Mistress of the Revolution by Catherine Delors Page B

time in my life, I indulged in the pleasures of finery. The seemingly limitless choice of textures and colours made my head spin. She picked a greenish satin and raised it to my face.
    “With this unfortunate hair of yours,” she said, “we are left with very few choices.”
    “No, Madam,” I said, “not the green. It reminds me of the colour of goose droppings. And it makes my skin look sallow. This bright pink silk will do much better.”
    My mother frowned. “Are you out of your senses, Gabrielle? I will not allow my child to parade around in a colour fit for a loose woman.”
    At last we settled our differences with the help of the shopkeeper and agreed on a striped material, light pink and white, which happened to be the least expensive.
    “It will look lovely on Mademoiselle de Montserrat,” said the shopkeeper. “It will highlight the delicacy of her complexion and her beautiful hair. I would recommend this as a pattern for the dress, with the stripes straight in the skirt and cut on the bias in the bodice.”
    Our purchases that day also included white silk stockings. We even stopped by the cobbler’s shop. There were ordered for me, for the first time in years, new shoes, black and elegant with a silver buckle. I thanked my mother, all the more embarrassed that I felt no real gratitude. During the ride back to Fontfreyde, I wanted to ask about the reason for these purchases, but she volunteered no information and I thought it wiser not to press the point.
    I met Pierre-André again.
    “I spoke with my brothers,” he said. “They are astonished at my choice of a bride.”
    I easily believed it. Although he had too much delicacy to mention it, they must have represented to him that he could do much better in terms of money. I was also sure that they did not relish the prospect of dealing with my brother. Pierre-André could have married any girl of the local bourgeoisie, with a comfortable dowry, whose family would have been delighted by the match.
    “Are they unhappy with your choice?” I asked.
    “They say that I have set my sights too high. That may be true, but if you have the kindness not to object to it, why should they?” He reached for my hand and kissed it. “They complain that I am always begging for trouble of some kind or other. Both of them, however, find you very pretty, and they understand why I want you so. Pierre, who has seen you many times at Fontfreyde and is always my best ally, convinced Jean-Baptiste to seek your brother’s consent. According to them, it will not be enough to take you without a dowry. I should offer some financial inducement to assuage your family’s concerns as to the inequality of the match. Jean-Baptiste suggested that I settle 20,000 francs on you by marriage contract and offer an equal sum to your brother as consideration for your disparagement . That is what lawyers call the unequal marriage of a noble lady to a commoner, and, like everything else, it has a price.”
    “I had no idea that such sums could change hands upon the occasion of my wedding.”
    “You have too modest an opinion of your own claims. I would give anything for the happiness of having you as my wife.”
    I was saddened by the implicit opinion that my brother’s consent to the match could be bought. It did not reflect well on either his financial circumstances, with which, as his lawyer, Jean-Baptiste Coffinhal must have been acquainted, or his avarice.
    “What was I thinking?” said Pierre-André. “I have been a brute to tell you about these sordid matters. Your feelings for your brother, after all, are only natural. I should not have hurt them.”
    “No, I thank you for telling me. I should know of these things since they concern me.”
    “My beloved, my brothers think that I have a fair chance of success since there is no competing offer from any noble party. They will speak to the Marquis shortly. I wanted to go with them, but they refuse to take me along. They say that I