LS 10

Chapter 10

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

The window that was half-open and had clearly been used as an entrance, despite the perfectly functional door right beside it.

The fallen curtains moved gently over his broad shoulders like rippling waves.

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

“Come over here right now, Xavier.”

“The air feels nice. And it’s not raining.”

Dolores approached angrily, grabbed the curtain, and yanked it aside.

“I have no intention of getting into trouble because of you. Not anymore…”

“I promised the guys outside.”

Dolores froze.

She opened the curtain again.

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

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 slightly at the bottom and arrogantly smoking a pipe was Dorian.

And the woman standing in front of him, dressed in a party dress 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 ran his hand over the back of Dolores’s head.

At the sudden touch, the small of Dolores’s back stiffened.

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

Dolores took half a step back and pressed a hand against her forehead.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“What did I do?”

“Do you have no conscience?”

“I’d look for one if I had the time. But I don’t. 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 plenty of time to listen to it. But Clody doesn’t. If you don’t give her a proper final farewell, she’ll resent you. She came all the way here.”

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 shadows of the carriage some distance away, waved back.

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

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

The newly opened door struck against Dolores’s heart.

It was a kind of trembling that could not be given a name.

“It was truly amazing.”

On the way home with Madame Marguerite, Dolores had repeated the same questions several times.

About the Bransen family.

About the boy who had first engraved that name into her memory.

“Well, the Bransen musical prodigy really was something. Xavier—he’s already quite famous in the musical world. It was my first time hearing him perform, though… I heard that Madame Lu has been looking after him for some time.”

“Xavier.”

“Yes. That boy’s name is Xavier.”

“Xavier Bransen.”

Dolores did not stop walking.

She merely lowered her gaze.

On the white snow that had accumulated overnight and that no one paid any attention to, she traced the name Bransen with her eyes.

Bransen.

Again, Bransen.

“Tell me more. Please.”

After her persistent questioning, Dolores learned that the Bransen family were capitalists who operated an enormous textile factory called Durand de Morton.

She had heard that they had visited Aquigne with plans to expand their business into textile processing and repairs.

They were apparently prominent figures from the large city of Langet.

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 offers from the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance.

“But he didn’t go?”

“I imagine he probably enrolled, but… well… it could simply be because it’s currently vacation season. There must be some other reason.”

Hearing that answer stirred contradictory emotions inside Dolores.

It was a strange experience.

Of course, it made sense that the boy would be admitted early to such a prestigious conservatory.

Yet there was a strange sadness in knowing that, although it was only natural for him, she herself could never do the same.

The Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance could not even be a goal for her.

Her father would never allow it, for one thing.

And the tuition was astronomical.

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

Dolores tried to speak casually, but her voice had lost its strength and sunk low.

“……That’s what talent is, isn’t it?”

“It is talent.”

“……That 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 softly into the snow.

Crunch.

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

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

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

“It’s not like that.”

“Yes, of course.”

“It really isn’t!”

Madame Marguerite quietly suppressed a laugh.

After hesitating for a moment, Dolores asked,

“……Teacher, how do you know so much about the Bransens?”

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

“A connection?”

“There’s a famous artistic hall in Langet called Saint-Germain. It belongs to the Bransen family. They actually run it themselves. I performed there several times in the past. They were people who respected the souls of artists, like the Carong family. They could certainly be demanding, but most patrons consider being demanding a virtue.”

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

“You probably have.”

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

Madame 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 record, but that isn’t all there is to life. You probably don’t understand what I mean yet, but…”

Just as her teacher said, Dolores barely heard the rest.

The sound of the boy’s violin filled her heart as she walked through the snow.

She did not even feel the cold that winter.

The memory of that salon gathering at the residence of an Aquigne notable that she had happened to attend that day ended as nothing more than a memory.

Nothing seemed to have changed.

Dolores continued attending the parish school during the day, and every Monday and Wednesday she continued sneaking to Madame Marguerite’s house without her father knowing.

Snow fell several more times.

The wind grew increasingly fierce.

But even that remained bearable.

Yet it wasn’t true that nothing had changed.

Dolores had changed.

Her feelings toward dance had become a little more sincere.

She tried to remain en pointe longer than before.

She repeated each movement one more time than she had previously.

Even after the music ended, she would replay the choreography in her mind and practice it again.

She was certainly not a 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—

Plié.

Her arms moved like a swan—

Port de bras.

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

Forward.

Two turns.

Her arms spread wide.

Then she leapt lightly and lifted her gaze.

When she danced until she was drenched in sweat, Dolores would sometimes imagine the boy standing somewhere far beyond her reach.

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

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Like a quiet echo.

The second coincidence came a month later.

It arrived without warning, like a devil at a crossroads.

Aquigne was a city situated where two small waterways converged.

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

It was the time of year when all of Bellof became excited for Saint Philip’s Day.

During the day, a small festival was held in honor of Saint Philip.

Then, from early evening until the depths of night, the festivities continued as a nighttime arts festival.

The people of Aquigne played music, recited poetry, and sometimes simply took one another’s hands and danced for no reason at all.

During the year Dolores had first come to Aquigne, she had once seen the scene from afar.

Very far away.

The reason was obvious and painfully uninteresting.

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