Paris: The Novel

visited Paris, he frequented a very chic brothel where he installed his own bathtub, which he liked to fill with champagne. The house where the officers of the regiment went lay in the quarter between the Opéra and the Louvre. It was discreet, delightful, and was patronized by several great nobles.
    But above all these lay the world of the private courtesan, the
grandes horizontales
. Though many were kept by a single rich man, others took lovers, sometimes for just a night at a time. The luckiest courtesans might marry a rich and elderly client, even one with a title; and if widowed young enough could live in a mansion of their own, and hold a salon—and take fresh lovers too, of course, as long as they understood that she expected to receive gifts, in cash or kind, for the interest she took in them.
    The courtesan known as La Belle Hélène was as renowned for her charm as for her many other accomplishments. To spend a night in her company was considered a great privilege. It was also very expensive indeed. Even the richest of the aristocratic young officers balked at the price. So they had come up with an agreeable solution.
    Each of the twenty men had contributed the same amount—more than they would have had to pay for a visit to the discreet mansion near the Opéra—into a fund. And tonight they were going to draw lots to discover which of them was to take the money and visit La Belle Hélène.
    But before the lottery took place, they would drink champagne and enjoy the show at the Moulin Rouge.
    Roland de Cygne had never been to the Moulin Rouge before. He’d often meant to go. But as a regular patron of the rival Folies-Bergère, which was nearer the center of town and whose first-rate comedy and modern dance had always satisfied him, he’d somehow never got around to the Moulin Rouge with its saucier fare. Needless to say, as soon as his companions had discovered this fact, he’d had to endure some teasing, which he did with good humor.
    His brother officers liked Roland. He’d shown a fine aptitude for a military career right from the start. When he’d attended the militaryacademy of Saint-Cyr, he’d come out nearly top of his class. Perhaps even more important to his aristocratic companions, he’d shown such prowess at the Cavalry Academy at Saumur that he’d almost made the elite Cadre Noir equestrian team. He was a good regimental soldier, respected by his men, a loyal friend with a kindly sense of humor. He could also be trusted to tell the truth. And he certainly looked the part of the cavalryman. He was a good height, a little taller than his father. His fair hair was parted in the middle, from which it marched out in close-trimmed waves. He wore a short mustache, brushed outward but not curled. The effect was handsome and manly.
    Yet sometimes one might notice a quiet thoughtfulness in his blue eyes, even a hint of proud melancholy, and his brother officers thought it was their job to tease him about this too.
    “There is an air of mystery about you, de Cygne,” one of them now remarked. “Like Athos in
The Three Musketeers
, I think you have a hidden past. A secret sorrow. Is it a woman?”
    “Of course it is,” the youngest cried. “Tell us, de Cygne. Your secret is safe with us. For at least ten minutes!”
    “No,” the oldest of them, a captain, corrected. “Hidden in that handsome cavalryman’s head, I detect an idealist. One day, de Cygne, you will be a hero, as famous as the great knight Bayard,
sans peur et sans reproche
. Fearless and beyond reproach. Or you’ll surprise us all and enter a monastery.”
    “A monastery?” cried the youngest. “What are you talking about? We’re at the Moulin Rouge, for God’s sake!”
    “I agree,” Roland responded with a smile. “Anyone wishing to become a monk will be reported to the management.” It was time to end this probing into his character. He glanced around the table. “I think we need more champagne.”
    The captain signaled to the waiter, who was at his side in an instant.
    “More champagne, Luc.”
    “At once,
mon capitaine
.”
    A few minutes later, the floor show began.
    It had to be said, Roland thought, the Moulin Rouge did what it did supremely well. The cavernous space had room for dozens of tables, but the view of the stage was excellent. Part of the atmosphere of the place was created by its particular light. There were numerous gaslights, which provided a warm glow, but the owners had supplemented