Mr. de Montprofit did not seem to have discovered his wife's affair with Choisy, but Mrs. de Montprofit kept Choisy waiting. She had promised him she would let him know when he could come again to her house, but he waited in vain. One evening he met her in the salon of the signora Uppa, who was the widow of a high dignitary of the Vatican, and therefore very influential, that is why Choisy had been sent there by the Cardinal of Bouillon to collect useful information.
The signora Uppa greeted Choisy warmly, for she had travelled a lot herself and travellers were always welcome, particularly foreigners. She had even adopted the French name Lydie instead of her real name Lydia, and her guests often called her “Lady” Uppa for fun-a bad pun on her name. But she didn't take offence-which reminds us of the joke: what's the difference between a woman and a horse? Well, a horse, if you give him a fence he takes a jump, and a woman, if you give her the jump she takes offence.
— My husband heard that you had come to our house one morning, Mrs. de Montprofit told Choisy, but his suspicions were not aroused because I assured him that your visit was an obligation, a duty ordered by your Cardinal. But don't do it again!
— Yet, I feel very much like doing it again, Choisy confessed.
— Well, my dear, go on feeling like it, she answered, but, really, if you opened your eyes, you would see that you have a real seraglio here-you can pick and choose among all the beauties assembled here.
— We're not in Venice here, said Choisy.
— So you think the Roman girls are less warm than the Venetians or girls from other provinces of Italy?
— You see, the vicinity of the Vatican — There are priests galore to administrate the remission of sins.
— And our hostess? queried Choisy.
— She's a Neapolitan, which is still better-she would devour a man alive.
Choisy turned his head towards the woman in question, Lydie Uppa and observed her attentively. She was the incarnation of the lasciviousness of her native town, with her mat complexion, her jetblack eyes and her greedy mouth. Under her ample dress one could guess a voluptuous body and Choisy sensed that she was rarin' to give that body the sensual pleasure which had long been denied to it. But she had to keep, both in her attitude and in her talk, a reserve that was imposed on her by her rank and her widowhood.
The problem was how to get near her and talk to her. But that was solved easily when she herself came to Choisy to remove an empty cup from his hands and offer him another.
— I adore this beautiful kingdom of France, she told him, as well as everything coming from it.
She had spoken in French and in an accent that made her declaration like a passionate confession. But Choisy was no dupe, for he was familiar enough with Italy by now to know that the Italians have a tendency to exaggerate their gestures and statements and one must not put too much faith in them. Indeed, a few moments later, he heard her talk in the same tones to another guest. However, when he took his leave, the signora told him:
— They say that Versailles is a marvel. You must come and describe Versailles to me.
And she added:
— Before the other guests arrive.
Choisy, bowing, answered that it would be a pleasure.
On the way out, he came upon Rose de Montprofit who had observed the scene and told him:
— Well, Abbot, I see you've made progress.
— The signora Uppa is exquisitely courteous, Choisy said.
— Didn't I tell you?
Choisy noticed the somewhat cool tone in which Mrs. de Montprofit made her remark, and wondered if by any chance she would not be jealous. He concluded that the more attentionate he would be towards the signora Uppa, the more chances he would have of overcoming the scruples of the former dancer, who was more than ever desirable — like a dish that one relishes still more at the second helping.
But he let her simmer in her juice, knowing full well that in spite of her apprehension, she wanted very much to confide her warm senses to Choisy's skill and passion. And it was easy for him to lie low for a while for now all the cardinals were present in Rome and the Conclave was about to open, so that he was busier than ever.
He was present, of course, at the great reception given by one of the most prominent personalities of Rome, where the high prelates mixed with the ladies from the cream of society. Also there: Rose de Montprofit and her husband, and Lydie Uppa, both held in high esteem by the ecclesiastical dignitaries.
First, he bowed discreetly to signora Uppa, who was occupied with other guests, then he came near Rose de Montprofit.
— What are the latest previsions? he asked her.
— You should ask Lydie Uppa-she knows better than I do.
— They say it will be a long choice for there is some hard competition.
— That will give you more time to… amuse yourself.
Women have a way of speaking and looking at men that Choisy knew by heart, and this time there was no doubt about it: Rose de Montprofit was suffering from too much sensuality and yet was in fear of a scandal. Choisy, to make her jealous, went to the signora Lydie and asked her:
— Don't you think the struggle will be a difficult one for the choice of the new Pope?
— Yes, Lydie answered vivaciously, the more so as your King has shown himself unfavourable to a certain candidate… Don't look so astonished, Mr. Abbot, you must know more than I do on this subject.
— Rut I assure you — I shall be expecting you tomorrow early in the afternoon-we'll be able to speak more freely than here.
— About Versailles? Choisy scoffed.
— A little, yes, but mainly about our points of view on the matters of Rome.
He acquiesced with a smile and slid away between discussing groups, gathering enough information here and there to edify his employer.
At the end of the reception, as the guests were gathering on the way out, Rose de Montprofit managed to tell Choisy:
— Congratulations, Abbot: you're doing quick progress.
He feigned surprise but the ex-dancer was no dupe. He wondered whether she had been capable of reading lips while Lydie Uppa was talking to him. Jealous women have uncanny powers of detection, he reflected.
The very next day, Choisy went to the signora Uppa after having advised the Cardinal of Bouillon.
Lydie Uppa received him in the intimacy of her boudoir.
— I was expecting you, Mr. Abbot. You're punctual. Sit down beside me-the walls don't have to hear what we have to say.
He had hardly sat down when the beautiful Neapolitan woman asked him in a low confidential voice:
— What news from Versailles?
— None to-day, Choisy answered.
— Really?
She edged nearer to him and there wafted to his nostrils a violent whiff of perfume which made his heart miss two beats and a half. The signora seemed nervous and Choisy put it down to his presence. (Not very modest, was he? But, with all his feminine successes, he can be excused). But he dominated his impulses for he disliked easy victories which he deemed good enough for men who are in too much of a hurry. For him, voluptuousness was one of those fruits that are all the better for having been given time to ripen.
Lydie Uppa fired all sorts of questions at him. Some were difficult to answer diplomatically, as when she wanted to know which cardinal the King of France wished to become the new Pope. Choisy hedged and answered noncommittally and he was more and more aware of her very close presence and he felt his virility gradually awaken.
— The Pope, he said, whoever he may be, will always be in conflict with the King of France, even if he were an ecclesiastic from France.
— You don't want to tell me what you know, Lydie Uppa said in a sulking tone.
— My mission is to gather useful information, that's all. But you, Signora, which candidate would you choose?
She did not answer and gazed absently, in a meditation that gave her face a sudden moving gravity. She seemed to have forgotten Choisy's presence. But then, suddenly, she smiled at him.
— Do you intend going back to your country as soon as the new Pope has been named? she asked.
— I'm under the orders of the Cardinal of Bouillon, who himself is under orders from the king.
— Oh! How secretive you are! she exclaimed, as for me, I intend going to France as soon as this affair is over.
— To see Versailles?
— Yes, I feel so much like it.
— I hope to be of some use to you there.
— Do you? she asked with a kind of naive spontaneity that made her more attractive still.
— You would really agree to help me? she went on, I'm glad of your offer, for I shall be in need of protection, I think. French people, I mean the men, are often so hasty in their courting. I'll feel safer knowing you are near me.
Choisy was not sure he liked what she'd said. Was she taking him for a eunuch? He looked at her and saw that she was becoming warm and a little agitated inside. Was it only because of her thoughts of her impending travel to France?.- Do you honestly think French men are inclined to raping women? Choisy asked. - I think one shouldn't stir up their appetites too much, or else She stretched like a voluptuous cat and her curves made her dress bulge provocatingly. With a sigh that seemed to issue from the deepest part of her body, she whispered:
— Oh, to be made love to by a Frenchman!
In her emotion, her native accent gave a more passionate note to her words.
She lowered her eyelids and Choisy read it as an invitation. He became bolder and, bending towards her, he brushed with his lips one of her arms, which shuddered slightly. He had been expecting a revolt, but instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Lydie offer to his lips her own warm, humid lips.
But, as he wanted to go further, she stiffened.
— Abbot, you're not seriously thinking that — I can't resist you, Choisy said.
— I must be getting dressed up-my guests will be here soon, she whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion.
— One more reason not to waste any time, was Choisy's bold retort.
He had succeeded in slipping under her dress a hand that had reached her garter, then the top of a bare thigh and… Lydie imprisoned that hand in a contraction that was but a defensive jerk. In a whisper, she asked:
— Will you tell me everything?
— Certainly.
— Ah! Those French men Was it a bargain, or a scruple of modesty? Choisy did not linger in trying to solve the riddle. Lydie was consenting, obviously, but did not want to give herself to him at once. Probably she preferred waiting till her senses had reached that degree of fusion that opens up the door to supreme voluptuousness.
With his searching fingers, Choisy groped round the fortress whose capitulation was but a matter of seconds. Lydie was breathing stentoriously but was still loath to surrender and Choisy planned to use still more effective means of conquest.
But at last Lydie let herself fall backwards on the sofa where she was sitting, and at once Choisy was on top of her and his sex was inside a warm sheath the moistness of which assured him that he had been expected with impatience.
Such was their state of excitation that they could not prolong their voluptuousness-they came nearly at once, and practically together and remained a long time in an ecstatically amorous embrace and a total enchantment.
Lydie was the first to come back to her senses.
— And the Pope? she scoffed.
— The Pope? Choisy said, oh, yes-but, after all, what importance has it for us whether one or the other is elected?
— I'm looking forward to your going away so that I have the pleasure of meeting you in Paris, she said, but, between ourselves, I think I've been raped!
— It wasn't a rape-just an election, he said in the bantering tone she had adopted, as people in love often do, out of sheer joie-de-vivre.
She rose up from the sofa with a satisfied smile and Choisy, having brushed his clothes and put them back into decent shape, strode out with the dignity that his rank demanded of him.
He reflected that amorous friendship-to-day we would say flirtation-is the shortest way to gaining respect for those outrages that are not the last although they are qualified as such, provided the partners know how to go about it the right way, as was the case with him and Lydie.