From
Chapter 38,
Part VII
Startled, Franklin and Madame Brillon freeze in place, their mouths agape.
“And what brings the illustrious Dr. Franklin to my house in the middle of the night?” Henri inquires, moving closer to the bed.
“I was passing by,” Franklin explains, with a guilty look on his face.
Henri considers Franklin suspiciously. “A curious route to your house through my garden, non?” He looks at his wife. “And what are you holding there, my dear? Would those be pearls?
Madame Brillon nods.
“Did you find them under your pillow? A fairy left them? A foreign fairy perhaps?”
Franklin clears his throat. “They were such a good buy in a shop in Paris, I could not resist them as a little gift for ‘Helene.’”
“Un bon marche?” Henri exclaims. “With diamonds on the clasp? Quite expensive, I should think. Tres cher. A grand gesture for your friend, ‘Helene’.”
Franklin looks toward the terrace. “Well, I should be going…”
Henri paces to and fro. “I am not a small man, Franklin. When you kiss my wife, I kiss you. When I find you in her bed, I am not so amused.”
“It only stands to reason,” Franklin concurs.
“He is on the bed, not in the bed, Henri,” Madame Brillon argues.
Henri glares at his wife. “No matter.” He forces a smile. “Since we are together, let us lift a glass to the recent alliance between your country and our King.” He opens the door of the commode behind him, takes out a decanter of liqueur and three small glasses, and fills them.
Franklin rises from the bed. “I really must be going,” he says anxiously.
“Sit, Franklin, sit,” Henri commands.
Franklin sits back down on the edge of the bed.
Henri serves a glass to his wife and to Franklin, then raises his own glass. “To our distinguished friend and his great achievement!” he offers, sounding civil. “A votre santé!”
Franklin and Madame Brillon smile nervously and raise their glasses, joining in the toast.
Henri goes to the French door and looks out pensively into the darkness. “I must say it has been remarkable having you as a neighbor, Benjamin. The comings and goings at all hours…
Franklin sips his Courvoisier. “I hope I haven’t made too great a disturbance.”
Henri turns to his wife again. “What would you say, ma cherie? Have you been disturbed?” he asks innocently.
“Non, pas du tout,” she replies, looking at the string of pearls in her hand.
Henri removes the menacing-looking dagger from the pocket of his robe and lays it on the commode. “It seems I will not need my poignard after all. I thought there was an intruder in the house.”
An awkward moment passes as Henri studies the two on the bed. “But then, there was an intruder, was there not?” he reconsiders, after a pause. Henri places his glass on top the commode and picks up the candleholder. “So, I will leave you to do… whatever it is you do. There is more cognac in the bottle, if you like. Bonne nuit.” Henri turns and leaves the room, pulling the door closed sharply behind him.
Madame Brillon looks at Franklin with a wary smile.
Henri returns to his bedchamber, places the candle on a bureau, removes his robe and slippers, and snuffs out the flame of the candle. He fluffs his pillows and climbs into bed.
Mademoiselle d’Armond lies on the other side of the bed, wrapped in a satin quilt. She raises herself onto one elbow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est, Henri? What was it?”
“Rien, ma cherie. C’est rien. Dormez-vous. Nothing my dear, nothing. Go to sleep.”
He blows out the candle on his bedside table and lies back on his bed, studying the deepening shadows on the ceiling above him.
• • •
Dear Ben is available from Barnes & Noble
© Michael Koski 2022 TXu 2-339-892
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