Free Mademoiselle Chanel by C. W. Gortner

my fortunes with a snap of his fingers, but did I want him to? I had no illusions that he might propose; men like him did not take girls like me for a wife. And while becoming his mistress would resolve my financial difficulties, could he make me happy?
    I evaded my own conflicted emotions, never asking him to state clearly his intent. After nearly two years of working in Moulins, I decided staying was pointless. Adrienne and I had to make a change, and after much cajoling, I persuaded her to move with me to Vichy, where we would rent a room and find work in the more sophisticated cafés of that city. We had experience now, I argued; surely, that counted for something. She was reluctant until Balsan assured her that he thought it was a delightful idea and he would provide us with sufficient means to establish ourselves. Moreover,her besotted baron declared that he would follow her to the ends of the earth and Vichy was hardly that far.
    “But won’t it be like . . . ?” she fretted as I threw our few belongings into our suitcases, after having enjoyed the satisfaction of delivering our notice to Madame G.
    “Like what?” I barely paid attention to her, prying up the floorboard to remove my tin box and counting the money inside, half hoping it might have reproduced on its own.
    “Well, like . . .” She lowered her voice. “Like those women who sell themselves.”
    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you saying that if we accept Balsan’s help, it makes us prostitutes?”
    “Not exactly,” she said, though her troubled expression contradicted her. “Only that, well, it is his money, and if we accept it, it does carry a certain expectation . . .”
    I restrained the impulse to remind her that not long ago she had suggested I might aspire to be a grande cocotte. Now she was worried about accepting assistance from a man we had known for months, with whom I had done nothing improper?
    “It’s not the same thing,” I retorted, for while I thought her fears absurd, her suggestion carried a disquieting truth. “Étienne Balsan is a friend. It’s a loan. We will pay him back.”
    “Louise is very upset,” she went on, gnawing at her lip. “She told me when I went to see her that this move of ours is most ill-advised and Vichy is no place for us to be on our own. She said if we are so unhappy here, we should move to Varennes to live with her.”
    “And do what?” I banged my tin on the floor, making Adrienne flinch. “Help her decorate those silly hats and tend to the goat? Honestly, Adrienne. You’ve a baron in love with you and me at your side. If you want to go to Varennes, do so. But I am going to Vichy—with or without you.”
    Her eyes filled with tears. I had to hold her in my arms as she snuffled and choked out between sobs that not everyone had my courage, and sometimes I could be a perfect brute.
    “I know,” I said, wondering why I didn’t share this paralyzing fear of independence that she, my sister Julia, and so many other girls felt. “But we’ve been to Vichy before and you can do all the things you do here, and visit Louise, too, as we’ll earn enough to buy the train ticket.”
    “It won’t be the same,” she muttered but she stood by with our valises while I haggled with Madame G. over our final wages.
    Balsan had bought us third-class tickets for Vichy, at my insistence; I didn’t want to accept more charity than necessary. He left for a monthlong visit to Lyons to see his family but promised to come see us once he returned.
    Third class was better than the coach, but we still arrived in Vichy after standing the entire time, the few available seats taken by others. And the room I had rented during a previous trip with Balsan didn’t look nearly as nice as when I’d first seen it. The one lopsided window opened onto an alley swarming with leavings from nearby restaurants; it smelled of damp and garbage, and I had to squash an enormous cockroach under my foot and kick it