The Dream Lover Read Free

listen for her response and heard Sophie walk quickly across the floor. There were sounds of rapid dressing, and then she flung open the door.
    Upon seeing her, Deschartres was at first speechless: she had been sleeping, and there was a soft pink flush to the cheeks of her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were wide and dark and very beautiful, direct in their gaze. She was barefoot, and her black hair was not done up but loose around her face, cascading over her shoulders. Her bosom was ample, her waist narrow, and she had about her an air of sultry grace.
    He asked if he might come in.
    “Bien sûr,”
she said, most pleasantly, and stepped aside to let him pass. She was very small in stature, and it must have given even dry-souled Deschartres pause to think about delivering such a stern directive to one so tiny.
    He offered her the bouquet, and she took it without looking at it. “Has something happened?”
    “Only this,” Deschartres said. “Your presence here has made for a great rift in the relationship between Maurice and his mother, whom, as you must know, he loves more than any person on earth. Every day they argue bitterly, and I can tell you most assuredly that this is not their way; they have always been unusually close. I have come to ask you to go back to Paris. Maurice says you love him; what better way can you prove it than to spare him the terrible pain you are now causing him? Give him distance, give him time, do not subject him any longer to such terrible strain, especially when he has so recently been freed from prison. Surely, without any need forelaboration, you can see that you are not meant for each other. He is in need of peace and care and quiet. Now, if you will kindly collect your things, I shall arrange—”
    “Out of my sight, you fool!” Sophie cried, flinging the bouquet to the floor. “Go back to kissing the withered feet of your benefactress! Do not spoil Maurice’s and my happiness with such a ridiculous demand. Do you imagine that I do not know what Maurice needs now? You may rest assured it is not his mother!”
    And then, small as she was, she forced Deschartres from the room, slamming and locking the door after him.
    An outraged Deschartres knocked again and again, to no avail. Finally, he said, “Have it your way, then, ignorant girl! You leave me with no choice but to call upon the authorities. Then we shall see how long you stay here spinning your web! You are a common prostitute, rightfully worthless in the eyes of respectable people, and you do not belong here!”
    “I’ll leave this pedestrian place all right,” Sophie shouted. “And I’ll take Maurice with me, you’ll see! You have no idea how much he loves me. Every day, he begs me to marry him! I’ll take him with me and we will never return!”
    The flustered tutor did go to the police, then to the mayor, and to them he made a most dramatic case for evicting the dangerous interloper holed up at the inn who would not listen to reason and go away from a place where she was not wanted. She was causing trouble of the most terrible kind. She was torturing the soul of a decorated officer in the army of Napoleon, a newly released prisoner of war, and this officer’s mother, Madame Dupin, was a gentlewoman and a saint, as surely they knew. Madame was deeply distressed by this interloper’s presence and was spending her days in tears and anguish. Who knew how long her health could withstand such an assault? The wench must be made to leave immediately. Surely some reason for forcing her away could be found. She did not have papers, say; or if she did have papers, something was wrong with them. They must find a way, even if she needed to be imprisoned!
    In his heart, I am certain that Deschartres thought he was doing the right thing. He believed Maurice would come to see the wisdom in exiling someone who was an irritant and a distraction and who was, besides, far beneath his station. Once Sophie was gone, Maurice would