As I help her out of the carriage, she leans lightly on my arm; the contact runs through me like an electric shock. She is a wonderful woman, and I love her more than ever.
* * * * *
For dinner at six she has invited a small group of men and women. I serve, but this time I do not spill any wine over the table-cloth.
A slap in the face is more effective than ten lectures. It makes you understand very quickly, especially when the instruction is by the way of a small woman’s hand.
* * * * *
After dinner she drives to the Pergola Theater. As she descends the stairs in her black velvet dress with its large collar of ermine and with a diadem of white roses on her hair, she is literally stunning. I open the carriage-door, and help her in. In front of the theater I leap from the driver’s seat, and in alighting she leaned on my arm, which trembled under the sweet burden. I open the door of her box, and then wait in the vestibule. The performance lasts four hours; she receives visits from her cavaliers, the while I grit my teeth with rage.
It is way beyond midnight when my mistress’s bell sounds for the last time.
“Fire!” she orders abruptly, and when the fire-place crackles, “Tea!”
When I return with the samovar, she has already undressed, and with the aid of the negress slipped into a white negligee.
Haydée thereupon leaves.