Why, of all operas, would Justine invite me to this one? The parallels between hers and Lucia’s life caused Lottie discomfort even as François explained the story. But as she waited to alight from the carriage, she admonished herself for calling her friend’s motives into question. Don’t be foolish, Lottie. Justine is not seeing the play with your heart. Appreciate this opportunity to spend time with your friend.
Following François and Isabelle, she and Justine made their way to the Theatre d’Orleans. Two arched openings on each side were flanked by tall Roman columns, making the opera house as imposing as it was elegant. Lottie had started telling Justine the story of Agnes praying her gown closed when Justine grabbed her elbow and discreetly pointed to several young men and women gathered near the door. “Look, Gabriel’s here.”
And if hearing that paralyzed Lottie, what she heard next made her want to run. “Who is that woman he just walked into the theatre with?”
Chapter Nineteen
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The interior of the Theatre d’Orleans contributed to the experience of the opera. Its sparkling ceiling, elevated floor—which, when covered, served as a ballroom floor as well—and imposing candlelit sconces lured even the jaded. At each side were special partitioned boxes, with another two tiers and a gallery above. The elegant ladies, many carrying nosegays, and gentlemen strolled through, as eager to be seen as to see.
The pit, or the “untamed,” as Grand-mère called the men and women who stood to watch the performance, erupted with laughter and shoving as the spectators jostled for position before the opera started. A box too close meant the rancid odor of tobacco and too few cleanings of body or clothes wafting indiscriminately, along with the raucous noise, to the more refined patrons.
Three tiers of boxes formed a horseshoe facing the stage. The social hierarchy of the city played itself out in the location of the boxes. Placées sat in the third tier so their protectors, in the first or second tiers with their families, could stop by to visit during intermissions. Of course, well-placed screens maintained discretion, though no one needed to explain the traffic of men up and down the steps.
The aroma of freshly made coffee greeted patrons as they walked through the lobby, where many would, between acts, find themselves seeking refreshments of coffee, champagne, lemonade, and assorted sweets like pralines and fudge. Once seated in the Dumas family box on the second level near the front, Lottie fixed her eyes on the stage so as not to risk seeing Gabriel. It was likely that he would have been on the same level, though she didn’t dare look up for fear that he would be seated above them. She was able to track the young men who hovered around the back of the boxes of some of the most eligible young women in the city. Seeing them prowl, Lottie felt relieved that at least her grandparents weren’t subjecting her to that embarrassment.
The intensity of the play, the nagging suspicion of Justine’s having invited her on this particular night, and not only seeing Gabriel but seeing him escorting a strikingly attractive woman extracted more of an emotional toll than Lottie had reserves to endure. Just as she did with Grand-mère, she herded her feelings into a tomb so she could promptly bury them. Keeping them alive proved pointless. Like Isabelle’s toddlers, they bobbled around causing chaos and demanding attention. When feelings resurrected themselves, she simply held another funeral. And that’s what she needed to do now with everything about Gabriel. They were so fresh, even the slightest wind could unearth them.
As soon as intermission started, Lottie stood. Between the tension of the play and the lingering image of Gabriel, she needed to move. A bit of walking outside would be refreshing. “Excuse me. I will be back shortly,” she said, starting to leave the box.
“Wait one moment. I’ll go with you.” Justine swiped her sister’s fan from her lap, lifted the cluster of curls perched on her left shoulder, and fanned her neck.
“If you are going into the cool air, why are you delaying Lottie by doing that?” Isabelle pointed to her fan.
“Because”—Justine handed her the fan—“I’m not going outside.” She stood and swished her skirt forward to pass between Isabelle and François. “And please don’t speak to me like I am one of your children.”
Isabelle’s mouth opened, but François spoke. “Be sure to return when you hear the chimes.”
Justine pinched Lottie’s elbow. “Stop trotting toward the entrance. You are not a horse. Remember, you are supposed to be seen.”
“I don’t want to be seen by Gabriel, so I would rather be outside, since he will probably be in the lobby.”