The note arrived by a young messenger at her apartment around midday. "Four o'clock, No.12 Rue de St. Antoine, upstairs", was the curt message. Bold strokes on fine linen paper. The simple signature was a cryptic: "A devoted one."
The mystery was fascinating and irresistible. The countess bathed herself in perfumed waters and donned a fresh chemise, then called on her young attendant to help her into her new satin corset, which lifted her aging yet ample breasts into ripe mounds. White silk leggings were fitted up to her scented thighs and held in place by finely embroidered garters. A light, white petticoat completed the inner layer.
A suitable outfit was chosen from her wardrobe - a full summer dress covered in a print of cascading yellow jonquils, white lace trim and fan-shaped falling cuffs, with a small, yellow satin bustle and bodice, neither too demure nor too revealing. A perfumed sachet nestled between her breasts.
The young handmaiden had not seen Madame L'Contessa in such effervescent spirits in some months. A light dusting of powder and a stylish dash of rouge were tastefully applied. As a finishing touch, they shaped her thick chestnut hair in the latest fashion, tightly fitted at the forehead, and a tumbling mass of large curls down each side, capped with a wide-brimmed bonnet and a single ostrich plume falling from the rear.
As the appointed hour approached, she called on her horsemen to freshen the carriage. The servants received orders that all shutters be opened to air the apartment in preparation for a visitor. They all knew their routines. After making certain that everything under their care was in order, each servant was excused for the evening - the general presumption was that they would join friends at their preferred societes.
The highly bred countess stepped into the heat of a Paris midsummer afternoon and directly into the waiting carriage, paying no attention to the scenes in the street. The horses dashed forward, cantering along the narrow lanes toward their destination. The clatter of their hooves, the clank of metal wheels on stone pavement, and the clamor of gangs along their route: all served to mask the muffled moans from inside the coach.
The carriage arrived at its destination at the designated time. Stepping carefully from the carriage, she peered around to see if anyone was watching. Secrecy in matters of the heart was not normally one of her concerns (nor of many in Paris at that time), but her obvious station required that she was cautious of any sign of hostility from the cliques gathering at every corner.
She knew this part of the city reasonably well. The merchant guilds owned most of the shops, and this area, specifically, was home to the Jew gem merchants. She had visited here several times for a bauble to impress the Court, but never to this particular address. The sign outside read simply "M. Donneville, Fine Gems".
Climbing the narrow stairs, she knocked lightly on the door at the top. The door opened, and inside stood two men. The one with his hand on the handle was pudgy, with a large periwig, a ruddy complexion, pince nez spectacles, and the clothes of a businessman. The other was more appealing, taller, perhaps six inches taller than she, with gray-streaked dark hair, velvet breeches, and a dark frock coat. Although he was somehow familiar, she did not recognize him at once. He smiled.
He had not been this close to her in many years, and took a deep breath as he took in her lovely countenance. Her elegant bearing contrasted with the perplexed look on her face. Her waspy waist and luscious breasts invited him as though he were twenty years younger. She seemed to have aged not a day since their last rendezvous in his small apartment at Montmartre.
She offered her hand. Raising it to his lips, he recognized a familiar scent, and smiled. His tight breeches became tighter yet, and he grinned inwardly, wondering if he could comfortably sit again.
"My dear Contessa, it's so good to see you again," he said in his mellow baritone, "you're as radiant as ever"
As soon as he spoke, her heart leapt as she recognized her man of mystery. She took all of him in one glance. The bronzed face was more weathered and worn, a little less hair, with gray highlights, his frame a bit heavier than she remembered, but altogether still quite appealing. And obviously still interested, if the apparent bulge at the opening of his waistcoat was any sign.
"Jacque, my dear, it has been such a long time," she answered in polite tones, trying to restrain her growing passion, with little success.
"If Madame will have a seat, we shall begin", the small man proffered the right of two chairs in front of a small escritoire at the far end of the room. She nodded, inquisitively. She adjusted her dress, and her old friend seated her, then he took the left chair. The small man hurried through a door on the left, and quickly returned with an armful of wooden boxes, some plain, some ornate, and placed them on the desk.
He opened several of the boxes, to expose gorgeous jewelry, such as she had seen at the Royal Court on only a few of the more noble women. She had never hoped to own any such ornaments, even with the late Comte's generous legacy. Iridescent opals, carved jade from the orient, inlaid with gems and set in gold, pear-shaped diamond earrings, pearl necklaces, rubies, emeralds - the collection was dazzling, and took her breath away.
"These are all so...so...magnificent. Why do you show me these delightful things?"
"Make your choice," her former lover smiled, "any one you want - it's yours."
She looked at him carefully, but could not discern any trickery or deceit. She didn't recall his fortune to be so great, and his clothes seemed so plain. How could he afford such a gift?
"Would Madame L'Contessa like to see others?" the small man asked.
