RS 10

Chapter 10

Meanwhile, Xavier had somehow already made his way to the window.

He was standing in front of the half-open window that had clearly been used as an entrance despite there being a perfectly good door.

The curtains that had slipped loose swayed gently like waves over his broad shoulders.

There probably weren’t many people passing by at this hour, but if someone happened to see him standing at her bedroom window and reported it to her father, it would be a disaster.

“Come over here right now, Xavier.”

“Nice air. And it’s not raining, either.”

Dolores approached him with angry steps, grabbed the curtain, and pulled it aside.

“I don’t intend to cause trouble because of you. Not anymore…”

“I made a promise. To the people outside.”

Dolores froze.

She opened the curtain again.

Now that she looked, there was a black carriage parked beyond the wall in the distance.

It was obviously the carriage Xavier had arrived in, but the problem was the two people standing beside it.

The man wearing a single-breasted coat that flared out toward the bottom and arrogantly smoking a pipe was Dorian.

And the woman standing in front of him, dressed in a party gown delicately trimmed with fine lace, was unmistakably Claudia.

“…You.”

“What could I do? The party can’t happen if the Princess of Artois doesn’t come.”

Xavier brushed the back of Dolores’s head.

The unexpected touch made the small of Dolores’s back stiffen slightly.

“I tried to stop Clody from coming with me.”

Dolores took half a step back and pressed her forehead.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“What did I do?”

“Don’t you have a conscience?”

“I don’t have time to look for one, even if I wanted to. Clody’s schedule was moved up, so she’s leaving tomorrow afternoon. You can be angry with me as much as you want. I have time to put up with it, but Clody doesn’t. She’ll resent me if I don’t give her a proper farewell. She’s come all this way.”

Dolores was rendered speechless.

“…That’s low.”

“Clody and I are doing this because we like you.”

“No. You’re the one being low. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Xavier opened the window wide and waved the light from the oil lamp.

Claudia, who had been hidden in the carriage’s shadow in the distance, waved back at him.

“Let’s go outside first and talk things through calmly.”

When Dolores had first met him, she had never imagined that the boy would grow into a young man like this.

The wide-open new door beat against Dolores’s heart.

It was a kind of trembling she couldn’t put a name to.

“He was truly incredible.”

On the way home with Miss Marguerite, Dolores asked the same questions several times.

About the Bransen family.

About the boy who had first etched that name into her mind.

“Well, the musical prodigy of the Bransen family really was something. Xavier. That boy is already quite famous in the music world. It was my first time hearing him perform, though… I heard that Madame Lu has been taking care of him lately.”

“Xavier.”

“Yes. That’s the boy’s name.”

“Xavier Bransen.”

Dolores continued walking without stopping, lowering only her gaze.

She traced the name Bransen across the white snow that had accumulated overnight, untouched by anyone’s interest.

Bransen.

Bransen again.

“Tell me more. Please.”

After persistently questioning her teacher, Dolores learned that the Bransen family were capitalists who operated a massive textile factory called Durand de Morten.

She heard that they had come to Aquine this time intending to expand their business into textile processing and repairs.

They were apparently famous figures in the large city of Lange.

She also learned that Xavier Bransen was the second of three brothers, had already won prizes in numerous competitions and contests, and had received several invitations from the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance.

“But he didn’t go?”

“I assume he enrolled, but… I’m not sure. It might simply be because it’s currently vacation season. There must be some other circumstance.”

When she heard the answer, Dolores experienced a strange mixture of emotions inside herself.

It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Of course that boy would be admitted early to such an impressive conservatory.

Yet there was a peculiar sadness in knowing that, while it was natural for him, it was something she herself could never do.

The Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance couldn’t even be a goal for her.

Her father would never allow it, and the tuition was astronomical besides.

“The Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance at my age… I can’t really imagine it.”

Dolores tried to say it casually, but her voice had lost its strength and sank low.

“…That’s what talent is, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“…Must be nice.”

“You never know. If you work a little harder, you might be able to do it too. You have plenty of talent yourself. Of course, the first problem would be persuading your father and mother…”

Instead of answering, Dolores lowered her head slightly.

She looked down at her worn shoes pressing into the snow with a soft crunch.

With every additional footprint she left behind, the inexplicable melancholy inside her became clearer.

“If you work that hard and manage to enter Le Havre, you might meet that boy again there.”

At that moment, Dolores raised her head half a beat late and covered both cheeks with her hands.

“It’s not like that.”

“I see. Of course.”

“I’m serious!”

Her teacher quietly suppressed a laugh.

After hesitating shyly, Dolores asked,

“…Teacher, how do you know so much about the Bransen family, too?”

“…I have a connection to them. In Lange.”

“A connection?”

“There’s a famous art hall in Lange called Saint-Germain. It’s owned by the Bransen family. They actually run it themselves. I’ve performed there several times in the past. They were people who respected the souls of artists, much like the Carongas. They could certainly be particular, but most patrons consider being particular a virtue.”

“Saint-Germain? I think I’ve heard of it.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Isn’t it an enormous stage? You performed there? Teacher, you’re amazing.”

Miss Marguerite was silent for a moment.

Then she continued while looking straight ahead.

“There’s nothing particularly amazing about it. Dolores, it’s true that where we perform becomes part of our career, but life isn’t all about that. You don’t understand what I mean yet, but…”

After that, Dolores could barely hear the rest of her teacher’s words.

The sound of the boy’s violin filled her heart as she walked through the snowy streets, and she didn’t even notice how cold that winter was.

The memory of the salon of the Aquine gentry that she had happened to attend that day ended simply as a memory.

Nothing seemed to have changed.

Dolores still attended the parish school during the day, and every Monday and Wednesday, she continued sneaking away to Miss Marguerite’s house without her father’s knowledge.

It snowed several more times, and the wind grew increasingly fierce, but even that was still bearable.

Yet it wasn’t true that nothing had changed at all.

Dolores had changed.

Her feelings about dance had become a little more sincere.

She tried to hold her legs up longer than before, repeated each movement one more time whenever she could, and even after the music ended, she would mentally go over the choreography and repeat it.

She was certainly no genius like that boy had been, but she wanted to become good enough through sheer effort to move someone.

The third movement of Vannier’s Écho silencieux played inside her head.

She surrendered her body to the distant music.

She gently bent her knees into a plié—

Her arms moved like a swan’s in a Port de bras.

She rose onto her toes, shifted her center of gravity, and moved forward.

Forward.

She spun twice, spreading her arms wide, then made a light leap and raised her gaze.

Whenever Dolores danced until she was drenched in sweat, she sometimes imagined the boy standing somewhere far beyond her reach.

The boy would play the violin for her without saying a word.

Repeating like a silent echo.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The second coincidence came a month later, without warning, like a devil at a crossroads.

Aquine was a city situated where two small waterways met.

The canal running through the center of the city was famous for its beauty, and every year, a festival called the Singing Fountains was held at the Fountain Square where the waterways converged.

It was the season when all of Bellof was bustling with celebrations for Saint Philip’s Day.

During the day, there were small festivities honoring Saint Philip, followed by a nighttime arts festival that continued from early evening until deep into the night.

The people of Aquine played music, recited poetry, and sometimes danced while holding one another’s hands for no particular reason at all.

The first year Dolores came to Aquine, she had seen that scene once from afar.

Very far away.

The reason was obvious and terribly uninteresting.

Her father was a man who would never tolerate her associating with commoners.