The agony of my lust for the stranger stayed with me throughout the day. Wandering around the house performing my duties, every object became a potential candidate for entry into my stirring loins. The candelabra never looked so magnificent as it did so today. I took extra care in polishing the coat rack so it stood more proudly, and I carried the kindling lower on my person than usual. A couple of times the staff would look at me in a curious way, but I paid no mind because I was the favored maid delighting in a secret with the handsome stranger.
Lost in a daydream I come to a start when my mistress enters the kitchen. This is not something she is known to do. The entire staff becomes quiet. "I have an announcement to share with the entire staff," she says while inspecting the kitchen with scrutiny. "We are sending you off to our summer cottage for a much deserved holiday."
The kitchen maid looks perplexed and says, "Mistress, will you and the master be joining us?"
The mistress smiles, "Eventually we will join you. I trust that you can manage without our authority. Blythe, how about I appoint you as being in charge of the group? Everything will be provided for and you know your way around that home better than anyone."
"Why Mistress, I would be honored," Blythe says blushing. "When do we leave Paris?"
"A car will be coming to fetch you tomorrow morning after breakfast," the mistress says looking at me wickedly. She turns her reptilian body abruptly and slowly slinks away down the corridor.
The entire staff in the kitchen is jovial but me. I feel confused, cut off, and completely dejected. I don't want to spend a holiday with these wretched people. What for? What will I do with myself out in the country with country-folk?
What began as a tantalizing day lost in daydreams of lust, became a dreadful haze of sadness and regret. I did all my tasks as quickly as possible so that I could begin packing my belongings and weep undisturbed.
Just as I was about to go upstairs to pack, the maid bell rings for me. I'm imagining that the mistress wants to take her afternoon tea. I head down to the tea room and see that she is seated with a familiar looking lady wearing a big floppy hat.
Mistress says politely, "Have tea made for two and have Blythe prepare the items you acquired from the market this morning." I suddenly realize that the lady in the hat is the woman I saw in the window at
Rue de La Liberte
and I wonder if she recognizes me.
I take leave and get things prepared. When I re-enter the room and arrange the tea service the lady is observing me closely. "Excuse me Mademoiselle. What is your name?" the lady inquires in a British accent.
I am taken back by this because not a soul has asked me my name since I became employed here one month ago. "My name is Felice Veniste, Madam."
"Remarkable," she says sizing me up. "It has a pleasant ring to it. Iberian or Catalonian descent?" she inquires politely.
"The origin is uncertain Madam since my parents are deceased. I only have my sister now," I say regretfully.
She looks at me with a flicker of compassion in her expression. I feel my face flush with embarrassment for my mistress, who is incapable of praise and empathy. I bow for the lady and take leave of the room. As the door is closing I hear the lady say behind the sound of spoons stirring, "Felice stays."
I believe that today my emotions have been through some extreme highs and lows. My body is fatigued and all I want to curl up on my bed in a fetal position. Maybe I heard wrong, but I could have sworn I heard the lady say "Felice stays." That doesn't mean that the mistress is going to obey her. If I am to stay here alone, without any of the staff, how are things to get done? Nothing is making any sense.
Both gentlemen have left for the day, and so I check on their rooms once more. I have neglected the other gentleman's room today partly due to my tryst with the stranger earlier. The other gentleman's room is wide open and in disarray. I spend at least an hour cleaning and organizing, noticing the contrast from the strangers room.
This man has vast a collection of books, and it appears that he spends his time writing from all the scribbled papers I find in the waste-bin. On the side-table I notice a leather bound book with a strap of black leather going across and around it that looks like a gift meant to be opened. I carefully begin to untie the leather straps when I notice embossed in gold leaf, the word "Sehnsucht."
