a great job even in the simpler areas of medicine, for what I have been observing," I offered.
"Thank you," he replied honestly flattered, "but I really want and need more, to go further. I have been concentrating, as I told you, in the studies of the mind lately. I want to study closely all the different facets of the human mind and their behavior, as well as their reactions to different things in life. I can feel it is a field that has a promising future, filled with fascinating studies and researches to be taken. And yet few dare be pioneers."
"Just like anything else."
"Right, just like anything else. Except I wasn't born to follow conventions and traditions." He smiled. "I guess I've always been a little rebellious."
I laughed, "Yes, not far from myself."
"I know. That is one thing that makes you so attractive to me. Among so many others."
I felt my cheeks flushing, and yet, instead of shy and pleased, I disliked the turn of the conversation.
His expression became rather severe, even though he still sustained a smile.
"As you can see, Meg, after I finally present my last studies at the Sorbonne Université, I'll be ready to travel anywhere in the world on my account and finally live. I long to enjoy a pleasure I've lacked for way too much time: having my pretty wife sheltered in my arms, by the fire place, while our children play at our feet." He framed his words with an enchanting smile.
Surprised by his comment, I chuckled, imagining him writing down in his notebook every little change in the behavior of his family, to serve his "mind studies", as he used to name it. After all, that was his new pastime, and nothing indicated that he would give it up anytime soon.
"What, you think I wouldn't be a good husband?" he asked seriously.
I stopped laughing and said, "No, I think you would be a very good husband and father. I was just thinking that..."
"Mademoiselle Meg Giry..." He interrupted me, looking deep into my eyes, and I could tell he was trembling some. He didn't speak any further. Instead he turned to his pocket, and after some nervous attempts to say something, he released, "Would you give me the honor of being my wife?"
He followed his words by offering me a gorgeous golden ring with exquisite engraving, and some delicate stones on it, placed in a velvet box.
Coughing at the burning last sip of wine I had taken, I mumbled a shocked, "Excuse me?"
I know it was rude, but I couldn't possibly have come up with anything else. I never expected him to do that, not even in my wildest dreams. His eyes were now veiled by fear, due to my reaction.
He took hold of my two hands, and pleaded, with so much sincerity that I felt my heart melting, wanting only to say yes, to calm him down. "Please say you would marry me! I can make you the happiest of the women in this world, please give me a chance to try!"
Definitely I had a destiny set on madmen.
"I know I must ask your mother's consent, and I will do so, in the first opportunity. But it would give me great pleasure if you accept this humble ring meanwhile."
Totally taken aback by such an out-of-place proposal, I tried to laugh and said, " But Jonathan! How would we support ourselves? We are both so young, you are barely out of school, still fighting your way to a respectful position as a professional!"
He looked deeply hurt at my comment, so I tried to amend, "And besides, my mother is an old lady, I couldn't possibly leave her alone! Especially now that she has shown herself so ill and weak..."
He was grave and dry, all his youth shadowed by a pain that I never meant to inflict upon him.
"Why is it that you are trying so hard to come up with excuses, Meg? I am old enough to handle a refusal."
I sighed and tried to argue, but just then noticed that I indeed had been unconsciously looking for every excuse and obstacle I could think of. And why? Didn't I like his company, didn't I find him incredibly handsome?
"Well, I understand your answer." He looked down, and continued in a failed voice, "But please allow me to assure you that if the problem is of a financial character, you shouldn't worry about it." Very uncomfortable with what he wanted to tell me, he closed the ring box, or rather snapped it closed, and wrapped his fingers around it, as if this would bring him some support.
"Meg, there's something I've been willing to tell you, but I didn't want it to come out wrong. I...I've been lying to you. I told you I was an English scholar who was trying his luck here. That is not quite true."
"Why, you are not a doctor? You didn't major in Medicine and were one of the most promising professionals?" I asked stupidly.
He frowned and said, "Well, this is true, even though, knowing that I never told you this myself, you must have learned it from the other doctor that was treating you before you became my patient." He seemed more uneasy now that I had said that. Maybe I should have been quiet, for everything I said seemed to only make it all worse.
"Well, this is true, but it isn't the whole truth. As a matter of fact, I guess I couldn't say I'm exactly trying my luck in Paris, for if everything fails me I have a place waiting for me in England. Er...a rather big place...sort of a mansion." He sighed, as if this thought was unbearable, "And just one trip to the Parisian Bank, where I could reach one of my accounts, would secure me another mansion in town. Living in that small house was an option, not a forced decision."
"I'm not sure of what I have to do with your saving accounts."
"I'll tell you, young lady. I know that a good number of the artists in the Opera are looking for a rich gentleman to marry. The richer, the better, I've heard. If so, I would like to assure you that hardly any other lady at the Opera could do better than you...if that is what it takes for you to marry me."
I was totally lost in that strange conversation, and honestly, not the least interested. All the sudden what I wanted was to go home. Yet his last words had hurt me! Was he implying that I would immediately accept him because of his wealth?
Guessing my thoughts by my obvious bewildered and furious look, he rushed to explain himself. "Mademoiselle, my dear Meg. I didn't tell you this before, because I didn't want my social status to influence your decision. Nor am I implying that you are the kind of woman who would marry money instead of a man. Yet I need to at least know that the reason why the idea of our marriage doesn't appeal to you is because I look like a stray lad, with no future ahead. Besides..." he sighed sadly, "I see this is the last resource I can use...to prove to you that I'm not a burguoise aspiring to be a doctor."
"And there is one thing more...my father...well, he is not originally from England, nor does he live there. He is actually French himself. And so am I, though I was raised in England. Ferrat is just a made up surname, to avoid any relations with my father and his influence in society, for I always wanted to run for it. But, since I can remember, he suffers from a mysterious disease, that grows stronger every year, making him more debilitated. I had the childish dream of finding a cure for him, I think that is why I turned to medicine." He snorted, shrugging. "Needless to say, these ideals never came true, and now I know he doesn't have much time left."
I was failing in understanding where he was trying to get with this sentimental talk.
"I'm sorry to hear that." I commented.
He nodded.
"Anyway, making a long story shorter, when he dies, I'll inherit his title; and the properties."
I was silently staring at my empty plate. "Jonathan, I'm afraid I'm not feeling my best. Would you be so kind to take me home?"
It wasn't until we arrived at the Opera, after a terribly disturbing quiet ride, that it ocurred to me to ask him what was his father's title.
His answer was short: "Baron."
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