Master Anselme, innkeeper at Chalons, was putting a chicken on a spit when suddenly the door opened and there appeared a rider dressed in black, who breathlessly asked for a room at once.
   — There is none available, said the innkeeper.
   — A garret-anything will do! said the stranger and, at the same time, rushed upstairs and disappeared from view only a few seconds before a police officer and three archers entered the inn shouting:
   — Where is the abbot?
   — Which abbot? asked Master Anselme.
   — The one who came into your inn just now.
   — I did not see any abbot, the innkeeper said, but then my back was turned…
   — Come on, fellows! the police officer shouted to his men, and he ran up the stairs.
   Meanwhile the fugitive, after having knocked vainly at the first door, had more luck with the second one, which opened and there appeared, framed in the doorway, a ravishing young woman in an expensive night-gown.
   — What do you want? she asked, trembling with fear.
   — Shelter! the stranger said. Some men are pursuing me! I'll explain later but please have a heart.
   Before she had time to recover from the surprise, he strode into the room, hurriedly took off and hid his boots and slid into the woman's bed. Just in time, for a gruff voice was heard to command:
   — Open the door, in the name of the King!
   — The woman obeyed, saying:
   — There must be some mistake…
   The police officer gave a glance round the room, eventually resting his sight on the man's hair protruding above the bed-sheets.
   Anticipating his question, the woman explained:
   — My husband is suffering from a high fever, Sir. Please give him respite till to-morrow.
   — Your husband!..
   The police officer grimaced with spite and strode off, banging the door behind him.
   The young lady sighed with relief and sat down to let her heart take back its normal rhythm. She could hear the heavy footsteps of the police officer and his archers. After a while they were no longer to be heard.
   The man came out of his hiding-place and said:
   — Madame, how can I ever thank you for having saved me?
   And as, embarrassed, she remained silent, he bowed gracefully and spoke:
   — Do not be afraid, Madame, I am not a bandit. I have neither stolen nor…
   After a moment's hesitation, he pursued: ”… I was about to say 'nor killed' but it wouldn't be true. You see, I have killed, but honourably, in a duel, and that is why the police are after me.”
   With his finely-shaped hand he pointed to the bed and asked:
   — You were about to sleep? I am sorry. Do take back the place I so daringly occupied for a moment. I won't look.
   And he turned his back on her while she crept into bed. But she blushed when she realized that he had turned his back in vain for he could see her just as well in a mirror hanging on the wall.
   — What are you going to do now? she asked.
   — The alarm is over, he said, but allow me to stay a few moments more. When all are asleep in town I shall slip away, with the remembrance of the gratitude I owe you. Can your husband come in unexpectedly?
   — He is away on a trip, she reassured him.
   — Good! he exclaimed, I would hate the idea of causing you any trouble.
   As she smiled she looked very lovely, and so young. Indeed, he thought, he would have had much more difficulty with an older woman.
   — Do tell me what happened to you, she asked.
   So he started telling her about himself and the events leading to his duel, and he was so eloquent that the young woman, the better to listen, lay on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands, and, in this position, she revealed a ravishing decolletage- one breast was nearly uncovered, and its twin brother looked just as appetising.
   This sight excited his imagination, and the delicate perfume that emanated from her acted directly on his senses and made him bold, so he slipped an arm around her.
   — But, Sir! she cried, and tried, not very convincingly, to wriggle out of his grasp. In her struggle, the protruding breast came out of the low-cut night-gown completely and at once his hand took hold of it, caressing it and nipping its nipple. She was obviously struggling against her instincts but; he was fighting a losing battle.
   Vainly, she tried to cover her body with the bed-sheets and to brush away his hands which were straying along her body, her legs and-yes, even here…
   Then, suddenly, she saw the Big Bad Wolf, all naked and stiff with hunger, straining towards her.
   — Oh, no! she moaned. Please respect me… if my husband…
   — He must be a hundred miles away from here!
   How could she resist this unexpected offensive, so skilful, and with the convincing argument that represented this goading virility?
   Novice, she certainly was-a more experienced woman would have found a way of getting rid of a pestering, man. But she proved even more of a novice than he had thought, for, indeed, when he penetrated her femininity he found a well-known resistance and she let out a little scream of pain. Yes, she was a virgin! The idea stimulated him and he pursued his offensive till he saw her relax and he felt she was enjoying it, so he went on caressing and fucking her. Prom time to time, he kissed her lips, and she responded oh so tenderly, and he drank in the perfume of her warm throat, licked the salty little rivulet of sweat between the two shapely orbs of her breasts.
   Resting for a while, he asked:
   — You are married and still a virgin?
   She explained that her husband had been called away on an important mission on the very evening of her wedding-day.
   — If I had been him, he said proudly, I would have found time to be a husband to you before going away.
   — Not all men are as bold as you are, she said admiringly, then she added, with anxiety, what will my husband say when he discovers I am no longer a virgin?
   — If he discovers it-which is not at all certain — you can tell him you wanted to spare him the sorrow of hurting you, he suggested, and, anyway, it will teach him a lesson for his offence of going away without honouring you.
   So saying, he bent over her and kissed her again, and, after having nibbled her teats for a while, he gave her the old boy again. Then, getting bolder still, he licked her pain away, and she enjoyed that so much that he was quite surprised-agreeably so, it goes without saying-when, a few moments later, she herself took the initiative and used her tongue to good effect, and Choisy reflected that he had never before come across a new bride being so endearingly bold.

   The abbot of Choisy did not tarry in Chalons, although his new conquest begged him to give her some more lessons in love-making. Before dawn, he was galloping away towards the Dutch frontier.
   Abbot of Choisy? He was not really an abbot- he had only inherited this title because he was the beneficiary of an abbey. The countess of Choisy cherished him because he was the youngest of four sons and she winked at his unruly life. A handsome, mischievous and impertinent boy, he had not only succeeded in winning his mother's affection, but was quite a favourite in court, mainly because of the affection and even tenderness which Philip of Orleans, Louis XIV's brother, had for him.
   But Francois de Choisy had none of the sexual leanings that his protector had, for, indeed, “Monsieur,” the king's brother, did nothing to conceal his femininity. Choisy on the other hand, often used his disguise to spring it as a surprise and thus win the affection of several beautiful women, who were so taken aback to discover that under his womanly attire there hid an unmistakable virility, that they readily succumbed to him.
   Choisy galloped up to Dordrecht, feeling sure he had now nothing more to fear from the men pursuing him.
   A little way outside the town he perceived a beautiful garden of tulips, and, tending the flowers, a woman just as beautiful, with her fair hair the colour of ripe corn and her sky-blue eyes, and whose bosom contained, imprisoned in a linen sheath, two half-moons of such an appetising aspect that his mouth watered.
   As he complimented her on the flowers, she exclaimed, smiling:
   — Well, sir, have you never seen tulips before?
   — I can see you are a stranger to these parts, she said.
   — Why? Because I admire tulips?
   With an attractive laugh that matched her looks, she answered:
   — Not only that, but you look foreign. I'd wager you are a subject of the King of France.
   — A very faithful subject indeed, Choisy said ironically, but my poor Frisky is spent. Haven't you got a stable or a shed for him?
   — Come! she answered, simply, leading the way to a stable which housed a cow, and giving Frisky some fodder and straw.
   They talked and he learnt that her name was Julia and that her husband was a sailor, away on a voyage.
   Choisy was quick to grasp his opportunity, so, after having spent the night in an inn, he came back to see the girl the following morning under the pretext of inquiring about his horse Frisky.
   — He still needs a few days' rest, Julia observed, are you obliged to go away at once?
   — No, he replied, I can stay a while in the realm of tulips… I like this country, and its people are so hospitable.
   Julia smiled at the compliment as she naturally took it to be a personal one. It even seemed to Choisy that she was not without some emotion, which made the half-moons of her bosom rise animatedly.
   They went to the table and talked amicably while patting Frisky.
   — Aren't you lonesome all on your own with a husband so often away on the high sea? he asked leadingly.
   She sighed a little and said with a forced smile:
   — I keep busy with my garden, my hens and the cow.
   — That's all right during the day, but at night?
   — At night, I sleep, she said, startled.
   — Perchance to dream?…
   The girl's cheeks passed from pink to bright red.
   — No, I rarely dream, she affirmed, adding, but you are so curious!
   — I bet that in your dreams you imagine yourself in the arms of a man, your husband, of course.
   — Oh! Do please stop your teasing me so! she said, you don't deserve the pancakes I had prepared for you.
   She ran away to the kitchen and came back with a dish full of pancakes and a tankard of beer. They sat down to this lovely meal.
   — I've never eaten better pancakes, he exclaimed after a while, if I were your husband I would stay here all the time growing flowers and eating pancakes.
   At that, Julia laughed gaily, and she was so troubled by the compliment that one could have sworn her breasts would at any moment escape from their linen prison.
   — Allow me to kiss you as a reward for having spoilt me with such wonderful pancakes, he said, and he rose and laid his lips on the slightly humid nape of her neck.
   It smelt deliciously of woman.
   — Sir! she cried out indignantly.
   But he did not heed her protests, instead, he encircled her waist with one arm, while with the other hand he stroked the front of her taut blouse, tautening it still more.
   — If I give you a kiss, she murmured, will you stop there?
   — I give you my word, he answered, kneading her buttocks.
   Indeed, after one kiss-oh, so delicious! — he released his hold and sat down to more pancakes. But he went on watching her slyly, reflecting the while that it was often a better tactic to give a woman time to warm up, thus making her more eager for the caresses to come.
   When their snack was over they went to the stable.
   Julia caressed the horse Frisky with a significant nervousness, as if she were taking her pleasure from the horse instead of with the rider.
   — Egad, said Choisy, would you be getting fond of my horse?
   — What would I do with it? she replied in a voice trembling with nerves and emotion.
   — Which will you mourn when we are gone-him or me? he asked.
   — Both, she said, smiling.
   Suddenly she found herself a prisoner in the arms of her guest who showed unmistakable signs of amorousness and whose lips were soliciting hers with such insistence that she simply had to surrender them. But when she felt a hand groping under her frock, she had such a brisk reaction that Frisky neighed and became restless.
   — See? You are frightening this poor animal, she said.
   As she withdrew from his grasp, Choisy took hold of her skirt and tried to pull her back, with the result that her skirt loosened and slid down. Choisy took advantage of her stupor and sprang on her. They both rolled over on the straw.
   — Stop! For Heaven's sake, stop! she cried.
   But Choisy had aired his means of persuasion and at the sight of it, Julia sucked in her breath and her will-power lost its battle.
   Soon, she was moaning and her thighs were joyously beating against her seducer's loins.
   She accepted her defeat in good grace.
   — Then it is true what I have been told about Frenchmen-that they are real rogues, she said.
   — Yes, he answered, and we feel obliged to live up to our reputation. I hope you have no complaints.
   — But… my husband?
   — He should have stayed near you.
   She waved an admonishing finger at him and remonstrated with him, but without any conviction in her tone, which betrayed a total absence of remorse. And, as Choisy was about to resume his amorous feats, she suggested tenderly:
   — Not here!
   She ran away, and, to catch up with her, Choisy had to trample her tulip beds. He apologized, and she forgave him readily for hadn't he given her the sweet taste of sin? She no longer offered any resistance and eventually lay down in the matrimonial bed, where Choisy joined her.
   So far, Julia had been used to an outward expression of love that remained within the bounds of decency, but now she learned what it was like to have an affair with one of those devilish Frenchmen.
   Her body was feasted as it had never been by her too narrow-minded husband. She knew with him such enchantments as she had never imagined, even during those nights when she lay sleepless and thought of love-making in all its possible forms.
   He kissed her here, there, everywhere.
   He licked her here, there, ditto.
   And his prick was indefatigable. Her husband usually did it once and then turned his back on her and went to sleep. But, with this wonderful lover, she lost count of the times he had penetrated her, and yet he showed no sign of fatigue.
   All the fibres of her body were revelling with acute joy, and her sighs mixed harmoniously with her lover's grunts of pleasure.

   Frisky was restless in his stable: he was now completely recovered and longed to go out and gallop on the roads. Choisy sensed it and, talking to his horse, he reflected aloud:
   — You're right, my friend. Food is good and plentiful here, but we are not the stay-at-home type.
   Yet, he reasoned, Julia was really a splendid lascivious creature. He had grown to like this milky-white skin of hers which hid a torrid flesh, and he was amused at her astonishments in front of his variations, unknown to her, on the ways of love-making-and the enraptured way in which she accepted those variations without a sign of disgust, endeared her to him.
   But Choisy was a real gourmet, where women were concerned, and he knew that partaking always of the same dish, as it were, led to indigestion.
   Getting away from her, though, would not be a simple affair. She had grown attached to him, at least physically, and if he announced to her his intention of going, she would raise the roof. Ruse was the solution.
   — Frisky is growing more restless every day, he remarked.
   — You're not going away? Julia asked anxiously.
   — Oh, no, he reassured her, just half an hour's trot to exercise my horse.
   And, true to his word, he came back and she welcomed him with open arms, and also with something else open and craving to be filled. Which he did, reflecting, though, that if she went on being so demanding, she would soon empty him of all his maleness.
   On the following day, he used the same plea of exercising his horse and she let him go, confident that he would return within an hour. But she was wrong: Choisy stopped at the inn where he had left his things, just enough time to gather them, and then galloped to the next town.
   And as he lay at last alone in a bed that night, he stretched his weary limbs, yawned, and reflected that even the most lascivious goat needed a rest from time to time.
   Meanwhile, Julia was getting anxious and restless. She suspected, at first, an accident, but, after having inquired around discreetly and heard there had been no accident for miles around, she flew into a rage and trampled her tulip beds with anger, accusing them of being the cause of Choisy's having talked to her in the first place.
   Running after Choisy was out of the question she would be the laughing-stock of the whole village.
   In the next few days, after restless nights, she took to walking more or less avowedly in search of a male who would satisfy her craving and feed her starving flesh. She soon found a newly-arrived sailor, but he was only the first of many, and, when three months later, her husband came back, he found, to his surprise, a wife so sensual and experienced that he suspected the worst, and, after having surprised her speaking the name “Choisy” in her amorous transports, he had no doubt left in him, and, putting his foot down with a heavy hand, he gave her a good thrashing.
   As soon as he had gone away on another voyage, Julia sold her cow and hens and left on a trip to France. In Paris, she would surely find enough to satisfy her ardent flesh, if not Choisy himself. Not finding him, she went to bed with several of those men that are always in quest of a good opportunity to empty their sexual purses. And, as there were no tulips to grow in Paris, she earned a living cultivating her own garden whose body was becoming each day more enticing.
   As for Choisy, he had now reached Berlin, travelling a little at a time. There, he found a French repertory company, and, among the comedians, he soon distinguished an actress whose looks and sprightly countenance he liked.
   Her name was Clorinde and she was not backward in coming forward. She was well sought-after by the male members of the troupe and aroused the envy of her flat-chested colleague named Babet.
   With Clorinde, Choisy adopted the tactic of posing as a novice.
   In her dressing-room, Choisy flirted with her like a beginner, and, amused, she let him put a probing hand under her skirt. But then he aroused her whole sexual system so well that she guessed he was not as innocent as he was painted.
   — You're an impostor! she said in an accusing voice, but the smile in her eyes had a conniving spark.
   He set under her eyes, and then into her hands the most persuasive argument that a man well endowed by nature can have.
   She was thrilled to the core and her twat was moistening considerably.
   They fornicated on an armchair and were rudely interrupted by the stage-manager who shouted outside the dressing-room door:
   — You're on in five minutes, Clorinde!
   — Ooh! I'm in such a state to go on the stage! she exclaimed.
   With one hand she adjusted the folds of her dress and with the other patted her hair into place.
   — You're a-she said, but he broke in:
   — a lover, ready to do it again, he completed her sentence in his own way.
   — Oh! she exclaimed, scandalized, not here!
   Hidden behind the scenery, Choisy watched her on the stage give a performance that surpassed her best. Babet told her with bitter enviousness:
   — What's the matter with you to-night? You look as if ants were eating your arse.
   — I have even better than that, was Clorinde's pat answer, and she went to join her lover.
   Babet, spotting him, exclaimed:
   — So this is the one who puts you in such a state?
   — And it's giving her a fine complexion, remarked an aged member of the troupe, recalling her ancient loves.
   The amorous hors'duvre had given Clorinde an appetite. Choisy invited her to have supper with him at his hotel. This was served in his bed-room, and the dessert he gave her was one which, as a connoisseur, she appreciated to the full. But this time, it was not a few hurried thrusts under her dress on a dressing-room armchair, but a really good fuck in a real bed.
   They had cast aside the bed-sheets so as to have full liberty of movements, and, until dawn, they made love in all the possible positions and all the possible ways. Nor were their tongues idle-and they did not waste them for talking! They used nearly all the muscles of their bodies to procure each other the largest gamut of sensations possible. And they stopped only from sheer exhaustion.
   When, on the following day, a maid came into their room to inquire as to their wishes for the midday meal, she stopped suddenly on the doorstep, gaping with astonishment at the sight of their two bodies naked and asleep in each other's arms.
 
   But, not distinguishing them well, she exclaimed:
   — My word, they're two women-how pretty they are! But what had they done to've put the bed in such a mess?
   Choisy, waking up, raised himself up in the full eloquence of his real sex.
   — But it's a cockerel, a real cockerel! the maid remarked aloud, with her eyes as round as discs.
   — Yes, a cockerel hungry for grain, Choisy said.
   — Or perhaps for some nice piece of pie or meat? suggested the maid.
   — Yes, spoke Clorinde, but hurry up-we're starving! And we have good reason for it, I can assure you.
   She gave Choisy a wink of gratitude, then offered her lips, which he accepted readily, and that was the prelude to another feast of their bodies which acted as an appetiser cum time-killer till their lunch was served.

   Clorinde gave Choisy a very extended gamut of pleasurable feelings. Her inborn faculties were used with a knowledge, experience and ingenuity that made her one of the best mistresses Choisy had ever had.
   She aroused envy in all the female members of the troupe and Choisy could have dropped his handkerchief in front of any of them and she would at once have accepted him with alacrity, zest and gusto.
   But Clorinde was watchful and she would never have allowed her wonderful lover to be taken away from her. She would have suffered too much, in her flesh as well as in her dignity, for she had rarely if ever had, in her abundant amorous career, a lover that filled her so much with voluptuous feelings, with skill as well as vim. And she gave back to him all she had got. Whenever she thought about it-and she had little leisure for thinking-she enumerated mentally all the overs she had had, and came to the conclusion that Choisy was number one. She had lost her maidenhead at the age of fifteen with an apprentice hairdresser, and had never looked back. She recalled the handsome captain of dragoons, the witty canon, the brutal financier- none of them was a match on Choisy. They had shown their generosity in sap or in gold, and they often had some luxurious exigencies which she had not denied them. But none equaled this demon of Choisy, with his face like that of a mischievous child and his body comparable to that of a woman, except for one detail-but of importance! — and his aristocratic manners, his so effective ways and, last but not least, his physical resistance. She always left his arms aching all over with fatigue, but delighted.
   The other actresses of the troupe tried to attract Choisy's attention by walking with a wiggle, lowering their decollete to the point of indecency, or leaving the door of their dressing-room open at the time they were changing clothes-but all they got for their pains was a smuttily witty remark or a mischievous grimace. The luckiest ones got a playful pinch, no more.
   Choisy was wise enough not to risk troubles by making love to another actress of the troupe-it was much wiser to go away altogether if he had enough of Clorinde.
   But he had not had enough of her yet, and, although his horse was eager to go out and get some exercise, he did not like the idea of leaving.
   After a time, Clorinde became less watchful and began to take Choisy a little for granted. Danger, for her, crept in without her being aware of it at first, in the person of Justine Desportes, who was a girl in her teens, not yet fully grown, and a redhead at that.
   This Justine was employed by the troupe as a sort of maid-of-all-work. She helped the artistes to get dressed, sewed patches on costumes, also worked in the prompter's box or even on the stage in small parts for which she had only a few words to say. She was badly treated by the troupe, who used her meek attitude to work off their nerves on her, and often went as far as slapping her face.
   Choisy was not attracted by unripe women-he disliked being an initiator and much preferred making love with an experienced woman like Clorinde.
   But he felt compassion for this poor girl who never answered back and accepted meekly all the taunts and hard words. Several times he had asked her to go and buy some flowers for Clorinde, for she knew a few words of German. Then one day she offered to sew up his sleeve which had become frayed and, as he wanted to give her a silver crown, she refused with a smile.
   On one occasion, when he saw Zoe, a soubrette, slap Justine's face because she had mislaid a ribbon, he felt sorry for her and Clorinde laughed and spoke derisively:
   — Are you going to appoint yourself the champion of this little hussy?
   — Not at all, but why are you all against her?
   — She's good for nothing-awkward on the stage and silly backstage.
   — But always ready to oblige, remarked Choisy.
   — That's the least she can do to earn her bread.
   — Her bread! She would love to eat cake like the others, if they would let her! he remarked.
   Choisy was piqued and, on the same day, bought some sweets for Justine, who blushing with pleasure, accepted with tears of gratitude in her eyes. She held up her cheeks to him and Choisy was touched by this naive gesture. Fortunately Cloride, who was applying some make-up to her face and had her back turned, did not see Justine kiss Choisy's cheek, but Babet did.
   Some time later, Choisy, who was loitering in the town, saw Justine pause in admiration before a hairdresser's shop in the window of which were displayed a few curly wigs.
   — Hello! What are you doing here? said Choisy amicably.
   Justine blushed and confessed she was admiring the wigs.
   — You don't need those, Choisy assured her, you are quite good-looking.
   — Me, good-looking? I've always been told that I am plain.
   — That's not right, said Choisy, you are at an awkward age, but I predict that in a few years men will take notice of you.
   — You're not speaking seriously, are you? she said, wistfully.
   — Yes, I am.
   — But-I am a red-head!
   — Well, why should red-headed girls be different from the others?
   — Yes, why? said Justine pensively.
   — Has the idea of having a lover entered your mind? asked Choisy point-blank.
   She smiled greedily, and that was as good as an answer.
   — How do you imagine him to be? went on Choisy.
   — At your image, answered Justine, blushing more furiously than ever at this spontaneous confession.
   Choisy wondered whether she was secretly making fun of him. Noticing again the whiteness of her skin, he reflected that redheads have warm blood and pictured in his imagination her slender nudity with the spot of fire punctuating the curve of her stomach and he felt blood rushing to his head.
   When they arrived back at the theatre, they all started griping at Justine and Choisy heard the loud smack of a slap.
   Clorinde took him aside and showed him how beautifully dressed she was in her part of a princess, which she was going to play on the stage. Then she changed her tone and asked abruptly:
   — What are your intentions with that little pest Justine?
   — And what could my intensions be? he asked innocently.
   — You were seen kissing her.
   — And what about it? She's only a child. Would you by any chance be jealous?
   — To-night you're going to bed with a princess, she told him.
   — A stage princess, he corrected her, and added, in bed, all women are alike: princesses or maids, men make goddesses of them all.
   Clorinde smiled, flattered, then she went on stage.
   Choisy watched her for a while, then felt bored with the play so he went for a walk backstage and suddenly came upon Justine who was crying in a corner.
   — Why are you crying? he asked.
   — The actresses-they all told me off for gadding about in the streets, and Zoe said she would whip me the next time.
   — Let her try it, and it will be I who will spank her, said Choisy.
   — Your hands would get sore doing it, remarked Justine.
   — That's right, with her bones right near the skin of her buttocks! At her age, it's incurable. You, at least, can hope to get plumper. Though, to say the truth, you're not as lean as they say.
   And Choisy gave her behind a playful tap or two.
   — Sir! whispered Justine, but not angrily, suppose anyone should see us.
   She could not answer for her lips were sealed by Choisy's. It was her first kiss and it set her body into a turmoil.
   He took her to a little recess among the decors, and, even as he dragged her there, with one hand he was already exploring the curves of her body, her little body all aching for love. Soon, he reached the mossy humid centre of her feelings. It made him forget all prudence and, his virility awakened, he took out his thing and strove to push it into her.
   Justine offered no resistance, until she screamed with pain.
   — Oh, sir, you're hurting me!
   — Shut up! he commanded, as his body was by now all worked up by desire, and at all costs he felt he had to fulfill it. His senses were made afire by the contact of her soft, wet and warm conduit, as well as by the pungent odour of the pigmentation of her skin, peculiar to red-heads.
   — No! she howled, once again trying to oppose the entry of the bowel-piercing instrument.
   Choisy was holding her, not wanting to let her go at any costs, when he was rudely interrupted by an exclamation of “Oh, you!..” and, turning round with a thumping heart, he found himself confronted by none other than Sir Desportes, Justine's father, who was about to go on stage in reply to his cue.
   Choisy did not wait for explanations and ran away, leaving Justine still a virgin, or very nearly so.

   — And how did you get out of that predicament? asked Mrs. de Ransac.
   Choisy shrugged his shoulders.
   — Sir Desportes was calmed with a handful of gold coins and the slap he gave his daughter. As for Clorinde, it wasn't so easy. I told her that under the circumstances, I could not stay among the troupe, and she admitted it. So, after a stormy night, I left Berlin.
   — And you came straight to Venice?
   — Yes, because I knew you were there.
   There was a silence. The sun, as magnificent as the Roi Soleil himself, cast its golden rays on the lagoon.
   — Venice is really a town made to measure for lovers, don't you think so? Choisy asked.
   Mrs. de Ransac giggled nervously.
   — So you think that here I would have weaknesses that I would not have in Paris? she said. No, my dear count, I intend to remain a faithful wife.
   — What an honour for Mr. de Ransac!
   — You might have complimented me on my virtue, but you personify insolence and one has to take you as nature made you.
   — Well, then take me!
   — I prefer being a spectator to your successes.
   — Don't you mean being part of it, rather?
   — Pshaw! You have at your disposal a large number of belles who would not resist you. I am not going to be your accomplice.
   Night was now descending on Venice and Choisy was moved by the beauty of the scene and the intimate presence of Charlotte de Ransac.
   He had first met her in Paris, where he had tried in vain to seduce her. She was then a young bride. Now, she had matured, and the forms of her body had very promising bulges, and her eyes and lips sent out silent love-calls.
   He was determined to lay siege to her heart (to use a euphemism), but, being a good tactician, he knew he would have to use a lot of patience-Mrs. de Ransac was not one of those women you took by violence.
   — You did not pass unperceived in Venice, she said. Not later than yesterday in the salon of the marchioness of Rubo, they were discussing you.
   — Really? exclaimed Choisy, curious.
   — Yes, my dear count. But in Venice anything that is ambiguous is food for gossip.
   — And they want me to furnish them with gossip?
   — That is already done. The big question is to know which sex you belong to.
   — I have given ample proof of that.
   — Not here. You have a knight's costume but they say it proves nothing.
   — The Carnival is over, Choisy observed. Would they want me to have gondolier's arms and halberdier's calves? Do tell me about this marchioness-is she a citadel of virtue?
   — So they say..
   — That does tempt me. I'm prepared to wager that I'll win her heart.
   — I'll accept the wager, and even introduce you if you like, although you'll find more accessible beauties in Venice.
   Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. de Ransac who was back from the embassy where he worked as first secretary. He invited Choisy to supper and asked him many questions about Berlin.
   The next day, Choisy's gondola crossed another gondola in which he saw a very attractive woman and he could have sworn that she smiled at him. The gondolier told him that it was the beautiful Francesca, a courtesan richly kept by a rich merchant of Murano.
   — Is she virtuous? he asked.
   The gondolier, in the way of answer, grimaced and started singing a local song, the meaning of which escaped Choisy.
   When he had returned to his hotel, Choisy called in his valet Bouju.
   — Try to get information where Francesca lives — she's a creature as beautiful as Venus herself.
   — But, Sir, I don't speak Italian.
   — Francesca-keep that name in mind. The rest shouldn't be difficult. And he dismissed him with an elegant gesture of his hand.
   Indeed, Bouju soon found Francesca's address, and in the evening, Choisy passed in a gondola in front of her house. He saw her graceful silhouette delineated in the frame of her window.
   But there was a man with her-an elderly man, richly dressed.
   He wrote her a letter, calling her “The Pearl of Venice.” Flattery reached its target and she sent back a letter inviting him to spend the night in her palace.
   As he arrived at the house, she came down the marble steps and he received her in his gondola. Together they went inside and drew the curtains.
   He thanked her in a few words of Italian he had picked up. She retaliated with a few words of French which took on a southern charm under her warm voice and accent.
   — What did you come to Venice for? she asked.
   — For love! he answered with fire in his voice.
   — Love? scoffed Francesca, they say that the French make it chiefly in words.
   — It's a slander, an awful calumny.
   — Then there is a rumour that you are really a woman disguised as a man.
   — So it's curiosity that drives you to see for yourself, is it?
   — Shall I be the first in Venice to learn the answer?
   — Upon my word, that is so, he assured her.
   She allowed him to take her hand, on which Choisy gave a first kiss. Then he prolonged his kisses up to her elbow. Her skin was unctuous and gave off a heady perfume.
   In the dark, Choisy's lips searched Francesca's. As he found them a tremor of bliss agitated them both and they remained long in a loving embrace. As he finally released her, she exclaimed:
   — Oh, dear, how well you can deceive people!
   He kissed her again, drawing back the curls of her hair and drinking in the perfume of her throat. She sighed with ecstasy, but, growing a bit alarmed, she said:
   — Let me go home now!
   — Not yet, he answered, it must be so lovely to remain together in this swaying gondola.
   — I'm afraid it will be swaying too much, and then we'll be in the drink.
   — Then we'll love each other in the water like sea-monsters, he bantered.
   She tried to push away his straying hand. Under her cape she was wearing only a light dress and a thin chemise.
   This little struggle lasted a moment, he trying to reach with his hand at the vulnerable points of her anatomy, and she striving to push his hand away, until eventually she felt against her bare loins something unmistakably hard and warm, and she gave way to his advances.
   Slowly, in order not to disturb the balance of the gondola too much, he drove his instrument in and out. But she soon grew so amorous and excited that she found his slow movements too little of a good thing, so she thrust out with her loins and hastened the movement, whispering passionately the while: “Caro, caro…”
   Then she gave orders to the gondolier to driver her home.
   — Are you convinced, now? asked Choisy.
   She tenderly shut his lips with her warm scented fingers, which he kissed with devotion.
   Before leaving the gondola, she told him to return on the following night.
   But what a surprise she had when, the next night, she saw a lady enter her palace instead of the man she was expecting.
   Then the “lady” unveiled “her” face and, to her amazement, she saw it was really Choisy, or someone looking very much like him, for she was not convinced yet that a disguise could be so perfect.
   — Is it really you? she asked, dubious.
   — Shall I tell you what we did yesterday in the gondola to convince you? he asked.
   — But your coiffure is absolutely ravishing!
   — And, see, I even have a bosom-but an artificial one.
   Still a little doubtful, she asked:
   — Wouldn't you by any chance have a brother looking like you?
   He laughed:-No, I am an only child.
   Then he proceeded to divest himself of his feminine garments, in the privacy of her luxurious room.
   At each phase of the undressing, she exclaimed “incredible!”
   Then, when the Big Bad Wolf came to be seen, her heart gave furious thumps.
   She let Choisy undress her and wondered at the skill of his hands.
   — You're better than my maid, she said smiling.
   The caresses his hands gave her as he undressed her were an excellent prelude to love. Choisy, too, was getting very much excited at the sight of her flesh getting more and more revealed, and the warm heady perfume that emanated from her delicately embroidered clothes.
   At last, with feverish fingers, he divested her of the last protection of her garments, and threw himself on the bed with her.
   He lay on top of her and kissed her neck, her mouth, then her bosom and remained some time savouring the milky whiteness of her voluptuous breasts, and, as he made the pink nipples grow under his gently biting lips, she squirmed with passion, and, as he came into her, she was ripe and ready.
   But Choisy was determined to give her the whole gamut of love a la Francaise, so he did not go in yet, but proceeded to make her come several times with his tongue.
   And how she responded to his clever love-making! She had never had such a lover before. Choisy had opened up new vistas of sensual pleasure to her.
   As a good strategist, he kept attacking on all fronts at the same time. Thus, while he was sucking her off, with one hand he pinched her nipples in turn, and he used one-or sometimes two-fingers of the other hand as a penis, driving them deeply in and out of her warm juicy pussy.
   He finished off by going into her himself, and timing it so that they came together in an orgasm so violent that it left them both dazed in blissful forgetfulness for a moment.
   With some pauses for sleep, their love feast lasted long through the night and, in the morning, Choisy left Francesca's apartments dressed as a woman. He continued to adopt this disguise and it was funny to see that nobody ever suspected anything was afoot between him and Francesca.
   At times, he even crossed in his path Francesca's lover-the rich merchant-and Francesca had a good laugh when he told her once that her elderly lover was making eyes at him, taking him for an attractive woman.

   Charlotte de Ransac began to feel puzzled by Choisy. She expected him to try his hardest to seduce her. She remembered how pressing he used to be in Paris, and the satisfaction she got out of keeping him on a string. But here in Venice, although he paid her a visit practically every day, he was polite, witty and full of compliments, but still kept his distance.
   First, she supposed that Choisy was taken up by other women, and was rather piqued by the idea. She looked at her voluptuous body in the mirror, and she was pleased with what she saw. How come Choisy did not seem any longer to appreciate her beauty to its full merit?
   She tried in vain to get information about Choisy — even all the gossip failed to show that he was anything but a courteous gentleman and, so far, there was no sign of his having an affair with a Venetian lady.
   So she opened up her heart to the marchioness of Rubo, who had the reputation of knowing more about intrigues in Venice than any other woman.
   — Who has he fallen in love with? she asked her.
   — Maybe his reputation is overdone, replied the marchioness.
   — I can assure you that in France one could not keep count of his conquests.
   — Well, in that case, he's probably indifferent to the Venetian type of beauty.
   — He? Oh, no, that can't be. I know he can hide his game quite expertly, but can a love affair remain unknown for a long time in such a city as Venice?
   After a pause, the marchioness spoke:
   — You know, since he arrived in Venice, one has not yet solved the riddle of his real sex.
   — He does arouse our curiosity, admitted Charlotte.
   — Yes, it would be fun unmasking him. But who will do that-a man or a woman?
   — We shall let chance decide it, Charlotte de Ransac suggested.
   The marchioness smiled enigmatically.
   — We shall help chance… she said. At carnival time it would be very easy and all of us women would be very glad of the opportunity.
   All? Charlotte de Ransac thought that the case of Choisy interested too many people, and she would have preferred to have only one rival, for Choisy was, at least to her, a man who had wooed her and showed by his assiduous court that he was really a man. She could fight against a rival. But surely not against a whole conjuration of women.
   She was thinking too much of Choisy, she realized. And that was not the worst. The truth was that her flesh was disturbed by her thoughts of him, and she found no longer any sexual satisfaction with her husband. She chose all sorts of pretexts to avoid his approaches. The sight of his big prick, all stiff and throbbing with desire, which used to make her twat shut and open and become all wet, now filled her with revulsion. And he was of course becoming more and more amorous with her continued refusals to satisfy his desire. He was even accusing her of cruelty, but women do not give a damn about hurting a man, when they have ceased to love him.
   — Venice, capital of love-Choisy had told her- what an imposture! she thought bitterly.
   Although she had been residing in Venice for more than two years, she knew the town rather badly and was very little informed about the Venetian intrigues. She would at least never have imagined that her friend the marchioness was ready to put into effect a very bold plan for which she risked defiling her honour as a great lady of rank. But there is no knowing what some passions can work in a woman's breast, and the marchioness's itching curiosity to find out for herself about Choisy and the riddle he was setting them all, had the better of her wisdom and virtue.
   One evening, hidden in a hired gondola, she followed Choisy as he took a gondola and she saw that he stopped in front of Francesca's palace and entered it. The marchioness gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction-she had discovered Choisy's secret.
   The following day, before visiting time, as Choisy had just come out of his bath, Bouju announced the visit of a masked lady.
   Choisy was flattered and wondered if that lady would not by any chance be Charlotte de Ransac, piqued by his indifference and wanting to tackle him in his very den. He combed his hair and brushed his clothes carefully, sensing that he would have to appear at his best for yet another conquest.
   As the mysterious lady came in, he saw that it would be impossible for him to recognize her, as, besides being masked, she was wearing a very wide cloak.
   — Whoever you are, Choisy said affably, make yourself at home-you are welcome.
   The lady sat down and said:
   — I am very much interested in you-but don't ask me the reason why, please-or at least not just yet.
   Choisy did not answer. He was too busy trying to recognize the voice of the mysterious visitor, which was a difficult thing to do, for she was trying her best to disguise her voice.
   — Since you have been in Venice, she went on, there has been some hostility against you.
   — Hostility? exclaimed Choisy unbelievingly, and just what are they reproaching me with?
   — With everything and nothing in particular. You are French and even Parisian. Your behaviour defies criticism but…
   — Go on, prompted Choisy.
   — But you have an independent spirit and a certain liberty of language which have hurt, or at least, displeased a few persons.
   — I didn't know there were such susceptible persons here.
   — The people of Venice are very proud of their rank and cannot tolerate that anybody should speak about them without respect.
   — Does the Council of the Ten intend to turn me out of the town? asked Choisy.
   — I don't think so, but you had better be on your guard-about your nightly outings in particular, she answered pointedly.
   — Am I being spied upon? This is annoying, and I don't know how to express my gratitude to you for warning me thus so disinterestedly.
   On hearing his last word, the masked lady could not repress a titter, and Choisy recognized her. Standing up, he said:
   — You are well informed, my dear Marchioness, and I really don't know how to express my gratitude to you.
   So saying, he had come near her and he was smiling broadly, for he had succeeded in discovering her identity. She had been clever, but had neglected a significant detail:-that of her unmistakable perfume which he would know anywhere. It was a musky, heady perfume, which acted strongly on his senses-he felt his penis start swelling at each whiff of her perfume intercepted by his dilated nostrils.
   Still, she was reluctant to admit her defeat readily, and persisted in her anonymity. So he told her:
   — Marchioness, do put yourself at ease-you must be stiflingly warm with this heavy cape of yours.
   At these words, he himself took the initiative to take off her mask and her cloak, and she finally appeared as the splendidly attractive woman she was, and the slight note of confusion that could be read in her face, made her more exquisitely beautiful. Before such majestic beauty, Choisy knelt down.
   — How could I ever suppose that there would be in Venice such a high-ranking guardian angel for poor little me!
   — Sir, the marchioness answered, now with her natural voice, the person you pay visits to every night has a very vindictive protector.
   — I know it… and Francesca — Hush!
   — Pardon me, but since you know everything about me Choisy had come nearer his graceful visitor, and she felt his voluptuous mouth on the nape of her neck.
   — Sir, I shall regret the boldness I had to come here and warn you-a boldness that was inspired by Choisy closed her lips with the tips of his delicate fingers, while with the other hand, he started fingering her swelling bosom.
   Then he declared in a voice full of a tenderness which he knew was a very effective weapon:
   — I am ready to do everything possible so that you should not feel sorry you came here to warn me.
   He pulled deftly on an aglet of her bodice and there sprung out one of her breasts. Its wonderfully smooth skin felt warm and scented under his face and he kissed it avidly. She tried to wriggle away from his grasp, but now her passion was aroused and her struggle was not really sincere-it was a parody of defense.
   There was a bed, placed strategically nearby, and she opposed no resistance when Choisy drew her towards it. Her bosom was heaving with passion. Feverishly, but with an expert touch, Choisy undid her bodice, and managed to continue kissing her throat the while. And at each of his kisses, she gave a little quiver of delight. Her eyes were closed and her lips open and wet-he covered them with his own, and, oh, how that woman could kiss! Her lips were full, yet not thick, her teeth were regular, and — Choisy thought-her salivation while kissing was just right, not too excessive, like that of some women he had known. With the marchioness, it was really a perfect kiss, and he felt his heart melt and his penis grow and grow-he freed it and there it stood in all its splendour, tilted up with desire.
   It was just a question of time now. At the stage where she had arrived, she would have to go the whole hog.
   She lay on her back on the bed and shut her eyes in ecstasy. He got up and pulled her skirt down and she opposed no resistance. To take off her chemise, she would have had to get up, and that may have aroused her from the state of bliss she was in, so Choisy decided to disturb her as little as possible, so he lay down on top of her and kissed her again full on the lips which had now become warm-a sure sign that a woman was ready for love. So now he did not hesitate and, lifting up her chemise just enough for the passage of his prick, he drove it home, and, far from opposing him, she had drawn her thighs apart in eager anticipation of the inevitable.
   Her cunt was as soft and juicy as her mouth, and with as much perfection: not too soft but with a certain firmness of flesh, and how thrillingly she could use her inner muscles to constrict her vagina and squeeze his penis like a dagger in a well-greased sheath.
   As he moved in and out, she helped his movements, keeping in perfect time with him, and, at each of her upward thrusts, he felt the thrill of her warm belly against his.
   Her musky perfume, which was blending marvellously with the warmth of her flesh and the perspiration of her body, made him sniff deliciously as he kissed her on the breasts, on her throat and on her warm pungent armpits.
   After they had both come together, he paused just a little, kissing her the while, but he would not let her go yet-he wanted to give her a sample of what a Frenchman was capable of. Not that he was urged only by a feeling of pride for his country's reputation as wonderful lovers-he felt a genuine desire to make love with this woman as much as was possible now, for perhaps it was a unique opportunity. He realized she was a woman of high rank, who would perhaps later feel ashamed to have given way to a man in his own home, and she might never come back to him.
   These thoughts crossed his mind in the space of a second, and then he did not think any more, and plunged himself body and soul in his passion.
   He kissed her again on the lips, then, gently and tenderly, on her eyelids. Then, suddenly, he crept down arid, under her thin chemise, groped in the dark with his tongue for the sensitive point.
   Soon, he found the protruding button of her clitoris under his tongue, and he started working on it, and, from time to time, he licked up the warm juice that was oozing from the opening just underneath.
   She had grasped his hands and guided them towards her breasts-she was a very voluptuous woman and she had at last found a lover worthy of her, and was determined to get the best out of him. He obediently did what she prompted him to do, that is to pinch her teats while he was sucking her off.
   Soon she was moaning with delight and she thrust her twat against his body so hard that he had difficulty in breathing. He felt a bit as if he was her prey, or her slave, and he thought that he felt the same with every experienced and passionate woman, but he did not mind it at all and he gave her all she wanted with the eagerness to please the opposite sex that had made his reputation of one of the best lovers of his time, one that no woman was ever likely to forget once she had known him.
   Under the busy working of his tongue, the marchioness had come two or three times. Then, Choisy, who had felt his virility coming back and raring to go, timed it perfectly and pushed his rod into the warm juicy scabbard. The sensation was exquisite and they both grunted with infinite pleasure together. A few thrusts, and they both came, and he thought he had never felt so much pleasure, although perhaps, to be honest, he had often had the same thought before. But he was at least sincere in admitting that he could not possibly ever feel more pleasure for if he did he could not bear it and would swoon with the shock of too much happiness.
   For a long time, the marchioness lay there, with her eyes shut, breathing hard, basking in the wonderful happiness of her contented senses, with all fibres of her body still aquiver but beginning to calm down into a delicious feeling of contentedness.
   When she opened her eyes, she saw that Choisy had already readjusted his clothing and was appearing decent before her. She beheld her own disarrayed clothes and felt a sense of shame. Like the gentleman he was, Choisy turned round while she put on her skirt and fastened on her bodice.
   He could now contemplate her, and how changed she was! Before, she was pale and dignified. Now, she was only a woman in the full sense of the term. She radiated happiness and contentment from every pore of her body shining with warmth, and her eyes were looking at him lovingly and gratefully.
   — What are you going to think of Venetian women? she asked with belated modesty.
   — I have always thought well of them, and now more than ever.
   — And they are discussing about your sex, wondering which it is! exclaimed the marchioness, in an amused tone, mixed with sensual gratitude.
   — Now you know, my dear marchioness, but please don't shout it on the roof-tops!
   — What interest would I have to do such a silly thing?
   — Indeed, it would compromise you. Better keep mum and let them all continue to wonder about my case.
   — That might induce other women to do as I did and satisfy their curiosity, she said with a note of fear and jealousy in her voice.
   — Dear me! exclaimed Choisy, amused, am I to be “Raped” by all the women who want to satisfy their curiosity about me?
   — That is the consequence of the enigma you are setting them, my dear.
   So saying, the marchioness had put on her mask again, ready to leave, but just before she adjusted her mask, Choisy managed to steal a last kiss, which was warm, tender, and lasted a long time.
   – I think, after all, he said that I had better pass off as a woman-for I would then have more freedom to make love without danger.
   And he thought of the stratagem he had used to deceive the vigilance of the rich merchant of Murano by disguising himself as a woman.
   — Are you sure you would incur no danger? she asked, smiling, and what about the risk of men pursuing you, thinking you are a real woman?
   — I can take care of that! he said, let's hope that now you know the way to my house, you will — We shall have to make an arrangement, she broke in, good bye, my dear!
   And she left him, as anonymously as she had come in.
   Alone, he meditated upon her last sentence. What did she mean by making an arrangement? Did she mean that she would ensure that she would have the exclusivity of his love? Yet, he felt capable of contenting both the brunette Francesca and this marchioness who was a perfect living example of the famous blonde Venetian beauties. But he would have to be cautious, for now that the marchioness knew about his affairs with Francesca, she would probably be jealous, and everything was possible in Venice, the city of intrigues.
   Yes, he reflected, Venice was really living up to its reputation of the capital of love. And he felt a voluptuous contentment in realizing it.

   So Choisy continued to flit about from one Venice palace to another, arousing curiosity everywhere he went, and Francesca and Flavia de Rubo congratulated themselves on having such an ingenious and untiring lover. And they were pleased about their affairs being kept secret. The rich merchant of Verano did not suspect the night revelries of his mistress, and the marquess of Rubo still thought his wife was a model of virtue, and if some gossiper had told them the truth they would not have believed him. Nor would Choisy have ever been found out but for the marchioness's sudden sexual frenzy which induced her to spy on him.
   Choisy was a lucky man indeed, and he knew it, for he had two mistresses, the brunette Francesca and the blonde Flavia, which varied his fare of love. Francesca was quite an expert in love-making. Should Choisy have experienced a sexual weakness, she would have known the way to arouse. She would have put on her best perfume and her most alluring clothes, she would have wiggled her hips just a little while walking and she would have held herself erect, with her stomach drawn in and her bust thrust prominently forward, and she would have worn her most audacious decollete, or else the likewise exciting opposite consisting of a blouse buttoned primly up to her neck but setting off to perfection the voluptuous curves of her bosom, also, she knew the fine art of caresses, and not necessarily the direct ones, but also those fleeting ones that make a man want more. But she never had to resort to any of those devices to arose Choisy's desire, for he was ever ripe-ready for her whenever he visited her and whatever her sexual greed was.
   Nor had Flavia any complaint about her lover. Every time she managed to escape from her palace and join Choisy at his hotel she spent with him an hour or two and behaved like a bitch in heat. She did everything to him and wanted everything done to her, and, at the end, sighing contentedly she boasted to herself that if ever Choisy wanted to deceive her he would have no means to do so, for she had emptied him of all his virility. Or so of course she thought. For in reality there was always enough left in him, and he knew ways and means of making a woman come many times and yet be sparing in his own efforts. He did not behave like a young stripling too generous with his sap, but rather like a connoisseur who knew how to enjoy keeping in his energy and giving it away at the opportune moment. And so, quite often, only an hour or so after having enjoyed an amorous hour with Flavia, Choisy went to Francesca and experienced no weakness whatever. So, thanks to his ability and cleverness, Choisy managed to make his two mistresses believe firmly that he belonged exclusively to one woman alone.
   To crown this charming imposture and place a convenient red-herring across the track, Choisy paid an assiduous court to Charlotte de Ransac, so that she herself and everyone else around her believed him in lover with her. She believed that Choisy had been unsuccessful in finding a mistress to his taste, so had come back to wooing her in the hope of winning her heart one day. Such is the vanity of women. Mrs. de Ransac firmly believed she was better than all the others and her conceit made her blind to the truth. So she savoured her would-be victory and took pleasure in arousing Choisy's desire by more or less openly flirting with him, which was playing into the hands of the marchioness, thus being covered up most conveniently and sheltered from any suspicion befalling her.
   As for Mr. de Ransac himself, he smiled condescendingly at his wife's encouragements to Choisy, as he thought she was only playing with him. He could never seriously entertain the idea that Choisy might ever become his wife's lover, for was not Choisy openly an accomplice of the king's brother's antics of doubtful taste. In other words, Mr. de Ransac was among those people who firmly believed Choisy to be a homosexual because of his friendship with the king's brother and his masquerading as a woman.
   Choisy did not fail to notice Mrs. de Ransac's recently avowed interest in himself. And he felt proud of it. He also tried hard to avail himself of the opportunity, although he knew that she would be far from an easy prey, for Charlotte had great matrimonial loyalty. But he never gave up, for he knew that it was not in character with women in general to remain for ever faithful to one man.
   His unfailing acumen soon told him that Charlotte was falling into her own trap and that, by trying to arouse Choisy's desire, she was arousing her own towards him.
   — She is like a ripening fruit, he thought, let me wait for the right moment and she will fall into my hand like a ripe pear from a tree.
   But did he really want her? It was to him more a point of honour than a real desire. He wanted to avenge himself on his failure to win her love when he had tried hard to do so in Paris. Indeed, he doubted that she should be such a good loving creature as Francesca or Flavia. No, she would just represent another victory. She did not look sensual. Her complexion was of a pleasant freshness but her eyes did not throw out any promising sparks that are such an unmistakable sign to connoisseurs, nor had her lips the fleshy consistency that was an open invitation to kisses, as for her way of dressing, it did not reveal any voluptuous forms that make a man want to caress. On the whole he did not expect to get out of her any pleasurable sensual experience.
   But there was no doubt about it: she was no longer the indifferent woman she used to be. She appeared at times so nervous that it could only be explained by a more and more imperious sexual impulse, she was still coquettish, but not in the same way-she had ceased to be merely ironical.
   One day, Mr. de Ransac was sent away on a mission in Vicenza by the ambassador. During her husband's absence, all her friends invited her in order to make her feel less alone, and Choisy regularly joined her, thus strengthening everyone's belief that he was in love with her.
   One evening, Choisy was one of the first guests to leave, and Charlotte de Ransac appreciated it as a tactful gesture. She went back to her apartments later, feeling quite happy with having been invited by such attentionate friends. As she came into her house, she was surprised not to find her maid waiting for her. She went into her bedroom and started undressing by herself.
   Suddenly she let out a scream: Choisy had just come out of a cupboard where he had been in hiding.
   — You, here?!
   — Pardon me, but…
   — Not a word out of you! Go out at once! Choisy remained firm before her.
   — No, he said, you have nothing to fear from me, but please listen.
   She was then wearing only a thin chemise, half transparent. Choisy could appreciate that she was not as lean as he had suspected. Her breasts were pointed and not insignificant, and, between her legs could be seen a darker triangle that made Choisy's imagination run away with him.
   Charlotte noticed that he was scrutinizing her. She blushed and wrapped a negligee around herself. But that movement revealed that her loins were well-shaped and her buttocks more fleshy than Choisy had thought. He was very agreeably surprised.
   Meanwhile, Charlotte de Ransac had regained her composure.
   — Are you still here? she asked, sternly.
   — I have not yet confessed to you the motive of this visit of mine which I know full well is unbecoming.
   — You can tell me to-morrow.
   — I can't, for, if I had been able to, I would have told you last night in the salon.
   — Why?
   — You see, it is such an intimate confession He made one step forward, and let himself fall on both knees before her, wrapping his arms around her legs.
   — Please don't! she ordered, you're ridiculous.
   — Because I love you?
   She gave a little nervous titter.
   — If you continue, I shall call for help.
   — So that they should find me thus in your bedroom?
   That prospect did not relish Charlotte at all, so she became less untractable.
   — What is your purpose? she asked.
   — I have been in Venice more than a month and I still have no mistresses. Just imagine, Choisy without a mistress! It is nothing short of a scandal — and all through your fault.
   — My fault? But… Please take your hands off!
   Choisy's hands were going up her legs and were palpating their tepid roundness, and he saw that his caresses were not without effect, for her legs had a slight tremor which betrayed her lack of indifference.
   — Choisy, Choisy! Please…!
   Too late! He had reached the crucial point between her thighs and he felt her legs squeeze so as to prevent any intrusion into the passage.
   He got up and, holding her with one arm round her loins, he toyed with her breasts with his other hand. She was warm and scented in his arms and he was now sure of his eventual victory. It was just a question of time.
   — Choisy, Choisy! What are you doing? It's very naughty of you!
   She was trying to throw her head back out of reach of his searching lips, but his lips managed to find hers and get a kiss out of her. Not a good one at first, but the second one was much better, and, the while, she was aware of a caress on her skin Choisy had managed to remove her chemise and she was now naked in the arms of this man, intent upon seducing her at all costs.
   — Oh, she murmured, what are you doing?
   For he was lifting her up in his arms and, before laying her on the bed, Choisy gave a lick or two to her belly, which found itself at the level of his mouth as he was lifting her.
   — No, no! she protested.
   But she was already weakening. Her body, on the bed, was still nervous and on edge. But what can a woman do when she is naked on a bed with a man whose desire is so physically obvious and pressing? Choisy, bending over her, was whispering compliments into her ear.
   — I would never have imagined you so beautiful, so tempting, so made to love and be loved, he said.
   She had shut her eyes, but not her ears. With one hand, she tried to push him away, and Choisy used this diversion to get rid of his clothes after which he embraced her quickly. The contact of this naked man whose virility was demanding, against her own naked body touched off in her a velleity of refusal.
   — Go away, Choisy! I swear I'll forget what passed between us.
   She was still fidgeting and trying to oppose him, but he had overcome greater difficulties before now. With one knee he prised open her legs which she was keeping squeezed against each other and tried to force his way upwards. Charlotte de Ransac had placed herself on her stomach, believing that she would be impregnable. But, a while later, she felt that he had reached the crater of her womanhood, and was slowly but surely forcing his way in. She wriggled briskly to get away, but only succeeded in getting it still more firmly implanted. She renewed her last effort, dictated to her by her will-power but secretly also by her sensuality-in a flash, she saw herself irremediably lost. Maintained strongly by her victor she finally abandoned herself to the delirium of her senses, which was new to her for she had never felt quite like that with her husband. In an instinctive reflex, she suddenly opened herself and was now nothing but a female happily surrendering to the male.
   Afterwards, there was for her conscience a painful moment, when she realized that, for the first time, she had been deceiving her husband. Yet, she had always sworn to herself that she would never give in to any man, and there she was, and Choisy charmingly prolonged her joy with furtive caresses along her body which quivered with delight.
   — Choisy, she said softly, your patience has had its reward, so I detest you-you are a — an evil-doer? No, a benefactor, for have I not given you a full appreciation of all one can enjoy through lovemaking?
   She did not dare deny it, so she lay down on her lover and offered her mouth to him. But Choisy was not content with such a meagre offer and busied himself with bringing about new traces. His practises convinced Charlotte who had now become another woman. She lay on her back and let Choisy make the inventory of her charms and prospect this feminine geography of hers down to its most exquisite contours and its innermost recesses.
   Choisy was now creeping along Charlotte's body, and she remained passive, with a shudder of pleasure now and then. His expert hands were making again the inventory of this woman's body, offered to him. His fingers had now reached the grotto of love and with a touch of exquisite precision he gradually gave it back all its effervescence. Charlotte gingerly began the same work and suddenly her hand came into contact with a prick in repose, to which a few caresses gave back its full rigidity, a prelude to new assaults.
   Then Choisy's mouth fixed itself on Charlotte's while the hands of both were continuing their caresses. Their tongues were working overtime and their bodies were one. The silence was broken only by a few sighs of bliss.
   Then Charlotte unexpectedly went down between Choisy's legs and, with both hands, grasped the warm penis which she gratified with kisses and caresses. Choisy shuddered with immense pleasure. He had been hoping rather than expecting caresses, but he would never have expected such a sexual frenzy.
   Charlotte now seemed to “drink” her lover, who was moaning with voluptuousness and begging her to stop. But she ignored him and continued her sucking. He contrived to master his impulses and put his hands round Charlotte's loins.
   — Take me! Charlotte begged.
   Choisy did not wait for her repeating it and it was his turn to give her the same kind of caresses which he had just received. With his head nestling in the compass of his mistress, Choisy gave her the deepest caresses, and inebriated himself with the sweetest of nectars.
   Charlotte gave a passionate leap of her body and dislodged herself, then, seizing with vigour Choisy's iron-hard prick she prayed:
   — Take me!. And, so saying, she guided the hot virility of Choisy into her grotto of love.
   And now both their bodies were moving in unison and gradually increasing the speed of their thrusts. He had passed an arm underneath her and was kneading her palpitating buttocks. Then, his finger groped and finally found the other hole of her body and penetrated it slowly.
   Charlotte gave a little scream which slowly became a moan and then silence punctuated with a few sighs.

   Choisy was obligated to take precautions, with the three mistresses he now had. But he composed to himself a menu like a gourmet, which he was. Now the blonde, now the brunette and now Mrs. de Ransac, his new conquest. Sometimes, waking up, he said to himself: “today, I shall be frugal.”
   And that usually meant that he would go to Mrs. de Ransac. She was still fond of him but they did not often have intercourse together for she was careful not to be caught in the act or even to arouse suspicion. Indeed, her friends would never have suspected such a sensual frenzy in her. If Choisy chose to be frugal it was because of a judicious estimation of Charlotte's charms, which were less abundant than those of Francesca or Flavia, who were plumper. Charlotte's body had less pronounced curves but she had proved that she was quite as voluptuous, to the point of perversion even.
   Choisy enjoyed loving thus secretly on three fronts. He had long ago passed the age when he used to boast about his conquests. He now preferred enjoying them secretly, savouring them to himself while all his friends and acquaintances had no inkling of suspicion.
   Venice had by now judged him to be either a woman or an effeminate boy, but in any case without temperament-a spirit, a pure spirit, with his real sex a puzzle.
   One evening, as a man in a salon asked the marchioness on the object, she answered huffily:
   — Let's say he is a hermaphrodite and leave it at that!
   That put paid to further inquiries. The marchioness had an authority which no one disputed. And everybody went on judging Choisy as incapable of sexual relationship and nobody ever had the suspicion that the marchioness should express such an opinion in order to throw a red herring across the track and prevent people from suspecting that she had an affair with Choisy.
   At that time there was a Polish girl named Hilda as a guest at the marchioness's. She had just arrived in Venice and was interested by the gossip about Choisy. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn and her manners were unaffected and slightly tomboyish. She did not mince her words but managed not to shock her listeners, perhaps because her foreign accent distracted from the meaning of her words.
   Choisy came into the salon and bowed to the marchioness, who introduced him to the Polish girl. As he saw her sparkling eyes in her sun-tanned complexion he experienced a sensual shock not unlike an electric one. But he had enough self-control not to show his impressions and exchanged a few amiable commonplaces with her.
   A few minutes later he found himself beside a certain Mr. Molieri, an aged Venetian, a much-traveled fellow, and asked him discreetly about Hilda.
   — Do you know this person?
   — Don't you know her? You should do, having travelled as much as you have, Molieri answered, and went on in a whisper: she has already been exiled from Moscow, London, Vienna and Berlin.
   — Why on earth? Is she a spy for the Pope?
   — She has no business with the Pope or with politics, but she works havoc in good society.
   — Come to think of it, she does have a diabolic look.
   — You have nothing to be afraid of, anyway- she only goes for pretty women.
   — Is she a Lesbian? exclaimed Choisy, amused.
   — That's right-she's seduced virtuous wives and even virgins-hence the scandals that have brought about her many evictions.
   — This kind of perversion is hardly known in Venice, Choisy pointed out.
   — And very much frowned upon. Molieri added.
   — Perhaps she's come here for a sexual fast, suggested Choisy.
   — We sincerely hope so.
   — What are you two plotting? asked the smiling marchioness who had come upon them.
   — Our dear count was a little puzzled by Miss Hilda, Molieri explained.
   Flavia laughed.
   — Oh, her? she said, you should explain to the count what she really is.
   — He's done that, said Choisy, she wouldn't have any luck with the Venetian women, would she?
   — Those who would succumb would not boast about it, said the marchioness.
   — That would be better for all concerned, Molieri said.
   The marchioness winked furtively at Choisy and went on her way to entertain other guests.
   Some time later, Choisy went on a gondola to visit Francesca, who had told him he could come without a disguise for her rich protector was away on a trip.
   Rocked by the gentle lapping of the water, Choisy mused.
   — This Polish girl, she is a Lesbian probably because she has not known a real lover he thought.
   He talked it over with Francesca.
   — Have you made up your mind to convert her? she asked ironically.
   — I have better things to do, Choisy answered, caressing her breasts and cunt.
   — Those kind of women, she said, only give us a hors-d'oeuvre, they whet our appetite, but for the main dish we need this.
   And, with her tapering fingers, she took hold of Choisy's warm penis which was as stiff as a rod.
   — Without this, she went on, it's just monkeying about.
   — But, Choisy remarked, with that special kind of intercourse, the victimized party is the passive woman. The active girl must feel a voluptuousness unknown to us normal individuals.
   — And I don't particularly want to, said Francesca, for you, that kind of thing is a prelude-what if you had to be content with it?
   Choisy did not answer that question-he had reached the point where a man cannot restrain himself any longer and has to get rid of his venom. The two lovers had better things to do than to discuss such a hypothetical subject.
   He continued his caresses for a while longer, and, as he felt she was ripe-ready. He lay on top of her and drove his rod into her. She sighed and bit the skin of his neck, and he buried his nose in her scented black hair.
   But he could not keep his mind off that girl Hilda. Francesca, after her first fire was consumed and they were both resting awhile, guessed it from the abstracted air on his face.
   — What are you thinking of? she asked, frowning.
   — What can a man be thinking of who has just fulfilled his duty so gallantly, Choisy answered diplomatically.
   — He should think about giving yet another proof of his virility, she said.
   — I shall see to that pronto! he retorted.
   He ran his lips over her naked flesh which gave little spasmodic shudders of gratification. His lips paused awhile on the rotundities of her sensual breasts and made her nipples grow and tauten, then they went down to the fleshy button and worked on it till the woman moaned and squirmed with intemperate pleasure, and he finished her off with a good fucking that fairly shook her entrails.
   One morning, after he had spent a short but momentous time with Charlotte de Ransac, he was loafing in the market part of the town, still thinking of Hilda, when suddenly he spotted her.
   She was alone and he grasped this heaven-sent opportunity. He walked towards her and pretended he was meeting her by pure chance.
   — Shopping? he asked her pleasantly.
   Choisy's mode of dressing being ambiguous, she took him to be a woman and answered:
   — Well, I usually leave this sort of thing to my maid, but what about you, are you a good housewife?
   — I like good food, he admitted, but I, too, leave shopping to others.
   — Funny you should dress a bit like a man, the Polish girl said after a pause, whom are you trying to deceive, my dear?
   Choisy was about to clear the misunderstanding when he thought better of it and, in a brainwave, saw how he could profit by Hilda's mistake.
   — I think we can get along fine together, he said, winking.
   She took Choisy's arm and walked away with him, far from the crowd.
   — We are wasting our time in this town, she told him.
   — Yes, deliriously so, he answered.
   — Do you really think so? I don't. In fact, if I hadn't noticed you in the salon of the marchioness, I would have left town.
   — The marchioness? said Choisy, she is as pleasant as she is beautiful.
   — Granted, admitted Hilda in a somewhat suspicious tone, but what are you expecting from her? She has a husband and probably a lover as well, although she would never admit it. And the Venetian woman, anyway She shrugged her shoulders, leaving her sentence in mid air and drawing Choisy closer to herself.
   — If I singled you out, she went on, it is because of your biting wit. There is no mistaking that sign. I spotted it at once.
   They walked on a few steps in silence, then, in a frankly tender voice, Hilda whispered:
   — This is neither the time nor the place for confidences. Do come along to my place. I have rented a very nice flat, you'll see. There you can open your heart to me.
   Choisy did not say no to that proposal. It fell in admirably with his plans.
   Hilda's flat had none of the luxury that distinguished the palatial abodes of Mrs. de Ransac, the marchioness of Rubo or even Francesca, but it was neatly furnished and comfortable.
   As soon as they came in Hilda offered Choisy her lips and he kissed her with as much skill as he could master.
   Out of a cupboard she took a tray of fruit and bottle of wine.
   — I'm sorry I have nothing else at home, she said. I always dine out at the homes of a Venetian woman or another whose sexual habits are old-fashioned and not at all to my liking.
   While Choisy was nibbling an apricot, Hilda unfastened her dress.
   — What's your name? she asked.
   Choisy's quick mind saved him. He chose a name that belonged to both sexes. Being French, he picked the name Gabriel, which sounds the same as its feminine Gabrielle.
   — Gabrielle, she pronounced languidly, that's a pretty name. Talk about a laugh-one of the marchioness's guests paid his compliments to me and gave me a date for the next evening.
   — And what happened?
   — He must have looked a proper fool waiting for me in vain.
   — He'll probably try again at your next meeting in a salon.
   — He will be as unsuccessful on the thirteenth time as on the first. Look, dear Gabrielle, wouldn't it be a pity to give this to a man?
   And so saying, she showed Choisy her bare breast. She had just taken off her chemise and appeared in a very relishing nudity. Her breasts were full and pointed up in a defying manner. At the bottom of her stomach was a little golden tuft on the background of her rosy skin.
   Moved by this vision worthy of an artist, Choisy got up and, holding up to his lips the fruit of one of her treasures, he nibbled at it gently while one of his hands roamed at the bottom of her back.
   — Gabrielle, Hilda murmured, I knew you would love me.
   — More than you imagined… but the decorum — To hell with the decorum! she exclaimed defiantly. But don't stay like this!
   Choisy preferred putting off the revelation of his sex. He pushed her towards a sofa and his expert lips started doing their efficient work on her body which was already trembling with desire. After a short stay on the hills of her bust, his tongue's next trip was to the crater of her navel, where it sojourned a while, then kept an important date down under (no offence to the Aussies!).
   And, while Hilda was moaning with pleasure under the active working of Choisy's tongue, he took off his clothes without her noticing it. Then he went on top of her and penetrated her.
   Hilda uttered a scream of fright.
   — But darling, you — Here, take this! said Choisy, pushing it in still further.
   She tried in vain to wriggle out of it but, after a few minutes' struggle, she gave in, and she did so with relish, finally realizing that a good prick was better than the best dildo.
   After she had come, she felt halfway between shame and sensual gratitude.
   — You're nothing but a vile impostor, she growled, and I had taken you for a pretty girl!
   — A girl singularly armed.
   — Hide that away from my sight!
   She turned her back on him, and Choisy was quick to seize the opportunity. He slid it between her thighs from behind and wham! Fick fick Fraulein, sehr gut. Oh, sorry, that's not Polish.
   When a Lesbian gives in to a male she feels as if she were raped, and she never admits she gets any pleasure out of it, although she darn well does.
   But Hilda was a cut above the ordinary Lesbian. She was charmed to see that she actually succeeded in pleasing a male and she looked at Choisy with spiteful eyes for the lovely surprise he had sprung on her.
   For every woman surprise remains an element of seduction which makes her pleasure greater (as the duchess said when the duke went into the wrong hole).
   Hilda, lying on the sofa with her senses satisfied yet still aglow, saw signs of weariness in her seducer's face. She understood that he had given himself to her unstintingly and that, to do it again, it would take some doing (oh, dear, what a to-do!).
   Smiling, she gently took hold of Choisy's virility which was now soft. And yet, a few moments earlier, it was thanks to that little piece of flesh that she owed the most pleasurable experience of her sexual life. Caressing in her fingers Choisy's thingummy, she reflected that she was holding in her hand the key to a paradise that was superior to that given by the hottest of the female friends she had had.
   And she felt more than ever convinced of it when, a while later, Choisy's desire began to grow again and reached, to her eyes, gigantic proportions. She gave a shudder of anticipating pleasure and Choisy saw the spark in her eyes, and knew that it was his cue.
   So in he went again and, brother, did he make her come! She would really have something to tell her grandchildren about-and talk about a bedtime story! Enough to keep you awake. Enough indeed to make the baby jump out of his cradle uttering wolf howls and rape his nanny. As the billy-goat said to the manny-goat: “How now brown ewe, how I love your hue.”
   But enough persiflage and badinage and let's come back to the serious thing in hand. Did I say “in hand?” Brother, that was half an hour ago. Now it's “in” something else, something soft and something wet and something juicy, which made the something in question all sticky.
   A sticky end? ha ha!
   Tut tut! Enough of your jokes, sir!
   Where were we? Oh, yes, on Hilda's sofa, and Choisy was doing things to her. Pleasurable things, it goes without saying (why the heck did I say it, then?).
   And Hilda conceived a diabolic idea. She was now growing attached to this her first male, and, in order to attach him to her she decided there and then to be coquettish with him, that is, to pretend not to like him in order to make him pursue her all the more.
   What a cockeyed tactic to adopt with a guy like Choisy. I ask you. It takes a perverted dame to get such naive ideas.
   — Dear, dear, dear! (as the three stags said).

   During the days that followed, Hilda tried to steal away from the male call of Choisy. But in vain. He pursued her everywhere, and even into her own home. And once in the place, he knew how to impose his will on her. At the sight of his convincing virility, her will-power buckled like a thin sheet of corrugated iron under the weight of a hippo perched on the back of a rhino. She swore like a trooper but gave in just the same. Just like the others.
   But poor Choisy, superhuman though he may be, could not possibly satisfy four hungry females so he reduced his activities to two a day-Francesca or Hilda at night, and during the day Flavia or Charlotte. That was quite enough, thank you.
   But the four women started thinking that he was deceiving them, without however being able to say with whom. And, of course, they had to keep their suspicions quiet for, being women of the world, they could not very well air their grievances in the salons. So they got their own back in the privacy of their bedrooms, and started nagging Choisy.
   You know how it goes-something like “who were you with last night? Why didn't you come to me yesterday?” and all that sort of rot.
   Flavia and Charlotte were more reserved-their reproaches were more like insinuations and hints full of double-entendre.
   Charlotte suffered more than the others from the green-eyed monster, probably because she realized that she had given the best of herself to a man who was now deceiving her. After all, she had never gone with any man apart from her husband before Choisy seduced her. So she was naturally bitter about it. But she had grown very much attached to him and clung to him like ivy to the wall. She could not hold back her tears of vexation and passion. One day she told Choisy:
   — I can't go on with this unbalanced existence. Since I have committed the greatest sin ever, I must accept all its consequences. I can't go on playing this comedy of virtue before the world, before my husband. I feel my strength ebbing away from me.
   — Don't take it so hard, he tried to calm her, think of all the ladies who don't take so tragically such a petty sin.
   — No, a thousand times no-I am not like those women for whom having a lover is no more important than taking medicine, she exclaimed.
   She became a bit wild in her talk and mentioned damnation, hell and all the calamities that must befall those who commit adultery. Then, in a passionate fling, she put out an astonishing proposition:
   — Let's stop deceiving people, she said, let's go away together!
   — Both of us, go away? Choisy said, stunned.
   — Yes, repeated Charlotte, who had made up her mind.
   — But, where?
   — Anywhere. There is no lack of countries where we can live and love in peace, hidden from prying eyes.
   — This takes some thinking about, said Choisy wisely.
   — Did we think before? So why think now? Now we have to accept what's coming to us.
   Choisy thought that the best thing to do was to play for time.
   — But, he said, we can't go away so suddenly. There is a snag, you see, I happen to have very little money about me at the moment. We couldn't live decently with the little I have.
   — Can't you procure some money by post? she asked. Meanwhile I can sell a few family jewels. Anyway, people in love are content with very little.
   — Well, said Choisy, hedging, I shall see with the people I am in business relations with.
   The time when the baron (Charlotte's husband) would be coming back was drawing near, so Choisy kissed her good-bye, but not before she had told him:
   — I trust you, my love. Take me away from here. Deliver me from this torment. Swear that you will.
   Choisy gave his word. All's fair in love and war, he thought. And a juicy kiss from him placated Charlotte's tormented soul until their meeting.
   Once outside he breathed with relief. He did not relish the idea of going away from this town so propitious to his lovelife. But he reflected that Charlotte would soon become tyrannical and nagging and that in spite of her love for him-or rather because of it-she would tolerate him no concession. So he decided to go and see her less often in the future.
   Meanwhile however Charlotte was busily preparing for her departure. She feverishly packed her clothes and jewels into a case in order to be ready as soon as Choisy would give the word.
   But, on that very evening, something unusual happened. Hilda, who had been waiting impatiently for Choisy to come to her, and was lying on her bed with her body all afire with the passion he had instilled in her, decided to go and see for herself what he was about. So, at night-fall, she took a gondola and went to Choisy's hotel.
   She arrived just in time to see Choisy board a gondola, so she told her gondolier to follow Choisy, and thus she saw him go to Francesca's palace. She waited a little, but there soon was no doubt-Choisy was a traitor to her.
   She boiled inwardly with rage and entertained in her mind thoughts of the most horrible bloody vengeance, but remembered in time that in Venice murderers are punished in such an exemplary manner that they never do it again, for the good reason that they are dead.
   So she rapped out an order to her gondolier to drive her home, where, needless to say, she spent a terrible night, tortured by visions of Choisy kissing that girl, that other girl, unknown to her, and of his lying on top of her and his driving his beloved penis into her (oh, how she was aching for one right now! She put a finger into her cunt, shut her eyes-but no! Nothing could replace Choisy). She thought of him licking the other woman's cunt, and she wetted with saliva her middle and forefingers and rubbed her clitoris with them, soon bathing with love-juice the sheets of her bed.
   As soon as dawn came, she went out and inquired about who inhabited the palace where she had seen Choisy go and spend the night and, without difficulty, learned that it was the possession of a rich merchant who kept a Sicilian woman called Francesca, a notorious courtesan.
   She decided to wreak out a terrible vengeance. As she never for a moment supposed that that woman Francesca would give her love to any man, even Choisy, without getting paid in money, she penned an accusation and placed it into the mouth of the gorgonzola-oops, sorry, I mean “gargoyle” — which served as a repository for accusations destined to the Counsel of the Ten who ruled Venice.
   In the evening, she went to the salon of the marchioness of Rubo where Choisy appeared, a few moments later, more seductive than ever, butterflying from one lady to another like a sheik in his harem. As he came near Hilda, he bowed to her familiarly, and she felt gnawed by jealousy as she thought that he was amiable with all the other women as well. She felt like strangling him with her own hands. But, suddenly, she felt all serene and happy, for he had just whispered to her:
   — To-night?
   She smiled and her eyes said “yes.” Soon afterwards, she left for her home. There, she paced the room impatiently, gnawing her knuckles and wondering if he would come or if she would have to go and stab him with a dagger.
   But he came all right. And he was his usual charming self.
   She threw herself into his arms, delirious with carnal desire, tore his clothes off him, pushed him on the bed and contemplated for a moment his magnificent virility. Then, without bothering about preliminaries, she threw herself on top of him and took him with astonishing savagery which filled him with ecstasy. And, while her loins agitated themselves with frenzy, she bit him on the shoulder to prevent herself from abusing him.
   Then she sucked him off with such passion that she could not help biting him at times, which made Choisy sweat with the sudden fright that she should forget herself and bite too deeply, too irremediably so. Just imagine-a prickless Choisy! Better die of the plague than such a calamity.
   When she had finished, she rolled on the bed with him and held him close against her. She was vibrating with a passion he had never known in any other woman. He did his best to satisfy her but she was always hungry for more. As he sucked her off, and kneaded her buttocks in his hands, she groaned with pleasure and, taking violent hold of his hair, pushed his head against her twat forcibly. And she kissed him, later, so savagely that she drew blood.
   — But what's the matter with you to-night? he asked.
   — It's because I love you, she answered with passion.
   She nearly spouted out all she had on her heart, but said nothing, for she guessed that if she did she would lose him to that odious Francesca.
   Choisy went back to his hotel in the morning, weary but wonderfully contented.
   But he had slept only a few hours when he was rudely awakened by loud knocks on his door.
   It was a Commissioner of the Republic who had come to signify to him that the Counsel of the Ten had decided on his expulsion because of unwarranted debauch. In vain did he discuss, plead, solicit a delay of execution, naming the baron of Ransac as warrant of his good faith and intentions. But the ambassador had already been told and there was nothing he could do-he would have to leave the Venice he had grown so attached to.
   But he was very philosophical and, as the gondola of the police was driving him away, he smiled benignly and waved good-bye to Venice, saying:
   — Addio, Venizia! I shall always keep an exquisite remembrance of you. Venice, you have earned your reputation of Capital of Love… but there are other towns…
   And even then he started thinking about his future love adventures which, he was sure, were awaiting him round the comer.
 
   Charlotte de Ransac was one of the first to know of Choisy's sudden departure, for her husband worked at the embassy. With great difficulty she overcame her emotion.
   — But what has he done? she asked, was it a political intrigue?
   — Not even that, her husband answered, that Choisy is incorrigible-he had taken as his mistress a-well, a person dear to an important person.
   — Who? Charlotte wanted to know.
   — A-courtesan-the fair Francesca.
   Charlotte de Ransac became pale and pretexted she was feeling unwell to take refuge in her room. There she felt as if a crater had opened out under her feet. After such a cruel act of treason she thought she would not be able to bear the blow inflicted on her. But, little by little, she reasoned with herself and calculated that soon her husband would be recalled in Paris, and there she would probably meet Choisy again, and then, what a revenge she would wreak out!
   At the end of the day, the marchioness came to visit Mrs. de Ransac and she guessed at once that something was worrying Charlotte.
   — What is the matter with you, have you bad news from France? she asked.
   — Not from France, but from Venice-oh, my dear. I want to open my heart to you And she started blurting out everything about her relationship with Choisy.
   So the marchioness, whose cunt had been the repository of Choisy's penis, was now the repository of Charlotte's confessions.
   — You too! Flavia could not help exclaiming.
   It was time such a dangerous man went away.
   They looked at each other and they did not have to add another word-they were united in the same misfortune.
   And they did not even have the consolation of knowing that Hilda was bitterly repenting her sudden access of fury which had led her to writing a letter to the Counsel of the Ten, thus bringing about the expulsion of the very one she wanted so much to keep.
   The three women, victims of Choisy's guile, never showed in public the bitterness that was in their hearts, as gossip would have been relentless if their affairs with their lover had become known in the famous Venice salons.

   Still under the menace of pursuits for having killed a gentleman in a duel, Choisy took all the necessary precautions, once on the French soil. He landed in Marseilles and stayed there a while under the name and disguise of countess of Barres.
   Who could have suspected that this young and pretty lady was in fact a man hungry for adventures, handy with a sword and still more with feminine hearts and who knew better than most men, how to give women wonderful voluptuous sensations? The shrewdest among them did not suspect for a moment that another identity could be hidden under the pomades and creams that gave Choisy the complexion of a peach, and his hair so elegantly arranged, his crystal-clear aristocratic voice and distinguished manners.
   Anyway, he avoided showing himself too much, in order not to run the risk of arousing the concupiscence of men which could have been very annoying.
   He stayed in his Marseilles hotel and dispatched his valet Bouju to Bourges with the order to make the acquisition of a domain that had been advertised as vacant. As soon as he had purchased it, he kept his feminine disguise and went to Bourges where Bouju had prepared everything with his usual efficiency.
   The name of the domain that Choisy was now inhabiting was Crepon. It was not really a castle, more like a house surrounded with a large park, dense with vegetation.
   The news of the “countess of Barres's” arrival spread round, and the first visitor was a Mr. du Plan, bailiff, his real name was Duplan, but he spelt it du Plan in order to appear noble. He was eager to make the acquaintance of this new lady.
   Choisy received him so well that he was invited in his turn, and he could not find a ready-made excuse to refuse. Anyway, he knew that if this fat bailiff became too pressing, he could always simulate and play the part of virtuous woman.
   So, two days later, the countess of Barres, alias Choisy, made his entrance in the salon of Mr. du Plan and was introduced to the other guests who consisted mainly of provincial ladies with antiquated dresses, except the host's wife whose ripened beauty was dressed in becoming clothes, and a young girl, Miss de la Grise whose sparkling eyes contradicted her virginal smile.
   Choisy, or rather the countess of Barres was the butt of a thousand more or less indiscreet questions.
   — So you are a widow-so young.
   — I married when I was fifteen, was Choisy's barefaced lie and pat answer.
   — And you have no intention of getting married again?
   Choisy looked at the questioner. He was a plump rube, who looked the type certainly more able to seduce a scullery maid than a lady but who seemed very conceited into the bargain.
   — My first and only experience has made me circumspect, the countess answered, gravely.
   Choisy went on answering questions, always wittily. They asked him about fashion and beauty secrets, among other things, but, even on that strictly feminine subject, Choisy was never at a loss for an answer.
   — Have you travelled a lot? the bailiff's wife asked.
   — Too much, the countess answered, that is why I am so keen on settling here among you.
   That compliment flattered everybody. Meanwhile, Choisy had noticed that Miss de la Grise had asked him no question, yet her features betrayed great interest in the goings-on.
   When Choisy deemed the time ripe for her to bow out gracefully, in order to leave the guests still a little hungry for details on his private life, he had accomplished a miracle, for one and all enthused about him:
   — Isn't she nice?
   As for Choisy, he was not so enthusiastic. True, he was comparatively safe in this little town of the county Berri, but the inhabitants would be funny at first, then would quickly bore him stiff.
   What he wanted was a good warm cunt into which to bury his itching prick.
   The bailiff's wife was a possibility, but, although she looked sensual enough, she looked the type to stay faithful to the same man, and, in small towns scandal spreads fast.
   There remained Miss de la Grise. Yes, she was a choice morsel and the problem of how to seduce her presented just the right amount of risks to make the adventure worth while. He wondered how he would go about it. He would need a lot of patience. It was different in Venice, where nearly all women were already prepared physically and morally for love. Yes, Venice was really the capital of love. But here, Choisy would have to plan hard to conquer that young country lady.
   It was hard for Choisy to remain continent, but he had to be careful, or else he would reveal his true personality and it would be all over the town. He had to remain in everybody's eyes the countess of Barres.
   But, after a time, he found a temporary solution in the person of Lisette.
   She was a young girl, married to an apprentice miller, and native of the town. She had been engaged by Bouju to help with the housekeeping. So, she became the personal maid of the countess of Barres, alias Choisy. He was careful and cleverly hid his identity from her for a pretty long time. He let her attend to his coiffure and other details of his dressing, but, before taking his bath, he sent her away, so that she did not discover that he was in reality a man.
   But there was no denying that her presence made Choisy more and more hungry for love as the days went by. Lisette was quite an exciting sight, with a simple but attractive skirt and white apron which offset her beauty, and the two orbs of her breast that showed above a country blouse with open neck-line. And when, in the proceedings of his toilet, manicuring, etc., she touched him, he had to use all his self-control not to reveal that he was in reality a male.
   One morning, Lisette came upon a pair of falsies in a chest of drawers. She was surprised, but deduced that the countess of Barres had small breasts and wore falsies out of coquettishness.
   Then, another morning, she discovered the truth quite by chance. Choisy, that morning, was sleeping more soundly than usual, and Lisette had knocked on his door more softly than usual and, when she entered, she saw the countess of Barres half naked on her bed, and between her thighs there protruded something that she had never seen a woman have, something that her husband fucked her with. Choisy, too late, drew the bed-sheets up to cover his nudity. Lisette exclaimed, joining her hands:
   — Oh! madam!
   — Forget what you saw and you shall be rewarded, Choisy told her.
   Lisette, her eyes wide open with surprise, assented but naively observed:
   — What do you use it for?
   — For nothing at the moment, beautiful, Choisy retorted, and it's a pity.
   — It is, indeed, Lisette answered with conviction.
   To hide her confusion, she turned her back or Choisy.
   It took him only a moment to make up his mind. From behind, he put his arms around her and seized her nipples between his fingers.
   — Oh but, madam! she said, arching her body.
   — Between ourselves and the door-post you can call me “Sir,” Choisy said.
   That put an end to the few scruples Lisette had left. When Choisy judged that she had been prepared enough, he tossed her on the bed and there, she readily opened up her legs and let the big wolf go in. Lisette enjoyed this unexpected situation and she was both sensual and curious to see how a “countess” made love. She was not disappointed (no woman ever was with Choisy).
   Like most country girls, Lisette had a strong healthy smell, which excited Choisy's senses. That, and his long continence, made him more amorous than at almost any time in the past.
   Oh, how good it was to kiss and suck her lovely breasts! Lisette remained perhaps a little too passive, but then it was the first time and she was intimidated. Anyway, Choisy liked his women to enjoy what he did to them, and did not particularly mind what they did to him.
   She had lovely black hair and, as he caressed it, she looked up at him with wet eyes, and her lips were ruddy and half open, so he crushed them with his hungry mouth and they rolled on the bed in a fiercely sensual embrace.
   Her buttocks were firm and not specially well washed. Choisy provided to that deficiency with his tongue, and did a very good job of it, concentrating his cleaning on the hairy fissure in between the two orbs. But then he afterwards sullied it all again with his prick.
   When their love bout was over, he told her to go and prepare his bath as now, he added, he had nothing more to hide from her.
   A gold ducat bought her silence. But Lisette was not eager to speak about her experience, for she was keen to have further intercourse with this wonderful mistress and she naturally did not want her husband to know about it.
   In the bath-room they played at washing each other and he had her again on the bidet (French for bird-bath).
   — Your breasts are heavier than mine, he said, laughing.
   — That's not very difficult, she smiled, and kissed him greedily.

   Choisy decided that, to conquer Miss de la Grise, he would need Lisette's complicity and help, and, being a good psychologist, he guessed that she would make no objection.
   — How old is she? he asked Lisette.
   — Sixteen, I think.
   — And has she any marriage plans?
   Lisette had a mischievous smile which suited her personality of pert but attractive hussy.
   — There is some talk about a marriage with — With whom? asked Choisy negligently.
   — Never mind, Miss de la Grise does not seem too keen on getting engaged to him.
   — Then I gather he is not very handsome, said Choisy.
   Lisette laughed and started unbuttoning Choisy's fly.
   — You would not want him for a man, would you, for instance? he asked. — Not for my weight in gold, Lisette answered, releasing the big bad wolf from its prison.
   — And yet you accepted your Nicholas, Choisy observed.
   Lisette shrugged her shoulders.
   — My Nicholas-I had to marry him to give my brat a father-but you can have him.
   — And what would I do with him? Choisy answered, laughing nervously for Lisette was doing things to him with her hand. But let's come back to our little lamb.
   — You'd better be careful with her, she's a sly one.
   Choisy wiped his sperm with a careless gesture and a handkerchief.
   — All I want from her is a pair of breasts like yours and a deep burrow for my greedy rabbit.
   — Your rabbit is fond of new dishes, Lisette remarked, letting Choisy's hand grope under her skirt, yet haven't I given it a good enough home?
   She sighed. Choisy's hand had found its target.
   — Well, I'll do as you say, she said.
   — You shall be well rewarded, he told her, and went on rubbing.
   He saw that Lisette was not really jealous. On the contrary she seemed to enjoy this plot-he had realized it from the spark in her eyes as soon as he had mentioned his project to her. She would certainly second him to the best of her ability.
   — We shall have to have her come here, suggested Lisette, wetting her petticoat, and we must make it as comfortable as possible, let her relax, and then, when she trusts you and is no longer so shy, you can judge the best moment to show your hand, but don't be too hasty or it would spoil everything.
   — I shall follow your valuable advice, Choisy said. Tomorrow I shall send Bouju with a formal invitation.
   — Yes, said Lisette, we shall have to do things in style for those kind of people like to show off and are sensitive to the trimmings.
   But Choisy did not hear her, for his head was covered up by her petticoat, as he was busily wiping her clean with his tongue.
   When he came up again, like a surfacing submarine, he asked:
   — By the way, what's her name?
   — Angela-didn't you know?
   — It suits her to a T.
   Five days later, the countess of Barres received in her house, finely decorated with beautiful flowers, the cream of the local aristocracy, which of course included the marchioness de la Grise and her daughter Angela, and of course Mr. and Mrs. du Plan.
   The countess of Barres had tea served in fine porcelain. She had put her best dress on and her hair was coiffured exquisitely, thanks to the clever ringers of Lisette, her faithful maid. They all complimented her on her garden, her clothes, everything.
   — If I had a son, said Mrs. du Plan, I would like him to marry you.
   — Oh, dear, Choisy answered, he would not make a good bargain.
   — And why, pray? said Mrs. du Plan, you are a widow, pretty and rather well-off. Does the remembrance of your former marriage blind you to the truth?
   — It has made me difficult to please.
   At the thought of her imaginary husband, the countess took on a pensive attitude.
   — Mr. des Barres, Choisy went on, is a husband difficult to replace. You know, madam, I think I should prefer to find for myself a lady companion.
   — A lady companion! exclaimed Mrs. du Plan, surprised, but — Is there anything better than feminine intimacy? asked Choisy, and he looked at her in such a way that she felt rather troubled.
   — Yes, Choisy pursued, a young person who would be a sister to me.
   — I see you are a very… reserved person, Mrs. du Plan answered, and Choisy discerned a note of disappointment in her tone, and it gave him time to think.
   — Aren't joys of the heart better than all the others? he said.
   That remark brought some confusion in the mind of Mrs. du Plan. But now Choisy was no longer heeding her. He was instead observing Angela de la Grise and what he saw pleased him. She was eating the delicacies he had prepared for his guests with as much relish as a cat drinking creamed milk. Choisy concluded that she must be sensual and that thought filled him with pleasure.
   He took her to the garden and made her admire the look and the scent of his best roses.
   — Look at these petals, he said, haven't they the softness of a woman's skin?
   Angela blushed, which made her still more attractive.
   — I wouldn't know, madam Choisy took her hand in his own and caressed it absently.
   — Now, try-you'll see there is no difference.
   Angela turned-away blushing and, pointing at a yellow rose, asked:
   — And this one?
   — This one has a Chinese origin, but its touch is the same.
   She gave a little nervous titter, and Choisy deemed best not to insist for this time.

   The following morning, Choisy narrated everything to Lisette as she was nestling in his bed.
   — I think I am not mistaken in judging Angela capable of contenting a man, and even keen to do so.
   — See that you don't hurry! counseled Lisette.
   Choisy undressed her and put his body against her.
   — I am never in a hurry, he said, I can bide my time and choose the right moment. But you're not jealous, by any chance?
   Lisette did not answer, for her thoughts were elsewhere, or rather she was not thinking about anything in particular. Her senses had taken hold of her and she let herself be transported in the realm of sensuality. Choisy caressed her pussy in such a way that she sighed with enjoyment and she searched in the dark for his big prick and soon found it and imprisoned it in her warm sweating hand. And her twat moistened at this thrilling touch that held so much voluptuousness in store for her. And he gave it to her, just as she wanted, and her enjoyment was a pleasure to behold.
   During a pause in their fucking spree, they took up the thread of their plot.
   — If Mrs. du Plan knew what you really are, the bailiff would again be cuckolded, said Lisette.
   — He already looks like a born cuckold, remarked Choisy, and, as for her, she's a choice morsel but, although I have gone after two hares several times in the past, I feel that here it would be a mistake.
   — You're right, but aren't you afraid that after you have taken the young Angela de la Grise they will force you to marry her.
   — Oh, dear, if I'd had to marry all the virgins I've had, I'd be in possession of a seraglio like the Great Turk.
   That simile amused Lisette very much, and she felt disposed to replace a whole seraglio with such an amiable and amorous Turk. She opened her cunt to him again, and they had another go. Then he sucked her off good and proper. And she reciprocated, and jolly good at it she was, too! And she took it all in her mouth, and immediately afterwards she kissed him so he could taste his own sap mixed with her saliva.
 
   A few days later, the countess of Barres rode in her gig to visit the bailiff's wife, where she exchanged a few courtesies. She then rode on to the marchioness of la Grise who was flattered by the countess's visit, the more so as it was quite unexpected. She called her daughter who appeared dressed in a light summer skirt and blouse, a delightful sight, so sincere and youthful.
   After a few commonplaces, the countess of Barres hazarded a leading suggestion:
   — Miss Angela seems a little pale, he said.
   In fact, her cheeks were blooming with good health.
   — What she needs is the invigorating country air, he went on, why wouldn't she come and spend a few days at Crepon? I am sure it would do her a lot of good.
   — You would be kind enough to have my daughter as your guest for a few days? said the marchioness, beaming.
   — I shall be very pleased, Choisy assured her.
   — But that will cause you a lot of trouble.
   — You mean a lot of pleasure, amended Choisy politely.
   And Choisy was sincere. Mrs. de la Grise, out of principle, accepted the invitation for two days later only, as she did not want to appear too eager. So it was agreed that the countess of Barres would come and pick up Angela in her gig.
   Choisy, back home, broke the happy news to Lisette.
   — The poor girl, he said, was so upset that she was struck dumb.
   — Don't be too hasty with her, though, Lisette advised.
   — I'll hasten slowly, he assured her, but you be careful not to put your foot in it.
   Lisette scraped a mock bow and answered:
   — Madam will be satisfied with my services.
   Then she took off her chemise-which was the only garment she was wearing at the time-threw it in a ball at Choisy's head and flung herself on him with sexual frenzy. She had been conquered by him and she adored him even though he was coveting a young virgin.
   She held him close to her and bit his shoulder to excite him. But he needed no encouragement and his cock was ready for its work-if you can call it work. It penetrated with as much ease as a sharp knife into butter on a hot summer day, and when it came out it was a soggy red mess, as Lisette had started having her monthlies.
   Two days later, the countess of Barres (Choisy) came to fetch the young la Grise. Her mother gave her the usual last-minute recommendations as it was the first time she was separated from her dear daughter.
   During the trip by coach, Angela cried a little but Choisy patted her hand affectionately and comforted her with tender words.
   When they arrived Lisette busied herself at once to make Angela feel at home.
   The following morning, Lisette went into Choisy's bedroom, slipped into his bed and soon woke up his drowsing senses with direct caresses. Then, when she had had her fill of caresses (but no fucking, alas, for she now had her menses), she gave him a few indications on Angela.
   — Last night I helped her undress and tucked her in, and I daresay she is a little thin.
   — You will have to prepare hearty meals for her, said Choisy.
   — It will take some time for her breasts to fill up. At her age, mine had already grown pretty much.
   Angela was treated like a princess. The countess of Barres did her very best to entertain her-he took her for walks, and together they plucked flowers, read the verses of Ronsard and played some music. Gradually Angela was losing her shyness. She was naturally gay and soon she was laughing and singing.
   — You've been married, she asked the countess of Barres, is it pleasant to be married?
   — That all depends on the husband, Choisy answered. As far as I am concerned I like it so much that I want to rest on my souvenirs.
   — So you have no intention of marrying again?
   — Yes, perhaps, with you.
   Angela was moved by this act of friendship and spontaneously kissed Choisy. Then she was quite astonished by her own boldness.
   — When one is married, one sleeps in the same bed together, isn't that right? she asked naively.
   — By right, Choisy answered.
   — And, after supper, he asked her:
   — Shall we get married tonight?
   This offer filled her with glee and she followed Choisy to his room, and even let him help her off with her clothes. She slipped into the bed, where Choisy joined her, after having extinguished all but one small candle.
   On that first night, Choisy caressed her but little for he did not wish to risk frightening her. Slow but surely was his motto, or, as they said in Venice, “chi va piano va sano.”
   On the second night he went a little further and made her come with his fingers.
   On the third night he went further still and he practically raped her without her realizing what he had actually done, and she still took him to be a woman, (but a really strange woman, she could not help thinking). She was still a child, but was gradually becoming a woman, and that is the age when girls are at their most responsive to influences. She loved caresses, and was thrilled by them, but she did not realize that she was committing a sin. It came naturally to her and, giving her body, she imagined she was just giving her heart. So she was perverted and innocent at the same time. And that sort of thing occurs quite often in youth. She loved the countess of Barres for having been the first to teach her what love really meant and for having opened up unknown vistas of voluptuousness to her, such as she had never dreamed could exist. That is all the art of seducing and in that the seducer is much superior to the husband who opens the “door” with force because he knows he has the legal right to do so. The seducer gradually has the door open without the occupant realizing it-or realizing it too late-always pleased and never shocked. And, needless to say, Choisy was a past master in the art of seducing women-young and old, fat and thin, duchesses or maids-of-all work.
   Angela was getting to like her night games more and more. She found that the countess was a matchless companion who had discovered all the possible pleasure that one can get out of one's body, and thought that it was not a reprehensible thing since nature had seen to it that we should all be provided with such senses. On the contrary, she reflected, we should make the best of what we have. Quite innocently, she told Lisette all about her experiences.
   — I thought that in bed one could do nothing but sleep, but the countess has taught me that one could do many pleasant things in bed.
   — What will it be, then, when you are in bed with your husband! exclaimed Lisette.
   — But the countess of Barres is my husband, isn't she?
   — Yes and no, Lisette answered, embarrassed.
   — What would be the difference if I were married with that Mr. Balisier?
   — He is a councilor, isn't he? asked Lisette, avoiding Angela's question by asking one of her own.
   — Yes, something like that, and mother finds him a very important person.
   With diplomacy Lisette contrived to avoid answering questions about the precise things Choisy did at night with Angela and the latter, after her long conversation with Lisette, found she had learned nothing.
   And Lisette thought with wonder about Choisy:
   — What a cunning man he is! He has finally obtained what he wanted, and much faster than I imagined. And in what way, too!
   But, as Choisy was far from neglecting Lisette where lovemaking was concerned, he got out of her an esteem and an aid greater than ever. Lisette thought that since Choisy was a man capable of behaving amorously with two mistresses, she had nothing to complain about. If only all women had her philosophy, the world would be a quieter place.
   The affair could have lasted indefinitely if Mrs. de la Grise had not felt sad about her daughter's absence. So, one day, without warning, she arrived at Crepon to spend an afternoon with Angela.
   The first she saw of her daughter was as she was in the garden walking with the countess of Barres who was holding her in a rather tender embrace. Mrs. de la Grise was struck by the expression on her daughter's face: she seemed very happy and excited at the same time. As she remarked upon it, Choisy said it must be the healthy country air.
   — There is something new in Angela, something I can't define, said Mrs. de la Grise.
   — I do my best so that she should feel happy at Crepon. Isn't it a replica of the Garden of Eden? Choisy said.
   Angela, blushing, approved. Choisy called Lisette and told her to prepare a specially fine meal for his new guest for the day.
   They had a good lunch with pleasantness all round and everybody happy. Then the evening came and it was time for Mrs. de la Grise to go back home. She ordered her phaeton to be ready, she had granted that her daughter should stay one more week at Crepon and the time came for Angela to kiss her mother good-bye. Choisy had imprudently left them both together.
   — Thank you, mother, said Angela with rapture, the countess is so good to me and she knows so well how to please me, even at night.
   — Even at night? exclaimed the marchioness, raising her eyebrows.
   — We're married, you know, Angela said, innocently, in the way of explanation.
   — The countess was married once, but you are not, answered the marchioness.
   — Isn't that the same?
   — No: two persons of the same sex cannot marry each other.
   — And why on earth not?
   — Marriage is a grave engagement and it has, well, certain obligations — But, mother, I go to bed with the countess as if with a husband.
   — You never told me that before, and I certainly don't approve, said Mrs. de la Grise sternly.
   — But we don't do any harm-on the contrary.
   — What do you mean-on the contrary?
   Mrs. de la Grise took her daughter apart and questioned her further.
   — Explain yourself, she ordered, did she dare touch you? Did she do any reprehensible things with you?
   — Reprehensible? I wouldn't know about that. She caresses me all along my body-and I just love it.
   The marchioness started and looked attentively at her daughter. So, she thought, that is what has caused her to look so beaming with prosperity. She gave a brisk order:
   — Go into the phaeton, I'm taking you home.
   — But why? — I don't have to give you any reason.
   Angela, frightened by the sudden abruptness of her mother, started crying. Choisy, who had witnessed the scene from afar, came up to them.
   — Are you taking your daughter back, madam? Yet she likes it so much here.
   — She likes it even too much, madam, and I want to nip in the bud certain scandalous effusions, she said, then, putting her head out of the window of the phaeton, she ejaculated, “I know now why you are not eager to marry again. But if you want to deprave somebody, you had better choose somebody else than my daughter.”
   — Go! she ordered to the coachman, we have no more business in this house.
   The driver touched up the horses and the phaeton started before Choisy had time to put in a protest. It would have been fruitless in any case.
   Lisette had heard nothing but instinctively guessed what was afoot.
   — What made the marchioness fly off the handle? she asked, knowing the answer.
   — Bah! Choisy answered. Angela foolishly talked too much.
   Then he made a sweeping gesture of impatience with the long sleeve of his dress and concluded philosophically:
   — There are many pebbles on the beach.
   — I am still at your service, madam, Lisette remarked in a mock tone.
   Choisy reflected on the possible consequences of the sudden turn of events. Lisette suggested he should send Bouju to gather information but Choisy was averse to mixing his valet into his personal business and even declined Lisette's offer to act as a spy.
   — No, he decided. I shall go myself, and map out a plan to counter-attack at the first opportunity.
   So, the next day he went to Bourges in his gig and his first visit was to the bailiff. The latter being absent, Choisy was received by his wife.
   — Your visit is unexpected, but opportune, she declared, I am very glad to see you.
   — Thank you, madam, said Choisy, gracefully sitting on the proffered armchair.
   — Has the Crepon air suddenly turned unhealthy? asked Mrs. du Plan abruptly, not bothering about preliminaries, so great was her curiosity. They are saying in town that Mrs. de la Grise suddenly brought back her daughter from Crepon.
   — I wonder why she did that, Choisy answered, feigning surprise, and I must say I've come here chiefly to find out the answer to this riddle.
   — You should know the answer better than I do! she replied.
   — I assure you I know nothing.
   — I've even been told that the marchioness has taken her daughter to the convent of Les Pres.
   — Is it far from here? Choisy asked.
   — Why? would you want to abduct her from there? she asked ironically.
   — Of course not, but I would like an explanation with the marchioness.
   — You will have to wait till she comes back. That won't be before night-fall for the convent is about four leagues away.
   Choisy now knew enough. He stayed a while longer talking about other subjects, for decorum's sake, and Mrs. du Plan did her best to worm the truth out of him, and later in the course of the conversation, he brought the subject back to the burning question.
   — Miss Angela was really very inquisitive, he said, she made me blush at times with some questions she asked me. After all, it is not up to me to give her tuition on a certain subject, is it?
   — Her husband will deal with that, his hostess answered, adding: if, of course, she ever finds herself one, after this story!
   Choisy felt like exclaiming “touche!” but refrained discreetly and took his leave, going directly back home, as he did not feel like staying in this town any longer, now that it was definitely hostile to him. He wondered if it would be worth while trying to gain back the good favours of that boring town, and finally estimated it as an impossible task.
   What would he do? Wait till the scandal blew over? Scandal is very hard to die in provincial towns, he decided. Unless perhaps-“yes, that's it,” he thought he had found the right countermove. He would form in Crepon an elegant society who would make the provincial people of Bourges green with envy.
   But, having slept on the idea, he found what he thought was a better one when he woke up the following morning. He ordered that one should prepare everything for his departure, the news of which he would later apprise the town of Bourges by letter, for he had still a few business matters to settle. Then he dressed as a man and travelled with Bouju riding normally on a horse, not sidesaddle.
   Talking of side-saddle reminded Choisy of a funny story an English lady had once told him between two bouts of love-making. Asked whether she rode side-saddle or long-saddle, she replied glibly.
   — Oh, it's as broad as it is long.
   It was a pity bicycles were not invented at the time Choisy lived, or else he might have been laughing at this other funny story: “a young lady, having been given a ride on a bicycle by a young man was very embarrassed when she dismounted, on discovering that the bike was a woman's model.”
   But let's come back to Choisy. He was riding slowly as he did not want to arrive at the convent of Les Pres before sunset. When he arrived there he reconnoitered the place, then knocked on the door and a sister opened it.
   — Sister, I am a rider, lost in this unknown region and I am begging for a shelter for my valet and myself till dawn tomorrow, he said.
   The sister took pity and said she would ask the abbess for permission.
   — I am Mr. de Sancy, declared Choisy, perhaps this name will reassure her.
   Soon after, the door was opened and an aged gardener led Bouju and the horses to the stable while Choisy was ushered into the abbess's parlour. She looked about forty years old, with a flourishing complexion and a healthy plumpness.
   — Mr. de Sancy? she said, the name is not unknown to me — I usually reside in Paris, but I travel a lot, Choisy explained.
   — Don't you live in the Faubourg St-Marceau in Paris? I think I can remember a lady named Mrs. de Sancy who was very charitable.
   — Indeed, she's my wife.
   — But her husband was unknown.
   — The reason for that was that I nearly always away on trip.
   — And how is Mrs. de Sancy? the abbess inquired politely.
   — Last time I saw her she was in fine health, Choisy said, laughing inwardly at the huge joke it all was.
   That Mrs. de Sancy was a figment of Choisy's imagination. Before calling himself countess of Barres, he had been Mrs. de Sancy and had inhabited the Faubourg Saint Marceau under this personality and had led a joyous life, but he had given much to charity in order to allay the gossipers' evil tongues.
   He did not, of course, tell the truth to the abbess, but, seeing that she was interested, he talked for a long while about his travels in Holland, in Berlin and in Venice, naturally hiding the ribald parts. The abbess listened with delight to Choisy's recital of his would-be adventures which opened up new horizons for her, penned up as she was between the four walls of the convent.
   — You must be feeling sorry for us for the motionless trite life we are living, she told Choisy with a sigh.
   — No, I don't, replied Choisy, and I must add that I even envy you. True, your universe is limited but you in particular have the responsibility over souls. Your task must be complicated at times. Have you ever had any difficult incident with your black sheep?
   — I do my best to show them the right way, the abbess answered diplomatically.
   Choisy was hoping she would have mentioned the case of Angela de la Grise, but however hard he tried to bring her into the conversation by a roundabout way, he failed to get any information about her and, as he was not supposed to know the people of the province around the convent, he did not insist-he retired to his room after having partaken of a proffered snack.
   He did not go to bed, but instead, remained dressed and watchful. As soon as he heard no noise, he left his room silently and wandered along the corridors. But how was he to find where Angela de la Grise was?
   He went so far as opening doors without a noise, but, among the prostrate bodies sound asleep, he could not make out the girl he was looking for.
   Having decided to go back to his room disappointed he suddenly found a room from where a ray of light was filtering. Through the keyhole he saw a woman dressed in a night-gown who was kneeling by her bed.
   Silently-but not silently enough-he opened the door. The woman stopped her prayer and opened her eyes wide with fright for a moment, then covered them with her hands and said in a trembling voice:
   — Please don't hurt me! I knew you would be coming-I had a warning. I am in a state of sin. Dictate your orders.
   Choisy came nearer. The sinner hid her face in her bed. Her nightgown revealed fleshy appetising shapes. Choisy yielded to the temptation of touching them with his hands and the body shuddered. With a light hand he discovered and even explored. Yes, he was really expected and it would have been offending Satan to leave this flesh in an uncontented state.
   So he deftly took out his prick and applied it between the two orbs that faced him. He found the aperture, all moist and warm, and went in. It was the first time he had fucked a girl whose face was hidden in the bedsheets and whom he had not previously kissed. It was quite thrilling for him to act this part of the devil-for the girl thought he was being sent by Satan to punish her.
   But actually, the girl seemed to enjoy her “punishment.” Choisy was excited by the odour of clean-laundered bed-sheets and the unperfumed body-odeur of the girl who was perspiring abundantly through fear and more and more through enjoyment.
   After he had come twice, he went away silently and the girl remained kneeling, with her face still hidden and her backside “in the air.”
   Choisy could not find his way back to his room, so he ended up in the stable where he slept the rest of the night, wondering whether the girl he had fucked was pretty or not, for he had not seen her face! He would probably never know.
   When dawn came, he woke up Bouju who harnessed the horses, gave a large tip to the gardener and left the convent.
   Choisy philosophically and wisely reflected that it was probably a good thing that he had failed to find Angela de la Grise, thus putting an end to his plan to abduct her. He estimated that the convent of Les Pres had given him a good enough souvenir that deserved a good place in his love annals.
   Anyway, it was only a small sin. The charity of the flesh is a charity like the others and the charitable one is rewarded from the fact that love is accomplished with more frenetic passion by women who have been long deprived of it.
   Choisy's adventure at the convent of Les Pres was far from being an exception. We know of the orgies organized by Casanova and the Cardinal of Bemis at the Carmelites of Murano, near Venice. Saint-Simon, in his Memoirs, tells that there was an open war between two aristocratic convents of Paris to decide which of the two would produce the girl who was to become the official mistress of the new nuncio. The prelates' choice fell upon a canoness of Remiremont. The same canoness was to become a few days later the mistress of the king Louis XIV for a few days. Public opinion took both these incidents in a different way. They approved of the nuncio's choice of the canoness, and would have thought it a scandal had he chosen for his mistress a woman who would not have belonged to the Church. But, for the king, it was feared that, a scandal would break out from his taking as his favourite a canoness. The religious point of view, like many others, differs according to the onlooker.
   Choisy's point of view was elementary. He belonged, as we know, to the Church, and he took smilingly his pleasure where Providence-this religious aspect of destiny-showed it to him. Thus, for instance, he had gone to the convent of Les Pres with the intention of abducting the naive and lean Miss de la Grise. God preserved him from this ravishment for which he would have been indicted before the Supreme Court of Paris. But Providence was there to place in his path the good fortune of an undreamt of opportunity to satisfy his carnal hunger. The penitent was hiding her face but leaving the rest uncovered, appetising and comfortable. Choisy found how comfortable her shapes were by running his expert hands around them. He knew nothing of his partner, not even whether she was fair-haired, dark-haired or a red-head. But the enigma which he would never decipher made his pleasure more acute and he imparted a diabolical voluptuousness on this penitent who was offering to God what she thought men did not want any longer. That is generally the origin of penance. Choisy proved the contrary to her and made happy this woman about whom he knew nothing and whose face and smile he would never behold. And as he left her contented and sighing with bliss on her rough bed she wondered, intrigued rather than worried, whether she had been penetrated by the organ of a lover or the finger of God.
   Did not the same thing happen to Miss de Montmorency-Boutteville, whom the duke of Chatillon abducted from the convent of Saint-Blaise to marry her, after having taken on the spot an installment on a wedding-night? Then, six months later, after he was killed in one of the battles waged at that time between princes, wasn't it the same thing that happened again at the convent of Chaumont where the widow who had entered this convent disconsolately, gave way to the duke of Nemours in her cell and became his ardent and romantic mistress?

   Choisy arrived in Paris and took again possession of his house in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, under the identity of Mrs. de Sancy. This house was soon open to former acquaintances who were not all unaware of Choisy's sexual mystifications, but who, amused by them, winked at them and kept mum.
   It was now the beginning of autumn and people were beginning to come back to the capital from the now cold and humid countryside. And the military people also were resting and taking up their winter quarters in Paris, waiting for the resumption of operations in the spring.
   Choisy was a perfect host-or rather hostess, since he was disguised as a woman. He always had good food, well prepared and plentiful. His wit was much appreciated in the conversations.
   His revenue was eked out by his frequent winnings at cards. He was often lucky, and a brilliant strategist, but he never cheated, for that would not have been tolerated, even from Mrs. de Sancy.
   He remained on excellent terms with the curate of the parish, being pious and also giving a lot to charity. He had ten thousand pounds income coming from the heirloom of his mother and fourteen thousand pounds from the benefits of his abbey of Saintep Seine in Burgundy. Even with that alone, and not counting his winnings at cards, he could have lived comfortably, and he did.
   He wrote to Lisette that she should come to Paris as his personal maid, and managed to find for her husband Nicholas a post of Archer of the Guard. Lisette accepted with pleasure, longing to have further intercourse with Choisy, under his disguise of a woman which made her quite safe from any suspicion her fool of a husband might have.
   From Lisette, Choisy learned that Mrs. de la Grise, after having sent her daughter to the convent of la Grise, had kept mum about the reason of her sudden decision. After Angela's confession, Mrs. de la Grise, undecided about the real sex of this strange person, had concluded that her child had been the victim of a hermaphrodite or a demon, which came to the same thing. But she had given up the idea of causing a scandal by means of a pub-He denunciation, and she prayed that the divine justice would visit the malefactor. The departure of this satanic countess was held by her to be a favour from Heaven and an encouragement to silence. So Choisy was safe from that side at least. And nobody had drawn any conclusion from his visit to the convent of Les Pres, for only Hercule Poirot's little grey cells could have guessed that the countess of Barres and the knight who had taken refuge for one night at the convent of Les Pres were one and the same person.
   Choisy did not remain a long time in Paris without his usual love-affairs.
   Among his guests was a certain knight of Haucourt, a lover of good food and wine, and a great gambler at cards. Choisy showed himself very attentionate with him, giving him the best pieces at meals and winning as much as he could out of him at cards after the meals.
   But Fate was to show an ironic hand in that the knight started falling in love with Mrs. de Sancy. With his feminine attire Choisy showed himself to the best advantage and he looked indeed a ravishing woman. His clear complexion was kept in tiptop form by means of numerous lotions and pomades, and his hair was expertly done by Lisette who was quite clever at hairdressing, and the falsies he wore gave the perfect illusion of a finely-shaped bosom.
   D'Haucourt often praised the beauty of his hostess and Choisy at first saw in his praise the normal compliments paid to a hostess by a gentleman. But soon he realized that mark of politeness. Yes, the knight had fallen in love with Mrs. de Sancy!
   D'Haucourt wooed Mrs. de Sancy alias Choisy with reserve at first, but soon started being a little more pressing. Choisy took on a coquettish part, making himself desired. That was pouring oil on the fire.
   One evening, after an animated game of cards, the knight stayed after the other guests had gone. Choisy, as chance would have it, had been unlucky and lost a lot of money that evening and the knight had won twenty ducats out of him. He told the knight:
   — Please wait a moment. I'm going to get the money from my room.
   The knight laid a gentle hand on his arm.
   — There's no hurry, he said soothingly.
   — I dislike debts, Choisy answered, at least gambling debts.
   — Between us, madam, it doesn't count.
   — And why would you grant me credit? Choisy asked.
   — Let's call it quits, the knight offered generously.
   — All right-till to-morrow. We'll play double or quits.
   The knight knelt down in front of Choisy, took one of his hands which he kissed effusively. The false Mrs. de Sancy tried in vain to free her hand which d'Haucourt maintained forcibly under his lips.
   — My dear, do stop it, he admonished, suppose anybody saw us — I wish it were so, so I could let the world know of my feelings for you.
   — And what would they think of me?
   — Is loving a crime?
   — Get up, knight! You're making me blush. Besides, it's late and I'm so tired I could drop.
   — Forgive me. May I hope that we shall take up our little talk soon and lead it to its conclusion?
   — We'll see, we'll see.
   Choisy had got up from his armchair and called his valet to show his obstinate wooer out. When at last he could go back to his room he told Lisette who was helping him undress:
   — After all, I'm not going to make myself ugly to discourage this foolish fop.
   — That would be a pity, indeed. But you should send him what you owe him as soon as to-morrow morning and so he'll understand that you want to owe him nothing.
   — You're quite right, Lisette, I'll do just that.
   Then he drew her to him and undressed her in his turn. Then they snuffed out the candles and, in the cosy bedsheets, they brought their naked bodies together, and kissed passionately, letting their hands roam along each other's bodies and awakening the deepest desire in them. Then, with voluptuous grunts and sighs, they fucked and caressed each other with their hands and with their tongues. Choisy thanked providence that Lisette had been “sent” to him. It might never have happened if Lisette had not entered his room while he was asleep, and even then, if his bed-sheets had not been pushed away she would not have noticed that he was not the woman he was meant to be.
 
   While Choisy was trying to get rid of d'Haucourt, he was endeavouring to seduce a certain Rosalie, a well-known actress of great virtue who opposed a fierce resistance to his attacks. She had no lovers, as far as he knew, but a great deal of admirers, including a comedian called du Rozan. She was really beautiful and she derived great fun from being wooed by many unsuccessfully.
   For Rosalie, Choisy was Mrs. de Sancy-she did not know his true identity. But, instead of being a handicap, it became for Choisy an advantage over his rivals. But the problem was to know whether, once he would show her his real sex, she would not get disgusted or frightened. She liked making fun of people, so that would have been a splendid opportunity for her to laugh at Choisy, if she had felt like laughing.
   Choisy first tried to get her confidence. He lavished praise on her acting, but he did not exaggerate flattery for he did not seem to pass for a woman in love with another woman. That would have been a dangerous thing to do.
   He invited her to his house, not only at his salon parties but in the intimacy of his boudoir. He gave her precious recipes for pomades and other tricks women have to keep and enhance their natural beauty. He also asked her for advice on her way of dressing. In short, he and Rosalie began exchanging secrets on how best to seduce men, and, from there, there was but a short step to exchanging confidences on which men they were interested in.
   — This du Rozan, Choisy remarked, has a great future before him, hasn't he.
   — Yes, he's a handsome man, and he knows it. Rosalie agreed, I think he would like to marry me, but — Yes, Choisy said, marriage is an affair that demands a lot of thoughts.
   — You made the experience of it yourself.
   — That is why I hesitate to renew it.
   — Even with Mr. d'Haucourt? said Rosalie with an impish tone. They say that he's running after you like mad.
   — As a lover, maybe, but certainly not as a husband, said Choisy, I don't want to be chained down to him.
   Rosalie was becoming more and more familiar with Choisy so that she tolerated a certain liberty.
   — What a fine bust you have, Choisy told her one evening as he had gone into her dressing-room in the theatre, and she was taking off her stage dress.
   — You don't have to envy me, yours is far from bad.
   — Don't trust appearances, said Choisy, in reality I have to use falsies for my bust is quite flat like that of a man.
   — Mr. d'Haucourt would be disappointed indeed if he ever found out!
   — Good God, yes! You understand now why I hesitate to give Mr. d'Haucourt such a disappointment, or anybody else for that matter.
   — But you have other advantages that make up for it, Rosalie said.
   — You may be right there.
   And Choisy noted that he had sparked off in Rosalie a certain curiosity that would perhaps prove the key to the problem of becoming more intimate with her. He started being more tender with her, and saw that she was not fighting shy of it.
   One evening, after they both had had dinner as guests of a common friend, with d'Haucourt, the latter offered to accompany them both home.
   — I don't know if we must accept, said Choisy, there's the risk of some gossiper seeing us and starting to spread some unfounded rumours.
   — It would serve me in good stead if someone did that, said d'Haucourt.
   — But, sir, and what about my reputation?
   — I shall stop at your door, d'Haucourt assured her.
   — That's what you say-but I trust Miss Rosalie will do me the honour of accepting my hospitality.
   — But certainly, Rosalie answered, pleased to be of service to her great friend.
   And that is how d'Haucourt saw the door being shut in his face by the two women.
   — The poor knight, said Rosalie, he thought it was in the bag.
   — Shall I have a room prepared for you, as well as a fire? said Choisy. If I dared, I would offer you to share my bed, that would be the simplest solution, and I confess I would feel more in security with you in my bed in case the bold knight took it into his head to climb up to my window.
   And Choisy gave Rosalie a friendly kiss, which convinced her to accept his offer. And so, while Rosalie was praising the furniture of Choisy's room, Choisy praised Rosalie's body, as she was undressing.
   — Your shoulders are worthy of a goddess, he told her.
   He started giving her little kisses which made her shudder with pleasure.
   — Darling, do stop, please-are you trying to replace Rozan?
   — Who knows? Oh, but here are breasts fit to make envious all the nymphs of the mythology.
   Rosalie, although she was obviously influenced by the caresses and compliments Choisy was giving her, endeavoured to control herself and adopted a mocking tone as a shield to her emotions.
   — My word, did Mr. d'Haucourt, put you in such a state? she asked.
   — No, you did!
   And his lips solicited Rosalie's with such skill that the comedian became all languid.
   — I wonder how all that is going to end, she said, feeling a little ashamed at what she guessed was lying ahead.
   — In the best possible way, Choisy said confidently.
   Choisy left only one lamp on and, after having undressed quickly, joined Rosalie in his bed.
   First, he just gave her a few friendly caresses which did not betray his real sex and which proved successful in exciting Rosalie.
   — What we're doing is bad, she murmured.
   — Would you prefer to have Rozan in your bed instead of me? asked Choisy.
   — He certainly would like to be in your place! ejaculated Rosalie.
   — But what is to prevent me from replacing him? said Choisy, and, so saying, proved his virility to Rosalie who, too late, tried backing away. Choisy precipitated his action and held close to him Rosalie's attractive body with an ardour that melted all her resistance.
   The effect of surprise played a great part in seducing Rosalie, for, before the final assault-so to speak-she had been led by caresses to a state of exacerbation which made her subsequent resistance much too weak for Choisy's fire. And when the Big Bad Wolf was in, she could no longer think straight and abandoned herself to the intoxication of love.
   They both came in a wonderful spasm that shook them to the core and emptied them for a moment of all energy. During the resting period that followed, Rosalie contemplated the instrument that had given her such wonderful feelings, and said:
   — Gorgeous, that thing of yours, if your breast was false, at least that isn't.
   — You're right, said Choisy, I've been well provided by nature… Imagine d'Haucourt's face if he had been in this bed instead of you! laughed Choisy.
   — It would have ended in a duel!
   — I prefer “fighting” at close quarters with you, mocked Choisy.
   Then they started making love again. Rosalie gave him kiss for kiss and caress for caress. She was evidently highly pleased with having found so opportunely such an unexpected and skilful lover. And the very unusual way in which she had lost her virtue gave her conscience a good excuse for having done so.
   She gave herself fully to her voluptuousness and suddenly seized with her hands the virile instrument of her partner, superb and palpitating, and growing bolder still, covered with kisses this rod which had given her such pleasure.
   Choisy did not resist such caresses a long time, and had to withdraw after a little while in order to keep his sap in.
   In less time than it takes to say it, the two lovers had started again their love-making in a furiously passionate way. Rosalie (thought Choisy) was a really attractive and well-shaped woman, just right for his size, too!
   The kisses and the intermingling of bodies became more abundant and more nervous and produced an abundant perspiration. In the quiet room one could hear sighs, grunts of pleasure and the rubbing of bodies.
   Choisy, who liked to prolong pleasure as much as possible, now proceeded to put his partner in the most perfect state of receptivity and lavished the most skilful caresses on her. His hands ran slowly along all the flesh part of her anatomy, and when his fingers reached the source of pleasure by excellence, they slowly drew apart its lips to penetrate their warm and humid intimacy.
   Then he gave back to Rosalie the very intimate caresses she had spontaneously given him with her mouth. She lay there in ecstasy, breathing heavily, while she let Choisy drink in the sap of her body at its source. And she was really happy then as she had never been before and thanked Heaven to have got across her path such a wonderful lover as Choisy.

   Choisy went on being Mrs. de Sancy, except for Rosalie. He had told his new mistress how “Monsieur,” the King's brother, had given him the taste for disguising himself as a woman but he pointed out that he, Choisy, had not lost any of his virility.
   — And you find your ruse always successful? she asked, laughing.
   — Well… sometimes, Choisy answered modestly, to admit of this metamorphosis it takes favourable circumstances as well as exceptional persons like you.
   Rosalie, flattered, smiled. It was for her an unexpected pleasure to see her lover come out of his feminine chrysalis and then, after having given her proof of his virility, go back into his women's clothes. She reasoned that very few persons could have got away with it for any length of time. The remarkable thing was that Choisy was far from being a weak male or an awkward beginner. He was on the contrary expert in voluptuousness and very strong in constitution. But, being vain like nearly all women, she attributed Choisy's special fire and energy in love-making to her own power of seduction. She even went as far as thinking that her harmonious body had been the cause of Mrs. de Sandy's getting out of her reserve. That is why she took good care of keeping Choisy's secret for herself so that she should be the only beneficiary of it. She was at the stage when hidden affairs were more thrilling than open ones.
   True, people had not failed to notice the strong friendship that united Rosalie with Mrs. De Sancy, but they had not enough imagination to suspect that anything unusual was afoot, so that their comments on the subject were without malice. Of course, both lovers wisely abstained from being demonstrative in public. They more than made up for their reserve when they were together in the intimacy of their bed-room. There, nothing could hold back their frantic passion.
   — I have a bigger bust than you, my dear, Rosalie observed, but the small of your back is more fleshy than mine.
   — It serves me in good stead to deceive people, Choisy remarked.
   — But one day it may induce your knight to try raping you, she warned.
   — Bah! A creditor loses his rights with an insolvent debtor.
   For d'Haucourt, Choisy was more than ever Mrs. de Sancy, the object of his flame. That is why Choisy took good care not to find himself alone with him, for he knew to what lengths a jilted lover can go. Fortunately there were Bouju and Lisette and even sometimes Nicolas when he was not on duty, to serve as a shield and prevent his being alone with d'Haucourt. The trio stood good watch, and Choisy received only Rosalie in his intimacy-the others were not allowed to overstep the limits of the salon, and even Choisy's salon was not open at all times but only on reception days.
   D'Haucourt raged and fumed to see what all his efforts were repeatedly knocking against a blank wall. That led him to having his temper more than somewhat frayed, and he often bickered.
   — It's easier to break into a fortress than your house, he grunted spitefully.
   — But, Sir, Choisy replied, would you expect everybody to enter my house just when they pleased? As it is, I receive a great many guests.
   — Too many, to my liking! If I had my say — Would you leave your wife without a bodyguard, jealous as you are?
   — I have ample cause to be jealous.
   — Is this the way you intend winning my favours? It's like rubbing a cat's hair up the wrong way, you know. It will get you nowhere. You know I love society and having people around me.
   — Well, I don't.
   — Go to a desert, then!
   — All right, but with you!
   That made Mrs. de Sancy laugh so mockingly that d'Haucourt was deeply hurt and he stopped at once his battle of words. At least, for the nonce, for the day after they started again, and Choisy was no longer amused at his insistence. He saw the red light and guessed that the knight would soon risk the decisive assault. Anyway, that would perhaps be better as then the affair would more quickly be wound up to its fated end, one way or the other- and Choisy knew which way it would end.
   So, with a sigh of relief, he finally accepted d'Haucourt's invitation to supper at a would-be friend of the knight.
   — He lives in Meudon, it's a charming place near the woods, d'Haucourt explained.
   — At night, Choisy objected, I shan't be in a position to enjoy the scenery. D'Haucourt ignored that remark and went on:
   — And, above all, don't bring your inseparable friend with you!
   — You mean Rosalie?
   — Of course, can't you, for one evening, tear yourself away from her? My friend dislikes people in the acting profession.
   — That doesn't make him a very likeable person to me, said Choisy.
   — For once, I beg this favour — All right, said Choisy, looking d'Haucourt frankly in the eye, I shall leave Rosalie in Paris.
   D'Haucourt was as pleased as a schoolboy who has won a pound of ice-cream a day for a year for helping an old lady across the street.
   But, when the day of the appointment came, he was astonished to see a young rider arriving instead of Mrs. de Sancy. Or was it Mrs. de Sancy dressed as a man?
   — I was looking for your coach. How did you come?
   — Riding a horse.
   — Alone?
   — No, with Bouju, who's waiting for me in an inn.
   Choisy took off his cloak and appeared dressed in riding trousers, boots and with a sword dangling from his side. D'Haucourt whistled with admiration.
   — How smart you look! You give off a perfect imitation of a man! But, please, remove that sword of yours-it has no business here. Besides, you would be hard put to it if you had to use it.
   Instead of answering, Choisy quickly and deftly drew the blade out of its sheath and threatened his host with it.
   — Good Heavens! It looks as if you had done nothing but that all your life.
   He even had to back away from Choisy who was pricking his doublet with the point of his sword.
   — You told me a friend of yours had invited us, Choisy remarked, continuing his fencing, I'd like to see him.
   — He is, ahem, at Saint-Germain, hummed and hawed d'Haucourt, embarrassed, he was called away for an urgent replacement.
   — You should have told me about it and postponed our supper.
   — But why?
   — Defend yourself! cried Choisy, or you'll be like a chicken on a spit.
   — Aren't you putting the cart before the horse?
   Nevertheless, he took out his sword and got busy warding off Choisy's thrusts. As he backed away more and more, he exclaimed:
   — Madam, please let's stop this little game. It's dangerous and we have better things to do. Hallo there, Basque!
   D'Haucourt's servant answered his master's call but Choisy's attention was not diverted-with a flourish he made d'Haucourt's sword jump out from his grasp and fall with a disgraceful thud on the floor. D'Haucourt stopped dead and felt deeply ashamed.
   — You have a grip of iron, he said after a pause.
   — Yes, I've had a good master, Choisy said.
   — D'Haucourt had to do as he was told and defend himself, but he gave a sign with his head which his valet understood, but Choisy failed to notice, and the next thing he knew he was being seized from behind by two strong arms-those of Basque who had sprung from behind. As he was endeavouring to wrench himself free, d'Haucourt guffawed.
   — Come, fair lady, give me your sword. Those are not games for you.
   Choisy, fuming like a trapped fox, exclaimed:
   — That's a fine victory for you, I'm sure! It took two to disarm me.
   — And now, do become again the fair Mrs. De Sancy you are, in spite of your disguise!
   D'Haucourt had sheathed his sword and, helped by his valet, succeeded in wrenching Choisy's weapon from his grasp, but not without great difficulty. This new victory made him laugh again jeeringly.
   — And now, he said, you can be sure you won't get out of here without having belonged to me.
   — That remains to be seen! Choisy ejaculated. D'Haucourt threw himself upon “her” and lifted her from the ground.
   — It's as well as done! he exclaimed, I would have preferred your loving me without forcing you to, but, after such a bravado of yours, if I have to use force I shall.
   He sank into an armchair without letting go of his prey and started pawing the fleshy backside which stimulated his desire. Choisy did his best to struggle and, as he feared Basque would sooner or later come to his masters aid, he managed to seize a stool and to toss it at the valet. It was a bull's eye — Basque, hit on the head, sank to the floor with a groan. Exit valet.
   — What a fury! exclaimed d'Haucourt with more than a tinge of admiration in his voice, and without a thought of pity for his servant.
   And, far from renouncing his project, d'Haucourt now seemed more intent than ever to realize it.
   Traitorously, he tripped up Choisy and threw himself bodily on him. But he had to use both his hands to hold his prey to the ground, so that he could not reach the treasures he coveted. He squeezed Choisy's wrists and lay heavily on top of him, using his muscular thighs to good advantage. Meanwhile, with his face, he searched inside Choisy's bust in the same way a boar nuzzles for truffles. He even went so far as tearing the lace with his teeth, and he may have thought it odd not to feel the softness of a woman's breast underneath. He was getting more and more wrought up like an exacerbated he-goat and swore to his heart's content.
   With a powerful loin thrust, Choisy contrived to lift up his aggressor and make him roll on his side. Then he deftly sprang to his feet, followed closely by d'Haucourt. Choisy took refuge behind a table, ready to overturn it to defend himself if need be. D'Haucourt stopped for a moment to breathe up and exclaimed:
   — What a strange wench you are!
   — Let me go away! cried Choisy.
   — Never! Anyway, you Suddenly he had an inspiration which he thought would make him be the winner without using brute force any longer. He unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall to his feet, and lifted up his shirt.
   — Now, what do you say to that, madam? he asked, grinning satanically.
   Choisy saw the emblem of virility brandished in all its tumefied ugliness, almost monstrous.
   — Well, now? said d'Haucourt, thrusting out his stomach to give more prominence to his sex, I'm putting my cards on the table… With that, one goes straight to Paradise.
   Choisy shrugged his shoulders contemptuously and picked up his sword. Then he blew a little silver whistle.
   — What are you doing, madam?
   — I'm calling my valet and my horses, Choisy answered unruffled.
   D'Haucourt made to throw himself against Choisy, but, forgetting his trousers which were down at his feet, tripped up and caught himself just in time with the arm of a chair, then he quickly-but not quickly enough-lifted up his trousers.
   But Choisy was quicker and, brushing aside with his foot the prostrate form of Basque, he opened the door and fled, crying:
   — We shall have to resume this conversation with swords, at your convenience, knight, but not here!
   The door slammed.
   D'Haucourt eyed sadly the object he was now trying to put back into its clothes.
   — What a devil of a woman! Insensible even to that. And yet, how many women would find it a joy! And, talking to his sex as to a human being, he added: Poor buggar, what an affront you've been dealt with!
   He had just finished dressing up when he heard the sound of hooves pass in front of his window and gradually dwindle away.
   — Is she made of ice, this confounded female? he exclaimed.
   It is a fact that nearly all men endowed by nature with a monstrously big penis believe they are irresistible to the fair sex. All the spouses of the King of Spain have secretly dreamed of experiencing the strong advantages attributed to the dwarfs made famous by Velasquez's painting, smiling and lascivious. D'Haucourt was wrong to imagine that his deformity which he should have dissimulated rather than paraded, would be of pleasing effect to the lady he loved. Mrs. de Sancy might be a sensual woman but she certainly was not a mare in heat. Fools like d'Haucourt fail to seduce with the silly show off of their attributes, where they could have succeeded had they sparked up in women the curiosity that is inherent in every human being. But that reasoning was too subtle for vainglorious and foolish people.

   Lisette, who was impatiently waiting for the return of her lover, kissed him passionately when she saw him arrive.
   — I was worried, she admitted.
   — What for? For my virtue?
   — That invitation sounded like a trap, she said.
   — And it was a trap, ducks, said Choisy.
   — So he was disappointed?
   — More than that-he still doesn't know I am not a woman.
   — How did it happen?
   — I'll tell you later. I'm starving.
   Lisette ran to the pantry and brought back victuals for her master, then watched him eat ravenously, and between mouthfuls he recounted to her the unusual adventure he had just experienced. When Choisy arrived at the final description of what d'Haucourt had exhibited in the hope of conquering his indifference, Lisette exclaimed:
   — And you never saw anything like it?
   — On donkeys, yes… but, come to think of it, you women are more in a position to make comparisons.
   Lisette shrank back in mock horror.
   — I am not one of those who bite at such baits. I was seduced when very young by a gentleman who was far from being a cunt-ripper-fortunately for the sheath you vouchsafe to honour, she said in the language she had picked up partly from her boor of a husband and partly from the priggish talk of the salons.
   — And your husband? queried Choisy.
   — Sometimes I have to submit to him-seldom, I'm glad to say.-but so far he has never hurt me.
   — By the way, is he on duty now, your Nicholas?
   — No, he isn't. He was even ready to ride at a gallop to your help if you had needed any.
   — A pity, Choisy sighed.
   For he was already pawing the familiar shapes of Lisette, who was beginning to feel quite in the mood.
   In the mood for what?
   Come on, readers, ain't you got no blinking imagination?
   — Wait for me a while, I'll go and see what's cooking, she said, not referring to the kitchen.
   Choisy went to his room. He had hardly had time to take off his doublet when he saw Lisette hurrying back with a beam on her face.
   — He's sleeping like a log, she said, but we'd better hurry just the same.
   She started undressing, and two breasts in revolt jumped out of their prison and gave their master all the eloquence needed. At the sight of this eloquence, Lisette exclaimed:
   — This one will do, it's just my size.
   — As for me, I think I shall always have before my eyes that d'Haucourt brandishing his preposterous cock, Choisy said with a smile.
   — You have better things to do than relating such horrors.
   She threw herself on the bed, with her hair disheveled, her breasts taut with desire and expectation, her thighs apart, offering to her lover's sight ft crater gaping with impatience, contracting and lathering. Choisy knelt down before her to grant her the homage she was expecting. She imprisoned his head between her thighs, then, after a while, she drew them apart and claimed the rod. And, although Choisy's instrument was far from being the size of d'Haucourt's, he contented her as well as she could wish, with a passion that shook her to the core: she moaned with pleasure and all but swooned.
   After a while, just enough time to regain their breath and energy, they did it again, but this time, from the side, she turning her back to him: while he fucked her from behind, he passed his right hand round her and rolled between his fingers Lisette's teats, while, with his left hand, he rubbed her clitoris. Under this triple action, Lisette's voluptuousness knew no bounds and, as she came, she bit her lover's arm to the blood. But, as he was coming at the same time the pain made his orgasm still more savagely pleasurable.
   Although Nicholas had immense powers of sleep, he was not without noticing that his wife, when she lay down at his side at dawn that night, had her skin all wet and shuddering with voluptuousness. But then he was a cuckold almost by vocation.
   A few days later, Choisy saw d'Haucourt come into his salon all spruced up, with new lace and reeking with perfume. As there were other guests, he contented himself with bowing to Choisy-or rather Mrs. de Sancy-and whispering:
   — Still bewitching, I see.
   — More than ever! I was just waiting for you to resume our conversation with swords in hand, retorted Mrs. de Sancy.
   — We'll talk about it later, said d'Haucourt evasively, but why are you laughing?
   The reason was that Choisy, looking at d'Haucourt, recalled in his mind the sight of his brandished cock. It seemed that henceforth he would never see d'Haucourt without this image superimposing itself on his actual sight. And Lisette thought exactly the same as her master for she had a mocking temperament by nature. D'Haucourt who had planned to make Mrs. de Sancy's heart melt at the sight of his monstrous instrument, had only succeeded in bringing about her jeers.
   Choisy, while going from guest to guest in his perfect imitation of a lady, was a little worried, wondering whether d'Haucourt had smelt a rat and was not beginning to wonder about Mrs. de Sancy's strange personality. Was he at last glimpsing the truth?
   Rosalie, who was there that evening in the salon, was more affectionate to Choisy than usual, which, if d'Haucourt had any suspicious, would have fortified them. Choisy even feared the scandal that d'Haucourt's discovery of his true sex would have caused, for d'Haucourt would not have kept the fact to himself. He even thought it might be best to have a duel without witnesses with d'Haucourt, so that, whether one or the other should be injured, the affair would be over at last. Except of course if d'Haucourt had still chosen to shout it about as a revenge for having been made a fool of.
   Choisy had been using all his self-control not to tell off Rosalie for being so demonstrative in public. At last, he decided to speak up:
   — Please take a hold upon yourself, Rosalie, he whispered to her, keep your effusions for later.
   — Not this evening, Rosalie answered, piqued, we're playing Mr. de Moliere's new comedy.
   – 'The Countess of Escarbaquas'?
   — Yes, and we shall probably be taking encores till far into the evening.
   — Well, we shall be all the more passionate the next night, said Choisy philosophically.
   — You don't seem to mind, Rosalie retorted huffily, and, getting up, left Choisy for another group of guests.
   D'Haucourt, who had been watching the scene, stepped near Mrs. de Sancy and insinuated:
   — A lovers' quarrel?
   — What do you mean?
   — One could swear that — What? said Choisy aggressively.
   — It would look as if between you and this actress there should be a strange relationship.
   — Stop this persiflage, Mr. d'Haucourt, you and I don't speak the same language.
   — I won't leave it at that, d'Haucourt threatened in a tone which Choisy did not like at all.
   But they left it at that for this time, as if, on a tacit understanding they reserved their antagonism for another time.
   A while later, Nicholas being on duty, Choisy explained to Lisette:
   — This d'Haucourt is becoming insufferable. As long as I haven't put into his body a few inches of steel — That would create a lot of troubles, Lisette answered. I have an idea, I think it would be better to find a person to replace you. Yes, some woman who, at night, would take your place in the dark and fool d'Haucourt into believing it was you. I wouldn't mind doing it myself, except that, well, he's not my size, if you see what I mean.
   And, to emphasize her words, Lisette put up her forearm with her clenched fist.
   Choisy smiled understandingly.
   — I should never dream of asking such a painful service of you, Lisette.
   Meanwhile, his busy fingers probed the cavern of love and Lisette squirmed with pleasure. But she still found enough energy to suggest with a stroke of genius:
   — And if we found a woman who would accept to — Yes, good idea, said Choisy, but she would have to be endowed with a sizeable receptacle.
   — Let's put an advertisement in the gazette, said Lisette.
   — It would have to be in veiled terms, for no one would ever boast of such an apparel, Choisy remarked.
   They did not pursue the subject for Lisette was drawing towards her the man she loved, and she guided his virility into her flower, which was ripe-ready for receiving you-know-what.
   And so they did it again, and they grunted with pleasure and their kisses took in the form of sucking bites, so intense was their passion.
   But Choisy was soon to have another cause for preoccupation.
   On the following day he received a note from Rosalie in which she begged him to come and see her urgently. He had just time to make himself beautiful and order his coach, and he arrived a few moments later at Rosalie's. He found her in tears and still in bed.
   — Is there a fire in the house? mocked Choisy.
   — A fire? That could be extinguished, Rosalie answered in a double-entendre which Choisy did not grasp fully until later, my darling, do you forgive me for having been a little nervous last night?
   — Forgive you? Why should you ask me that? I have nothing to forgive you. I know that on the day of a premiere one is always awfully busy. And I'm certain you had a lot of success in this new play.
   — Yes, I had, but that's trifle compared with what's worrying me. Listen to my confession And she told Choisy that she was expecting a child from him, adding:
   — Haven't we done everything to arrive at such a result?
   Choisy laughed it off.
   — So I'm going to be a father, me, Mrs. de Sancy? That's nothing short of a miracle! he exclaimed.
   But Rosalie was in no mood for laughs and her eyes became wet with swelling tears.
   — The miracle would be for the poor little child to have a father, she said, would you be willing to recognize your paternity.
   — Oh, dear, that is a problem which I can't solve at once, it demands reflection.
   — Yes, I suppose it's with a certain purpose that you took on the identity of Mrs. de Sancy?
   — I do no wrong to anybody by doing that, Choisy remarked, but, come to think of it, you have so many wooers that you should have no difficulty in finding a man to accept the responsibility of fatherhood.
   — Yes, it would be easy if they had done the “work” themselves, but finding it already done is another matter altogether.
   Choisy thoughtfully rubbed his chin with his forefinger, glad to find that its smoothness deceived people into believing he was really a woman, then, all of a sudden, he had an idea:
   — What about du Rozan?
   — Him! she cried, you're not seriously thinking — Doesn't he swear to everybody that he adores you?
   — Not to that point.
   — Who knows, said Choisy, human credulity is infinite.
   — You know that as well as women do, Rosalie observed in a tone full in insinuations.
   — Don't worry, darling, and trust me to fix things all right, he told her, caressing her teats the while.
   That evening, Choisy broke the news to Lisette, who exclaimed:
   — At least I have nothing to fear from that side: Nicholas is there to take the blame.
   — Would you fancy being in Rosalie's predicament?
   — I wouldn't mind provided my child resembled the real father.
   — And that his putative father did not discover the truth, Choisy added. But let's come back to du Rozan. How are we going to decide him?
   — Yes, that's a problem not easily solved, Lisette admitted. But it was no use thinking about it yet, they reflected, for they were beginning to feel their senses at work, calling them urgently for immediate satisfaction.
   So they threw themselves on the bed and rolled to and fro before finding the position they liked best. They laughed gaily at first to be so happy compared to Rosalie and all the rest of the world, all full of worries. Then they stopped laughing and kissed full on the mouth and Lisette's crater watered abundantly, ready to receive the now very stiff and warm prick of her lover, which soon found its target and belaboured it with conviction.
   They certainly forgot all about d'Haucourt and Rosalie and all other worries and problems. Lisette, though, was not without taking her share of her master's worries, but she knew very well that what she did in bed with him had the power of making him forget about everything but the matter in hand, and so, that evening, she concentrated on making herself a better loving creature than ever. She sucked him off and caressed him and showed more outward signs of pleasure than ever in order to excite him all the more.
   — Have you ever tried the caress of the apron? she asked him suddenly.
   — What the hell are you talking about? he asked, perplexed but curious, and all agog at the mention of the word “caress.”
   — Stay there a while, she said with a laugh creasing her eyes.
   She got up and came back with one of her aprons, a black satin one, very soft to the touch. Then she knelt beside him on the bed, and, holding the apron with both hands, she let it softly touch Choisy's erected penis and ran it gently along its sensitive front, and again she lowered it and softly lifted it up along his penis, quivering with delight at such a hellishly soft and pleasurable touch.
   — Wow, that's delicious, Choisy exclaimed, Lisette, you're a genius!
   Without hurry, Lisette continued for a while to excite her lover with the apron, then, judging that she had better stop if she didn't want to have it all sullied by you-know-what, she suddenly threw it away and lay herself down on top of Choisy, impaling herself savagely on his exacerbated penis. And he was so near the goal that two or three seconds sufficed to procure the most pleasurable orgasm he thought he had ever had.
   Lisette, he thought, was really one of the best mistresses he had ever had, and perhaps even the best.

   Du Rozan came from a respectable provincial family. He had come to the capital like a moth attracted by the flame and had mixed in the world of Letters and Theatre. He had even written a few poems which he had succeeded in selling, and, on the stage, he had had at first a few minor jobs which had gradually developed into better roles, and now that he was a handsome actor, he believed the world was his oyster.
   He deceived himself into thinking that Rosalie would follow in the footsteps of so many other well-known actresses who had fallen for his charms. He used to boast, that he had been the cause of so many deceived husbands that he had lost the count, although he did not give specific names.
   But the mocking Rosalie was not keen on being just another of his feminine victories. When he complimented her on the agreeable curves of her body, she replied tartly:
   — Why, don't you see anything else in a woman but these superficial qualities?
   — Well, I… I see what you show me, he answered lamely.
   — But I am not showing anything.
   — You make one guess.
   — I also have less apparent merits, and that's why I am such an admired woman.
   — You have the complexion of a rose and a heart as pure as crystal.
   — Mind! Crystal is eminently breakable.
   — But yours does not run the risk of being hit.
   — Du Rozan, you speaking as at the Hotel de Rambouillet.
   — Or as in a scene from Moliere's plays.
   — Well, that is surely not the way to get me, she said drily.
   Du Rozan was getting desperate. Vainly did he dress and perfume himself as best he could, vainly did he try to be as witty as he could be-Rosalie remained insensible to his charms and to all his advances.
   Besides, he frowned up on the too demonstrative friendship between his beloved and Mrs. de Sancy, a friendship that bordered a little too much on tenderness. He tackled her once on that ticklish point.
   — Are you by any chance hoping to find in the salon of Mrs. de Sancy the rare bird that will move you?
   — Who knows? she answered tauntingly.
   And she laughed gaily, thinking of the rare bird that was hidden in the skirt of Mrs. de Sancy, that rare bird which knew so well how to give her a pleasure which du Rozan himself would probably never be able to equal.
   Du Rozan's jealousy, as it growed and growed, needed fixing itself on somebody in particular. D'Haucourt was his victim.
   — You should be careful, Rosalie, he said, d'Haucourt is looking at you with amorous eyes.
   — He doesn't care a whit about me, Rosalie assured him.
   — I am well informed, du Rozan insisted.
   — But, my dear, he's after Mrs. de Sancy, not me. She's very attractive and well-off and — Well, let him marry her then!
   Whereupon Rosalie, who knew the truth about Mrs. de Sancy, laughed at the very idea.
   — If d'Haucourt got what he's after, it would be all over with your intimacy with Mrs. de Sancy, du Rozan said, oh, you can laugh. I'm gifted with foresight.
   Rosalie became less ironical when she became certain she was pregnant. Choisy gave her some ingenious advice which she followed. She announced to du Rozan that Mrs. de Sancy had accepted to marry d'Haucourt. The comedian triumphantly exclaimed:
   — What did I tell you? I knew the knight was playing a double game.
   — Alas! sighed Rosalie.
   And she played the best scene of her career, this time on the real stage of live.
   — Give him a good lesson, du Rozan suggested, jumping at this unforeseen heaven-sent opportunity (or rather “Choisy-sent"), get married, you too: so, the knight won't have the satisfaction of seeing you disconsolate.
   He took one of her hands, held it and kissed it with more effusion than he had ever done on the stage.
   — I've been looking forward so long to this happiness, he whispered.
   Rosalie did not answer but opposed no resistance. And she even gave du Rozan a kiss, which was the first he ever got from her. Secretly she thanked Choisy for the success of his stratagem. She had at last found a father for her child to come. She soon spread the news of her forthcoming marriage with du Rozan. But matters became complicated when du Rozan started bruiting about that Mrs. de Sancy was giving way to d'Haucourt. The latter, joyous with this piece of news, divulged it still more so that it was soon all over the salons. Then he brought an engagement-ring and gave it to Mrs. de Sancy, saying:
   — I knew you would give way one day or the other, but I never imagined I would have won your heart with a sword.
   — You still have to make your conquest concrete, Choisy said.
   — I'll do your bidding, my love, he said, then, falling on his knees before Mrs. de Sancy, he added:
   — But not as at Meudon? It's a dangerous game.
   — Would you be afraid?
   — Yes-to hurt you.
   — Or to be hurt by me?
   D'Haucourt laid a nervous hand on his beloved's knee and looked at her with burning eyes.
   — Will you renounce fencing after we're married? he asked timidly.
   — It would make a widow or a widower of one of us, remarked Choisy, and, in this non-committal remark, d'Haucourt read a glimpse of hope.
   Nevertheless, he could not help recalling how Mrs. de Sancy, disguised as a knight, had put his life in peril at Meudon, and he wondered if by any chance she was not intending to marry him and then kill him in a duel in order to inherit his riches. That tigress was capable of everything!
   Those thoughts made him hesitate to marry. Better, he reflected, become her lover. After all, to make love with her, they did not have to be married. So he continued to court her, but, at the back of his mind, he was seeking the means of springing a new trap on her at the earliest opportunity.
   He was far from imagining that Choisy and Lisette were going to spring a trap on him into which he was about to fall as easily as a naive youngster.
   Lisette had been busy trying to find a replacement for Choisy, one who would not suffer unduly from the gigantic size of d'Haucourt's limb. She had noticed in the neighborhood a laundress whose mouth looked like a sabre gash, which was a promising sign. Besides, her body was rough-hewn and course, Lisette hired her as a laundress, and, after a few days work, she deemed the moment ripe to ask her the burning question. Zoe (that was the laundress's name) laughed lasciviously and said:
   — I nearly married the valet of a curator once, but I had to give him up for he was… sort of lost inside, if you see what I mean.
   — Quite, said Lisette.
   And a bargain was concluded there and then. And d'Haucourt fell into the trap with the ingenuousness of a man who thinks that because he has a sword dangling from his side, he is invulnerable.
   Choisy, having invited d'Haucourt to supper, showed herself so coquettish with him, and “she” was so attractively dressed and perfumed that evening, that d'Haucourt became pressing, which is what Choisy wanted. He gave a successful parody of carnal emotion and, as soon as the other guests had left, he kept d'Haucourt aside and told him:
   — They're talking a lot about ourselves. I think we should have at last a frank explanation, don't you?
   — What kind of a trap are you preparing for me this time? asked d'Haucourt.
   — I wanted to see what stuff you were made of, Choisy replied with an incendiary look, you see, you had drawn me to that village — Meudon?
   — I'm prepared to forget it, but my pride made me fix up myself the moment when-need I say more?
   Choisy lowered her head (I mean his head. Oh dear, it's confusing!) looking troubled, which made the knight blush and become all agog.
   — My dear, please forgive me. All I did was dictated by the interest I have in you, you see-He was getting more and more muddled in his unnecessary explanations, nervous as he was with his sexual desire. At last he exclaimed:
   — Please don't keep me waiting any longer!
   Choisy got up from his chair and, pressing a handkerchief to his lips to hide his incipient laughter, whispered:
   — This will be our Eden.
   And he indicated his room to his suitor. As d'Haucourt went in he saw a bed with the curtains drawn and the sheets open.
   — At last! he sighed.
   D'Haucourt quickly undressed and slipped into the tempting bed and waited patiently, but not for long. A feminine silhouette appeared, wrapped in a dressing gown, her face concealed behind a timid hand, the candles were extinguished and d'Haucourt received in his arms a body dressed only in a thin night-gown. A greedy mouth met his.
   He wondered a bit that his hands should encircle a plumper shape than he would have imagined, but he soon stopped thinking when he felt a hand seizing his sex and caressing it boldly. Then he thought that the way women dressed was deceptive and they were often quite different when they were naked. Nevertheless he ventured:
   — You don't seem to be the same…
   But Zoe did not answer. Instead she caressed him into oblivion of anything else but the matter in hand (and a very big matter it was, too!). She rolled on to her back and drew him to her. He carefully approached, knowing that his beloved would suffer from the forceful entry of his ugly rod. But Zoe was drawing him to her so insistently that he went in and was surprised to see that he needn't have worried-she seemed to like it, and it wasn't unduly narrow inside. Then he stopped thinking, for, after only a few thrusts, he came in gigantic spurts.
   He remained a moment too dazed to think or move, then, when he had gradually recovered, he whispered with gratitude:
   — Really, darling, I was far from imagining that we were so suited to each other.
   Zoe, well-rehearsed, contented by herself with murmuring in a voice that was low enough not to betray her:
   — Hush, you're making me blush.
   And immediately she started exciting d'Haucourt again in such a way that he gave up solving the mystery. This Mrs. de Sancy, who knew so expertly how to handle a sword, and who had kept him waiting so long, was now revealed as a very hot female indeed, and so expert-all that was too complicated for him. Wasn't it better to give up trying to understand and concentrate on the singularly good fortune that had suddenly befallen him?
   And he did just that. He continued making love with that hot woman until she had drawn from him every ounce of his virility. After which, he slept like a log and Zoe left him in bed, while she went to get the monetary reward which she had well earned.
   The same joke was played on d'Haucourt several times, but with variations. For instance, Lisette would wait for him at the door and lead him mysteriously to the room where Zoe, in complete darkness, was waiting for him in bed.
   The readers (if they are still with us, that is), may wonder indeed how foolish men are to pursue and worry about some woman, when, to satisfy their passion, any other woman would do, provided they didn't see her in the dark and imagined she was the woman they loved. It's a bit like butter and margarine. We all say that there is so much difference between the two that it is impossible to take one for the other, and yet, in all experiments conducted on that subject, it is found that less than ten percent can distinguish between one and the other. Another experiment is to blindfold a man and make him smoke a lighted cigarette for a few seconds, then an unlighted one, then alternate one and the other and tell him to name which is lit and which is not: believe it or not-he's fooled most of the time.
   For a woman, though, we should imagine it would be more difficult to fool a man into taking a woman for another in bed in complete darkness. But perhaps not after all, particularly if the other woman resembles the genuine one in size and if the man has never before made love to her, and provided she wears the same perfume and doesn't speak. I wonder, have any of you readers tried it with a friend? And was he fooled?
   Farces of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are full of these deceptions of a man or a woman taking the place of another in bed with the other party getting wise to the substitution.

   But the shortest jokes are the best, we all know that. So, Choisy wished to find a way of ending his would-be liaison with the knight of d'Haucourt who was now beginning to become openly familiar with him in public and talked about his conquest to one and all.
   Choisy did not hesitate-Mrs. de Sancy would have to disappear. There was also another motive: Mrs. de Sancy had accumulated a good deal of debts what with her luxurious life and her numerous invitations to her salon, and the creditors were becoming impatient.
   Her disappearance was facilitated by the death of the Pope.
   That might seem strange but then Choisy had a protector who was the Cardinal of Bouillon, duke of Albret and nephew of the great Turenne. The cardinal had to go to Rome to take part in the conclave which was going to assemble in order to elect the successor of Clement X, the deceased pope. He offered Choisy to take him as a secretary and it was a heaven-sent opportunity for Choisy who accepted readily. He donned again his abbot clothes, for, as we have already mentioned, Choisy was an abbot by his being an heir to the ground of an abbey, that of Saint-Rene in Burgundy.
   One morning, the creditors found Mrs. De Sancy's house closed. The rumour ran that she had retired to a convent. In reality Choisy was travelling with the cardinal in the direction of Rome.
   He left behind two victims: Lisette, who could not decently accompany a man of church in such a mission, and the knight D'Haucourt who was very sorry to lose a mistress made to measure for him.
   Lisette's cunt was wetting when she recalled how passionately Choisy used to make love to her while he was supposed to be in bed in the next room with d'Haucourt.
   As for the latter, he avenged himself of his loss by spreading all sorts of calumnies. He reflected bitterly that he would not so soon find another receptacle with a convenient size for him.
   The Cardinal of Bouillon was a pleasant travelling companion who liked not only good eating and drinking, but was not loath to hearing Choisy tell him salacious adventures. Of course. Choisy did not mention that he was the person to whom these adventures had actually happened. He contented himself with narrating his adventures as if they were those of another man he knew.
   — So, that Dutch girl sacrificed her tulips when her lover left her, did she? the cardinal asked interestedly.
   — That's what I was told, Eminence, but I was told that in Venice…
   And Choisy revived all his past to the cardinal who was all ears, without imagining that his protege himself had lived them.
   And so they reached Rome after several days' journey without the trip seeming too long.
   Rome was in a feverish effervescence. Clans had formed up and were battling against one another, couriers were galloping their horses till they fell from fatigue in order to carry news to their sovereigns faster than other couriers, and pick up new instructions from them.
   Choisy enjoyed this atmosphere. The cardinal had given him the mission of mixing with the good society and trying to gather information as to which candidate was the most in favour among the aristocratic circle to succeed the deceased pope.
   In the salons, Choisy was received with warmth and he even met there a few persons he had already been acquainted with some time in the past, or else people who had heard of him and were glad to make his acquaintance. His title and his priestly robes were a good point in his favour.
   Besides, there were, in the different salons, quite a few would-be ladies, who Choisy knew to be in reality former dancers or actresses, and they did their best to be in Choisy's good books, fearing that he should betray them to the wealthy lords who had married them, not knowing that they had such low origins. For, in those times, actresses and dancers were considered very non-U indeed!
   Choisy profited from this situation to the best and he was glad to be such a well-informed man.
   He found in a salon a Miss Rose de Montprofit who struck him as being familiar, but he could not recall where he had met her, or even if he had once been her love-he had had so many mistresses! He went to her and, after the preliminary civilities, instead of his asking her questions, he was anticipated by her:
   — I recall, she said, that not long ago you had some, well, difficulties with the authorities of Venice.
   — Indeed, I was there, Choisy answered evasively, “it's a city where-”
   — … Where all follies are permitted at Carnival time, she completed his sentence.
   — Yes, I've heard about that.
   Looking more carefully at the woman's face, he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes. She looked impertinent and he reflected again that her face looked familiar yet he couldn't put a name on it. She was wearing an artificial beauty-spot near her left eye.
   — Anyway, in Venice, he said, I knew a… a nymph, who, just like you, had a beauty-spot in the corner of an eye as well as — And where did you meet her?
   — Well, she was a dancer at the Opera. Have you heard of that Venus called Callipyge?
   — She's a goddess who disobeys the rules of modesty, isn't she?
   — In public, yes, but in the intimacy?
   — And you saw her in all her impudicity, is that it?
   — As near as can be. She had the name of a flower.
   Rose of Montprofit blushed under her make-up and her bust heaved as if under the effect of a caress.
   — Abbey, you're shameless.
   But she said it without malice or anger, and even with a shade of tenderness.
   — I've stopped dancing, she explained, now that Mr. de Montprofit has done me the honour of marrying me.
   — What a pity! said Choisy.
   A fop looking as if he was coming out a bandbox came up and interrupted their conversation. In a strong Italian accent, he said in French:
   — You're wanting Madame all for yourself, Signor… But it is true what they are saying, that the marchioness of Montespan is no longer loved by the King of France?
   — I wouldn't know about such things, Choisy answered a trifle coldly, and he received a wink from Mrs. de Montprofit which confirmed to him that he was not wrong in his belief that she was indeed the woman whose buttock had the same kind of beauty-spot that was adorning her cheek. He acknowledged her wink with another, which put a seal on their agreement.
   Two days later, he arrived early at the house of Mrs. de Montprofit, for he had heard that her husband was away on a hunting expedition. A French maid ushered him into a boudoir and begged him to wait a while. The door being ajar, Choisy could hear a ripple of water. Upon investigating, he saw Rose de Montprofit in her bath. She looked up with mock indignation.
   — You're an early riser to-day, abbot!
   — It's the time for investigators, said Choisy.
   — And what have you come to investigate? she asked.
   — Whether you're still as beautiful as in the past, he bantered.
   Sure that the answer would be in the affirmative, she did not ask him, but got up from her bath and handed him a sheet, telling him to hold it in front of him as a shield and to turn his back on her.
   He did as he was told, but, in a mirror, he could safely watch all he wanted and he had the confirmation of his belief: she was the famous Callipyge, the renowned dancer and she did have a brown spot on her right buttock.
   — I think I can remember that in the past, in Paris, I used to help you get dressed, didn't I? he asked roguishly.
   — You must have somebody else in mind.
   — No, my goddess, there is a detail that makes mistakes impossible.
   — I hate you! she exclaimed in a mock tone.
   And, as her skin was now well-nigh dry, she threw herself into Choisy's arms.
   — What a come-back! she cried enthusiastically, between two kisses.
   It took but little time for their nudities to intermingle on a sofa. It all began with a struggle: Choisy wanted to make sure the little brown patch was still in the same place as before but Rose de Montprofit modestly opposed his search. But soon her exacerbation reached the point when she needed the intervention of a masculine virility.
   Oh, how good it felt to find an old flame again and to realize that she was still better than in the past! There was also the fact that Choisy had perforce been abstinent during the whole duration of the trip from Paris to Rome and also during the first few days he had been in Rome, before he providently met Mrs. de Montprofit.
   He remembered how tender and passionate she had been several years ago in Paris when she was a dancer at the Opera.
   Now her shapes were more plentiful and fleshy and less firm but still far from adipose. She had gained maturity like a good wine and lost none of her youthfulness or appetite for love-making.
   And she still had a liking for the good things of love-making such as the French specialties for which Choisy was an expert.
   She cooed with delight when she felt his busy tongue working at its throbbing target. And how good it felt when, afterwards, he came in with all his virility which he had kept intact in spite of his so numerous affairs.
   — Are we going to resume our follies? she asked.
   — Have you any remorse? Don't be ungrateful.
   — It's easy for you to say so, ducks. In Paris I risked being given the sack by what's-his-name (dashed if I can remember the name of my lawful lover). And now I have a husband who wouldn't find it a joke — But he's so fond of hunting — He doesn't go hunting every morning, unfortunately, she said, and now, you'd better go quickly before he surprises us here. Your visit has been a trifle too long, I'm afraid.
   Choisy agreed to go, but not before having obtained her promise that she would let him know when the next opportunity would take place.
   He reflected that he was glad of Mrs. de Monprofit's favours because she was the recipient of many rumours and he did not forget the mission he had received from the Cardinal of Bouillon.
   Besides, the hour he had so pleasantly passed with her had the gift of appeasing his taut nerves and now he felt clear-headed and ready for any intellectual problem.
   As he was sitting with his eyes shut sometime later, the better to think about Rose, he was rudely awakened from his reverie by the old Cardinal of Retz who told him in a friendly tone:
   — Are you asleep?
   — No, Your Eminence, I was just shutting my eyes the better to listen.
   The Cardinal of Retz had left temporarily his retreat which had been imposed upon him by Louis XlV's rancour, to take place in the Conclave as his dignity commanded him.
   — It's a good recruit you've got here, the Cardinal of Retz said with a grin to his neighbour the Cardinal of Bouillon, alluding to Choisy.
   — Yes, he's quite a favourite with the ladies, and that is often useful, said the Cardinal of Bouillon.
   — Ad angusta per angusta, Retz said in Latin, with a grin.
   Choisy couldn't help risking the pun:
   — Per angusta!.. That poor d'Haucourt would find himself in a very narrow strait.
   Retz guessed from Choisy's features that his thoughts were far from the election of the new Pope.
   — What makes you smile, he asked, the merits of the “papabile”?
   — No, Eminence, I'm sorry I wasn't thinking of the Pope-to-be, I'm afraid my thoughts were rather profane. Anyway, I don't take part in the votes.
   — Profane thoughts in this place! Well, let's hear about them-they might be interesting.
   Choisy complied.
   — A lady whom I met yesterday told me a story that happened in Paris and which is rather daring, so that I really don't know if here — Go ahead! ordered Retz.
   So Choisy told the story of Mrs. de Sancy, d'Haucourt and Zoe, and it had a huge success.
   — And now, let's go and eat, said the venerable
   Cardinal of Retz, we've done some good work.
   And, into the ear of the Cardinal of Bouillon, he whispered:
   — That little abbot will go far.
   — He's already been far! Bouillon grinned.

   Mr. de Montprofit did not seem to have discovered his wife's affair with Choisy, but Mrs. de Montprofit kept Choisy waiting. She had promised him she would let him know when he could come again to her house, but he waited in vain. One evening he met her in the salon of the signora Uppa, who was the widow of a high dignitary of the Vatican, and therefore very influential, that is why Choisy had been sent there by the Cardinal of Bouillon to collect useful information.
   The signora Uppa greeted Choisy warmly, for she had travelled a lot herself and travellers were always welcome, particularly foreigners. She had even adopted the French name Lydie instead of her real name Lydia, and her guests often called her “Lady” Uppa for fun-a bad pun on her name. But she didn't take offence-which reminds us of the joke: what's the difference between a woman and a horse? Well, a horse, if you give him a fence he takes a jump, and a woman, if you give her the jump she takes offence.
   — My husband heard that you had come to our house one morning, Mrs. de Montprofit told Choisy, but his suspicions were not aroused because I assured him that your visit was an obligation, a duty ordered by your Cardinal. But don't do it again!
   — Yet, I feel very much like doing it again, Choisy confessed.
   — Well, my dear, go on feeling like it, she answered, but, really, if you opened your eyes, you would see that you have a real seraglio here-you can pick and choose among all the beauties assembled here.
   — We're not in Venice here, said Choisy.
   — So you think the Roman girls are less warm than the Venetians or girls from other provinces of Italy?
   — You see, the vicinity of the Vatican — There are priests galore to administrate the remission of sins.
   — And our hostess? queried Choisy.
   — She's a Neapolitan, which is still better-she would devour a man alive.
   Choisy turned his head towards the woman in question, Lydie Uppa and observed her attentively. She was the incarnation of the lasciviousness of her native town, with her mat complexion, her jetblack eyes and her greedy mouth. Under her ample dress one could guess a voluptuous body and Choisy sensed that she was rarin' to give that body the sensual pleasure which had long been denied to it. But she had to keep, both in her attitude and in her talk, a reserve that was imposed on her by her rank and her widowhood.
   The problem was how to get near her and talk to her. But that was solved easily when she herself came to Choisy to remove an empty cup from his hands and offer him another.
   — I adore this beautiful kingdom of France, she told him, as well as everything coming from it.
   She had spoken in French and in an accent that made her declaration like a passionate confession. But Choisy was no dupe, for he was familiar enough with Italy by now to know that the Italians have a tendency to exaggerate their gestures and statements and one must not put too much faith in them. Indeed, a few moments later, he heard her talk in the same tones to another guest. However, when he took his leave, the signora told him:
   — They say that Versailles is a marvel. You must come and describe Versailles to me.
   And she added:
   — Before the other guests arrive.
   Choisy, bowing, answered that it would be a pleasure.
   On the way out, he came upon Rose de Montprofit who had observed the scene and told him:
   — Well, Abbot, I see you've made progress.
   — The signora Uppa is exquisitely courteous, Choisy said.
   — Didn't I tell you?
   Choisy noticed the somewhat cool tone in which Mrs. de Montprofit made her remark, and wondered if by any chance she would not be jealous. He concluded that the more attentionate he would be towards the signora Uppa, the more chances he would have of overcoming the scruples of the former dancer, who was more than ever desirable — like a dish that one relishes still more at the second helping.
   But he let her simmer in her juice, knowing full well that in spite of her apprehension, she wanted very much to confide her warm senses to Choisy's skill and passion. And it was easy for him to lie low for a while for now all the cardinals were present in Rome and the Conclave was about to open, so that he was busier than ever.
   He was present, of course, at the great reception given by one of the most prominent personalities of Rome, where the high prelates mixed with the ladies from the cream of society. Also there: Rose de Montprofit and her husband, and Lydie Uppa, both held in high esteem by the ecclesiastical dignitaries.
   First, he bowed discreetly to signora Uppa, who was occupied with other guests, then he came near Rose de Montprofit.
   — What are the latest previsions? he asked her.
   — You should ask Lydie Uppa-she knows better than I do.
   — They say it will be a long choice for there is some hard competition.
   — That will give you more time to… amuse yourself.
   Women have a way of speaking and looking at men that Choisy knew by heart, and this time there was no doubt about it: Rose de Montprofit was suffering from too much sensuality and yet was in fear of a scandal. Choisy, to make her jealous, went to the signora Lydie and asked her:
   — Don't you think the struggle will be a difficult one for the choice of the new Pope?
   — Yes, Lydie answered vivaciously, the more so as your King has shown himself unfavourable to a certain candidate… Don't look so astonished, Mr. Abbot, you must know more than I do on this subject.
   — Rut I assure you — I shall be expecting you tomorrow early in the afternoon-we'll be able to speak more freely than here.
   — About Versailles? Choisy scoffed.
   — A little, yes, but mainly about our points of view on the matters of Rome.
   He acquiesced with a smile and slid away between discussing groups, gathering enough information here and there to edify his employer.
   At the end of the reception, as the guests were gathering on the way out, Rose de Montprofit managed to tell Choisy:
   — Congratulations, Abbot: you're doing quick progress.
   He feigned surprise but the ex-dancer was no dupe. He wondered whether she had been capable of reading lips while Lydie Uppa was talking to him. Jealous women have uncanny powers of detection, he reflected.
   The very next day, Choisy went to the signora Uppa after having advised the Cardinal of Bouillon.
   Lydie Uppa received him in the intimacy of her boudoir.
   — I was expecting you, Mr. Abbot. You're punctual. Sit down beside me-the walls don't have to hear what we have to say.
   He had hardly sat down when the beautiful Neapolitan woman asked him in a low confidential voice:
   — What news from Versailles?
   — None to-day, Choisy answered.
   — Really?
   She edged nearer to him and there wafted to his nostrils a violent whiff of perfume which made his heart miss two beats and a half. The signora seemed nervous and Choisy put it down to his presence. (Not very modest, was he? But, with all his feminine successes, he can be excused). But he dominated his impulses for he disliked easy victories which he deemed good enough for men who are in too much of a hurry. For him, voluptuousness was one of those fruits that are all the better for having been given time to ripen.
   Lydie Uppa fired all sorts of questions at him. Some were difficult to answer diplomatically, as when she wanted to know which cardinal the King of France wished to become the new Pope. Choisy hedged and answered noncommittally and he was more and more aware of her very close presence and he felt his virility gradually awaken.
   — The Pope, he said, whoever he may be, will always be in conflict with the King of France, even if he were an ecclesiastic from France.
   — You don't want to tell me what you know, Lydie Uppa said in a sulking tone.
   — My mission is to gather useful information, that's all. But you, Signora, which candidate would you choose?
   She did not answer and gazed absently, in a meditation that gave her face a sudden moving gravity. She seemed to have forgotten Choisy's presence. But then, suddenly, she smiled at him.
   — Do you intend going back to your country as soon as the new Pope has been named? she asked.
   — I'm under the orders of the Cardinal of Bouillon, who himself is under orders from the king.
   — Oh! How secretive you are! she exclaimed, as for me, I intend going to France as soon as this affair is over.
   — To see Versailles?
   — Yes, I feel so much like it.
   — I hope to be of some use to you there.
   — Do you? she asked with a kind of naive spontaneity that made her more attractive still.
   — You would really agree to help me? she went on, I'm glad of your offer, for I shall be in need of protection, I think. French people, I mean the men, are often so hasty in their courting. I'll feel safer knowing you are near me.
   Choisy was not sure he liked what she'd said. Was she taking him for a eunuch? He looked at her and saw that she was becoming warm and a little agitated inside. Was it only because of her thoughts of her impending travel to France?.- Do you honestly think French men are inclined to raping women? Choisy asked. - I think one shouldn't stir up their appetites too much, or else She stretched like a voluptuous cat and her curves made her dress bulge provocatingly. With a sigh that seemed to issue from the deepest part of her body, she whispered:
   — Oh, to be made love to by a Frenchman!
   In her emotion, her native accent gave a more passionate note to her words.
   She lowered her eyelids and Choisy read it as an invitation. He became bolder and, bending towards her, he brushed with his lips one of her arms, which shuddered slightly. He had been expecting a revolt, but instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Lydie offer to his lips her own warm, humid lips.
   But, as he wanted to go further, she stiffened.
   — Abbot, you're not seriously thinking that — I can't resist you, Choisy said.
   — I must be getting dressed up-my guests will be here soon, she whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion.
   — One more reason not to waste any time, was Choisy's bold retort.
   He had succeeded in slipping under her dress a hand that had reached her garter, then the top of a bare thigh and… Lydie imprisoned that hand in a contraction that was but a defensive jerk. In a whisper, she asked:
   — Will you tell me everything?
   — Certainly.
   — Ah! Those French men Was it a bargain, or a scruple of modesty? Choisy did not linger in trying to solve the riddle. Lydie was consenting, obviously, but did not want to give herself to him at once. Probably she preferred waiting till her senses had reached that degree of fusion that opens up the door to supreme voluptuousness.
   With his searching fingers, Choisy groped round the fortress whose capitulation was but a matter of seconds. Lydie was breathing stentoriously but was still loath to surrender and Choisy planned to use still more effective means of conquest.
   But at last Lydie let herself fall backwards on the sofa where she was sitting, and at once Choisy was on top of her and his sex was inside a warm sheath the moistness of which assured him that he had been expected with impatience.
   Such was their state of excitation that they could not prolong their voluptuousness-they came nearly at once, and practically together and remained a long time in an ecstatically amorous embrace and a total enchantment.
   Lydie was the first to come back to her senses.
   — And the Pope? she scoffed.
   — The Pope? Choisy said, oh, yes-but, after all, what importance has it for us whether one or the other is elected?
   — I'm looking forward to your going away so that I have the pleasure of meeting you in Paris, she said, but, between ourselves, I think I've been raped!
   — It wasn't a rape-just an election, he said in the bantering tone she had adopted, as people in love often do, out of sheer joie-de-vivre.
   She rose up from the sofa with a satisfied smile and Choisy, having brushed his clothes and put them back into decent shape, strode out with the dignity that his rank demanded of him.
   He reflected that amorous friendship-to-day we would say flirtation-is the shortest way to gaining respect for those outrages that are not the last although they are qualified as such, provided the partners know how to go about it the right way, as was the case with him and Lydie.

   Choisy contemplated the naked, disheveled woman on his bed: how ribald, and how different from her dignified self she paraded in front of her guests in the salon! Lydie was sprawling on the bed, with her sexual cleft all open as if awaiting a new assault, and palpitating lasciviously.
   None of the women he had possessed had aroused his sexual impulses to such a degree as Lydie. She seemed insatiable and he had to resort to exceptional means in order to content her. Among his many victims there had been all kinds- some gay, some tender, some emotional-but none that had given him such a sensation of a furiously unleashed passion. He thought of Rose's remark that Neapolitan girls were capable of “devouring” a man, and saw what she meant now. He reflected how easily the polite veneer she had at receptions cracked under the unbearable strain of her awakening senses.
   She had kept Choisy with her after all the other guests had gone from a reception to which they had both been invited, and, sitting in the carriage with him, she kept his hand crushed in hers, passionate and silent, until the coach had reached her home, and there, she had surrendered to Choisy. And she had done so with a savage passion: after stripping off the clothes she had almost tom Choisy's clothes off him in her boiling impatience. From her naked body there came a perfume that would have aroused an eunuch, and her breasts were swollen with pent up desire.
   She had taken hold of his penis and soon Choisy, not wanting to wait till it was too late, had drawn her towards him, and she had lain on top of him and almost raped him till his sap was exhausted.
   And there she was lying languidly by him, whispering:
   — Caro, you're a demon. Are all the subjects of the King of France like you? In Naples, when I was young, I knew a few fishermen, handsome men like those that had served as models for the sculptors of the Antiquity, and yet none of them has feasted me like you.
   — Not all women can inspire such an eloquence, said Choisy, who knew those compliments by heart, having used them so much.
   Do you know that you've made me renounce my intensions to remain faithful to my departed husband? Yes, my husband was a real bull, who was so ardent that he died of it, poor man. Even dead I never deceived him, and I would never have done so had not the pope Clement X given up the ghost so that you came to Rome for the election of his successor. By the way, who's going to be that successor, according to you?
   But she did not wait for an answer. She laughed, which agitated her voluptuous bosom.
   — I couldn't care less, she cried, all those plotting people… I only wanted to go to France in order to make love without restraint, for here I am a respected widow. But then France came to me!
   — I shan't stay here, alas, said Choisy.
   — I shall follow you if I cannot accompany you in your travels. They say French women are coquettish, but I shall know the way to keep you all to myself alone.
   Choisy was not too enthusiastic about that statement of hers. To avoid taking a formal engagement, he did not answer but started again caressing her demanding flesh. He half-pinched, half-stroked her breasts which very soon became taut, and ran his hands along her body, up dale and down vale. Lydie wriggled with delight and uttered little cries of pleasure, meeting his caresses half way.
   Soon this little game made his sex become stiff again and he was ready for new effusions. “When Lydie saw it, she whispered in a deliriously sensual voice: — You'll be the death of me. She opened up to him so that he could penetrate her more deeply, she clung to him desperately, while Choisy was going slowly in order to keep his voluptuousness as long as he could. And soon they were engulfed in a whirl and eddy of passion, unrestrainable like fury unleashed, and they gave themselves so wholly to the demands of their flesh that they soon lay too exhausted even to speak.
   Lydie ended up asleep in the arms of her man, unable to say a single work (and yet she was by nature very talkative). But then her silence was eloquent enough!
   The conclave had begun and the electors were shut up in a room with no communications with the outside world. Choisy found himself with no work to do, so that he was completely at the mercy of the insatiable Lydie, and such was her passion that soon the whole Roman society had learned about her affair with Choisy and they were gossiping about it all the more eagerly as they were by now tired of the subject of who was going to become the new Pope.
   Thus Mrs. de Montprofit heard about Choisy's success and her vanity was injured, for she had thought that Choisy was chained to her hands and feet and waiting impatiently for her to condescend at last to receive him. It was only in order that he should not become too pressing that she had suggested to him that he should give his attention to Lydie Uppa. But she had been far from anticipating his success with her, for she knew the widow's firm intention to remain forever faithful to her husband's memory. So her rage can be imagined when she learned that Choisy had triumphed over such a seemingly impregnable virtue. She felt hatred for the happy couple boiling up in her and she made up her mind to separate them.
   She told Choisy that she was surprised not to see him any longer, which was like an invitation. Choisy, at first, put off his visit, but, one day, as he was free, he went to see her at a time when he thought she would certainly not be alone, and, indeed, there were several guests in the salon.
   Rose de Montprofit greeted him with seemingly distant politeness but soon found a way of whispering into his ear:
   — How seldom I see you these days, Abbot! And yet, you have nothing to do now that the electors are pent up in their room.
   — That enables me to get some rest, Choisy answered, laughing ironically.
   — Some rest? She exclaimed, inwardly raging.
   She got up to greet a new-arrived guest, and Choisy reflected:
   — What is she complaining about? She set up between us the fear of her husband's anger if he found out, and now she really must see that it's her fault if I've found an outlet with another woman.
   Yes, she had changed visibly, but then now, wasn't it too late? Confronted with the choice of holding in his arms the extraordinarily sensual Lydie and the comparatively normal Rose de Montprofit, Choisy did not hesitate-when one is offered a snack or a festive meal, there is no doubt where one's choice goes. But Choisy knew one had to be careful with a “woman scorned.”
   A few days later, meeting her again, he saw the feverish warmth in her eyes as she told him:
   — When are you going to give me the pleasure of talking, er-more freely with you?
   — As soon as I have obtained Mr. de Montprofit's authorization, was Choisy's cynical answer, which he delivered with a disarming smile.
   Although she did not reply (for there were guests present), Choisy saw from the expression on her face that his shot had gone home. But he did not worry unduly and ran to Lydie, to whom he recounted his brief incident.
   — She's French, the ardent Neapolitan woman remarked, with her, as with the other ladies of France, nothing's real-it's all make-believe, grimaces, kisses, oaths that are not kept, and then, from time to time… Call that love? Have you ever known a woman who really loved you?
   — Like you, never, I swear it.
   And this time Choisy was sincere: Lydie loved him passionately, even too much-it was getting monotonous and he wished the Conclave would end soon in order to leave Rome and Lydie. He had enough of those luxurious orgies with her and he was more and more inclined to prefer the mild flirtation with Rose de Montprofit. But, in order to avoid a scandal, he bore up with the bondage in which Lydie kept him.
   And so he neglected the French woman who attracted him with her perversity, for the Neapolitan woman who wearied him with her devilish carnal avidity. Then, one night, something happened which, shrewd as he was, he would never have foretold.
   There he was with Lydie, during a pause between two furious love-making bouts, waiting patiently for their love-juice to re-create itself. They were not even caressing each other, but just lying with their bodies close together, in a bliss of happiness and contentment, waiting patiently for the next frenzy of their senses.
   They were so deeply engrossed in each other, as it were, that they failed to hear the door of the room open slightly and a masked woman wrapped up in a cloak came near their bed, her footsteps making no sound on the thick carpet. Then they heard a strident laugh, which made their hearts beat violently and they sat up like a double jack-in-the-box.
   — Who're you and what d'you want? Asked Lydie.
   Choisy, who had recognized, in spite of her disguise, who the unexpected visitor was, told her:
   — Madam, your place is not here.
   Mrs. de Montprofit put out her arm, at the end of which the blade of a dagger glinted ominously. Choisy warded off the blow that was destined for him and seized the attacker's wrist with such force that she dropped her weapon.
   — You ridiculed me and now you're hurting me!
   Rose complained unreasonably.
   — Go away, that's the best thing you can do! Choisy advised her.
   Meanwhile, Lydie had quickly stolen behind her and ripped the mask off her face.
   — Mrs. de Montprofit! she cried, what's the meaning of this? Do you want to murder us?
   — I want to murder you, to get my lover back!
   — Your lover? Lydie laughed wickedly.
   Choisy let go of Rose's wrist and picked up the dagger.
   — You're better at comedy than at tragedy, Lydie scoffed.
   — Shut up! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Rose asked.
   — Ashamed? Of what? I am free, not like you.
   Choisy intervened:
   — Please don't prolong this useless scene. Go home, madam. We shall forget that you But, furious, Mrs. de Montprofit seized the dagger which Choisy was holding carelessly and stabbed him before he could ward off the blow and his shoulder-blade was scratched, fortunately not deeply, but enough to draw blood, the sight of which set up different reactions in both women: frightened, Mrs. de Montprofit ran away, laughing madly, while Lydie shouted at her:
   — You were only a whore, but now you're a murderer as well!
   Then she drank up avidly the blood that was running down the back of her lover. The wound was superficial and, by dint of gorging herself of the blood, she managed to stop the hemorrhage. Then she said:
   — Now your blood has gone into my body-we're now one!
   And disregarding his wound, she pushed Choisy on to the bed, bestrode him and pushed her cunt onto his penis. What a dame!
   When she had had her fill (both figuratively and in the proper sense), she saw that the bed-sheets were red.
   — How beautiful! she exclaimed, we've loved each other in blood!
   — A good thing it doesn't happen every day, said Choisy, who was not such a foolish romantic creature as that Neapolitan jane.
   He got up and washed his back, and was still witty enough to say:
   — You should thank Mrs. de Montprofit: you owe her an exceptional thrill.
   Lydie sighed.
   — Yes, it can't happen often, was all she found fit to say.
   But Choisy thought that he'd rather have a quieter sort of love. He felt himself weakened by his loss of blood and virility. Weakened and disgusted, too.
   Disgusted because of Lydie's selfishness in love. She thought only of her own pleasure, emptied her lover of all his sap and then felt angry because she could not get anything out of him, like someone who squashes a lemon dry and then is unpleasantly shocked to find there is no more juice in it.
   Neapolitan women are to Italy what the women from Toulouse are to France, that is mezzo-soprano voiced conceited women made for music and love. For them, a bed is a battle-field where the lover plays the part of the vanquished. A Parisian girl, on the contrary, understands a lover whose forces begin to fail him: she helps him get revived, by means of skilful and patient caresses with her breasts, lips and fingers. But in Naples or in Toulouse, making love implies none of those tender complicities: the woman is naked and after two hours of uninterrupted voluptuousness she feels indignant that her wearied lover cannot find back his aggressive humour through the mere contemplation of her nudity. And she will make no effort to help him restore himself gradually through caresses-she considers caresses unworthy of her and only good for whores.
   They are just too proud, they think it would be immodest to caress their men, but they are just plain selfish. As for modesty, the bestial way in which they make love has little modesty about it.

   Choisy had not imagined that Rose de Montprofit's feelings would lead her to such extremities.
   — Does she love me really that much? he wondered. And she a former dancer: usually dancers are not so spiteful or at least spite does not take such sanguinary forms.
   Placed between an ex-mistress who would perhaps attempt to murder him, having failed the first time, and another mistress with such extraordinary sensuality, Choisy began to find his stay in Rome unpleasant and even dangerous. The sittings at the Conclave continued without any sign that they would come to an end. True, there had been no scandal, but the threat was still there. Choisy even had the impression that Lydie was expecting such an incident to happen again, for the blood had given her an appetite for it.
   She was now unconcerned with public opinion and even felt proud to show herself with Choisy in society.
   The result was that Choisy was now the object of a competition among women that could very well lead to a drama. He could not venture into a salon without having a lot of women flirting around him. And that, of course, only made Lydie more possessive than ever.
   — Did you see that woman Genoa, she told Choisy. She wouldn't hesitate to wear a dress with the neckline as low as her navel, to try to seduce you. And that French girl-what is she doing in Rome anyway? Women are not admitted in conclaves. And did you see the way she looked at you. Shameful I call it.
   Choisy protested as a matter of course. And he was naturally innocent, as he did absolutely nothing to encourage women, for indeed, he had quite enough with Lydie, who consumed all his energy. He had lost not only all his physical energy but also the mental stimulation necessary for love-making. When he saw Lydie undress with unseemly haste, she no longer looked to him like a nude model who could inspire painters and sculptors, but rather like a devilish female, and he started criticising to himself her too pronounced curves. As for the sight of her sex, it assumed an obscene aspect that disgusted him.
   But Lydie failed to diagnose Choisy's disgust. She taunted him for his “local” laziness, and it began to become more and more difficult for her to make his sex stiffen for the benefit of her insatiable sex.
   She had finally condescended to use her fingers to caress Choisy's sex and make him stiff enough for her taste. But it was becoming more and more difficult and one night, she got nothing out of her caresses, except a cramp in her fingers. So she started abusing him.
   — So you've become an angel, have you? At your age, it's a shame. Do you intend going into retirement like an old soldier?
   — I think I've deserved it, I've proved myself enough as it is, Choisy answered, not in the least humiliated by Lydie's biting remark.
   — You haven't proved yourself long, as you say, a mere three of four weeks. Call that endurance!
   — If you had been less demanding I could have gone on, Choisy retorted.
   — Enough! she cried, exasperated, you fooled me. For you I broke my widowhood. What's going to become of me now?
   — Get married again.
   — With whom? With a man like you who will soon be emptied and flaccid like you. You're a criminal.
   — But Uppa, your bull of a husband — I forbid you to insult his memory. Go into retirement since you're good for nothing now.
   Choisy got dressed again, without haste, and with a secret inner joy of being free again, at last. But Lydie had not finished with her taunts.
   — Your Montprofit must be waiting for you. She'll be fine for you-no breasts, a petty behind and the appetite of a bird.
   — And a brown beauty spot on her right buttock, Choisy added.
   — That's what you like: kids' stuff. Your blood is as weak as — You found it to your taste one night.
   That thought made Lydie become tender again, and she clung to him.
   — Do become strong again, please. Don't go and flirt with the Montprofit woman, she whispered tenderly, I could never forgive you that, caro.
   — You would avenge yourself if I did? Asked Choisy.
   For an answer, she bit his lips and pushed him outside.
   The cool night air gave back to Choisy, if not his ardour, at least his liking for life, now that he was out of reach of that fiend.
   He gathered information and was told that the whole Roman population was looking anxiously at the “sfumata” (wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney of the room in which the election was taking place, and which, according to its colour, would announce that the new Pope had been nominated), but, so far the electors were still wrangling, so that Choisy had to stay in Rome.
   So he went back to see Lydie, for he feared her vindictive humour. She grumbled and pampered him so that he should regain his old form.
   One evening, he went to Lydie's house unexpectedly and found it closed. He did not insist but his curiosity incited him to walk round the house and thus he came under the window of her room and saw that it was half-lit, with the sort of lighting that is reserved for love-making.
   So he stopped and listened carefully and soon he heard sighs and moans that were quite unmistakable. Yes, Lydie had found a successor. He heard her whisper ecstatically:
   — Caro, caro, more more!
   Choisy pictured the scene easily in his imagination: Lydie, a loving fury, in the arms of a stapling whom she gradually emptied of all his sap till he cried mercy. Poor fellow! Choisy felt sorry for him — that chap had got intricaded in a mesh out of which there was no honourable exit. Soon he would be, like him, emptied of all his sap. Like him? No, for Choisy was now free and would slowly recover.
   But that replacing male had no such luck: he would try his hardest till he became too weak. Uppa, Lydie's deceased husband, had probably died of that kind of exhaustion, he thought, for even a bull of a man cannot for a long time survive such an unceasing rhythm of love-making.
   — One gets tired of everything, even of making a mistress vibrate in one's arms, reflected Choisy. It's always the same in the long run.
   Yes, the same gestures, the same movements, over and over again. In a dream he saw a covey of naked females, dishevelled and wriggling their buttocks, who ran away from him uttering foul oaths.
   The next day there was a great effervescence in the holy city for a white sfumata was rising from the room of the Papal palace. The cardinals had at last agreed on a successor to Clement X, and that was Innocent XI, Choisy felt glad that the election had taken place at last, but for personal reasons.
   He ran to the Cardinal of Bouillon's who narrated to him in detail all the wrangles that had taken place in the elector's room. Choisy found it quite interesting, for now he did not think of women any more.
   — And you, my son, what did you do while we were writing a page out of History of Religion? the cardinal asked.
   — If I told you, Eminence, you wouldn't believe me, Choisy replied.
   — Do tell me, the cardinal urged.
   — Being idle, I meditated a lot and now you have before you a repented sinner.
   The cardinal smiled skeptically.
   — Let God hear you, my son, but I fear you'll find Him a little hard of hearing.
   — The climate of Rome doesn't agree with me, Choisy said.
   — You do look tired. Is it due to having done penance?
   — In my way, Eminence.
   And he asked for permission to go back to France. The cardinal, who had to stay in Rome for a little while more, granted it.
   As soon as he had finished dealing with a few papers, Choisy left Rome.
   Up to the last moment, he had feared that Lydie should try to hold him back and he prayed that the fellow who was replacing him would last until his own departure. Heaven heard his prayer for he could go without any hindrance from the luxurious beast that Lydie was.
   He arrived in Paris without mishap or incident and saluted with emotion this land of France where love remains the privilege of civilized people and does not degenerate into savagery.
   He at once went to Versailles to report before Mr. de Chamillard.
   — Ah, Choisy! the latter exclaimed genially, you had quite disappeared for a time-and that's a good thing, haha! Rut then your last mission gives you impunity. You're welcome here.
   And he told Choisy the good news: he had been pardoned for having killed a man in a duel, and now he had no necessity to hide or disguise himself.
   Louise XIV had a royal memory but he had forgiven. Few people remembered Choisy, who used to be the best friend of the frivolous brother of the king, whom they called “Monsieur.” Even that “Monsieur” had by now renounced his doubtful habits, for he had got married for the second time, and he found his new wife to his taste. His companion of debauch, the knight of Lorraine, had gone away. So Choisy was now nearly unknown in Versailles, and, at least, free from the temptations that his former companions might have put in his way. Lydie had given him an enduring disgust for love-making.
   Providentially, Louis XIV confided to Choisy the task of accompanying the knight of Chaumont, who had recently been appointed Ambassador to the King of Siam, to that country. So Choisy left France aboard a ship in Brest. It was one of the best ships of the fleet, reconstituted by Colbert.
   After four months they arrived in Siam where the king greeted them with sumptuousness. But something unexpected happened then. Perhaps his long sea voyage had had its influence on Choisy? The fact is that he was ordained Priest in Siam. So far he had been only an abbot, and that merely because he had inherited the grounds of an abbey.
   Within a few days he received the minor orders, soon followed by the superior ones. The bishop of Metellopolis consecrated him, and, aboard the ship on her return voyage, Choisy held his first mass.
   Gone for ever were Mrs. de Sancy, the countess of Barres, as well as the frivolous Choisy of old. After his return to France he was appointed Dean-Canon of Bayeux, entered the French Academy and his main occupation became the study of history-It is to be wondered whether he was merciful enough to pray God that He should grant His pardon to that Lydie Uppa who had providentially cured him of his bad habits. Without her over-demanding character, who knows how long he would have continued his life of sin? Now, his luxurious visions were but a memory.
   The French of the twentieth century still read the writings of the countess of Barres and are delighted with them, but how many of them have read or even heard of the learned works left by the Abbot of Choisy? The pages that are best remembered by posterity are, alas, those saucy ones left by the countess of Barres who was in reality a man-a man who had know the best flowers among women and who, now wise and becalmed, like the sea after a storm, had drawn out of his lewd experiences the ultimate wisdom.
   Posterity knows nothing of the respectable side of Choisy, that of his old age (he died at the age of eighty-four!), but only knows about the dissipated years of his youth. Readers probably vicariously enjoy his many adventures which they cannot experience themselves, and that is who such writings as the memoirs of the countess of Barres, or those of Casanova, command such a large readership.