You note I talk here entirely without reference to morality. Let me rephrase it; we were talking to a whore about how to be better at her trade and I was considering seriously that we should act in some way as her pimps. Express it in such a way and it is shocking; I was already a long way from home. Yet I did not see how her life could be made worse, or her soul even more imperilled, by the course she wished to pursue. And there might be gain all round. I put my argument to Lefevre afterwards.
He dismissed it. 'A thousand francs? For a girl who charges two francs a night? Are you serious?'
'How long are we staying here?'
'Until we're finished.'
I scowled. 'Tell me.'
'Why?'
'Because I would like to talk to that girl again.'
He shook his head. 'No. I forbid it.'
I found her again the following evening, walking across the Place Stanislas. Even from a distance I could see the effect she had: men walking towards her would slow down as they passed; some nodded, uncertain whether she was signalling to them. Poor as she was, she was so far above the normal that there was doubt. She was not brazen or vulgar; she attracted through an appearance of vulnerability and delicacy. I briefly considered the fate that lay before her, how that delicacy would be trampled and ruined, and shuddered slightly. I had seen in her eyes the day before that she knew exactly how her future could develop.
A man began talking to her as I approached; I bristled somewhat at the indignity, and so hailed her in a louder voice than I might otherwise have used.
'Good evening, Madame, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.'
The effect was delightful; he froze with horror at the evident mistake he had just made, gave me one brief look and ran as fast as he could. Virginie looked at me coldly.
'You will have to pay for that,' she said.
'I intend to. Have you eaten this evening?' It was nearly eight o'clock by then and already dark and cold.
She hadn't, so I took her to a restaurant. A moderately expensive one, deliberately chosen, as I wished to see how she would conduct herself, how much she knew about manners.
Although by far the worst-dressed woman in the place, she did not allow herself to be abashed by her obvious poverty. She behaved to the waiters with proper grace, did not allow her voice to rise as the alcohol seeped into her blood, chose her food cautiously but well, ate with delicacy. And the waiters responded; she did not flirt with them, but she made herself attractive in a distant, untouchable fashion. She got better service than I did; by the end of the meal she was getting more attention from them than anyone else in the dining room.
We were halfway through the first course when I realised I had quite forgotten who and what she was, and brusquely brought myself back to earth. 'I must ask you for some information,' I said. 'I'm afraid I do not understand you at all, and that could be a grave impediment to any business arrangements between us.'
She looked at me evenly, not perplexed, as she was already far beyond that stage. At no point so far had she asked me any questions at all, which was a good sign.
'I have been thinking about what you said yesterday,' I continued. 'My associate,' we had not given her any names, 'is not interested in your proposal, but I see some possibilities.'
Much later she told me how excited she had been by this remark; so overwhelmed that she did not know how she had prevented herself from bursting into tears. All I can say to that is that her self-control was remarkable; not a flicker of any emotion passed over her face. Had I known how well disciplined she was, I would have engaged her on the spot.
'But I need some answers from you.'
'What exactly?'
'I need to know whether you will be capable of filling the role you desire for yourself. A gentle nature, and pretty face will not be sufficient. You need also to be . . .'
I paused, not knowing how to phrase it.
'Good in bed?' she asked quietly.
I almost spilled my drink. 'No. Absolutely not. Well, yes, of course. What I was going to say was possess a degree of breeding. An ability to manage in different social situations. To be someone who could be relied on not to make a fool of themselves. Who can elicit information discreetly, without anyone suspecting them. Basically, do the job without being exposed in any way.'
She nodded.
'So far, you have behaved impeccably. Which I find extraordinary in a runaway mill girl or whatever you are.'
'Were I a runaway mill girl, then you would be right,' she said with a smile.
'I understood . . .'
'That is what your friend assumed, and I did not see why I should tell him my life story. It was hardly his business.'
'So your story is . . . ?'
'Not one that I wish to tell you.'
I frowned.
'There is no need to look like that. Just take it that I have good reasons for being what I am. As for the rest, you have seen how I stand and walk and converse and eat and drink. Do you have any fault?'
'Absolutely none.'
