Free Mistress of the Revolution by Catherine Delors Page B

sobbing, my head buried in the pillows. Later that day, my mother entered the room, followed by the maid Guillemine and Denise Delrieu, the village midwife. The Delrieu woman was also, according to common rumour, a faiseuse d’anges , an “angel maker,” who would rid distressed females of unborn offspring. She was nicknamed in the Roman language lou Cabanel , the Owl, and considered a witch, or a healer, depending on one’s opinion of her potions. Like all the children in the village, I had kept away from her cottage.
    Startled, I rose. My mother, in her severest voice, ordered me to lie on my bed. I obeyed. Without a word of warning, she raised my skirts up to my waist, caught my knees and spread my legs apart. She ordered the maid to hold my arms above my head. At that time, women did not wear any undergarments under their chemise, and my intimate parts were exposed to the view of the Owl. The crone lit a candle she had taken from the sewing table and approached so close that I felt the heat of the flame between my thighs. I imagined for an instant that she was going to burn me in some witchcraft ritual as a punishment for my misconduct. I cried in horror and tried to rise from the bed, but the maid was holding my arms firmly. The Owl, bending toward me until I felt her head brushing against my skin, examined me and poked at me with the fingers of her free hand. I shuddered at her touch. After a few minutes, she turned to my mother.
    “She’s intact,” said the witch, “fresh as a rose. You needn’t worry, My Lady, she’ll bleed.”
    My mother gave an audible sigh. She dismissed the Owl and left without a second look at me. I rose in haste, sick to my stomach, and rearranged my skirts.
    Of course I knew the purpose of the examination. I wondered what would have happened had Pierre-André’s conduct been less honourable. My engagement to the Baron would certainly have been broken. Yet even that would not have ensured the acceptance of Pierre-André’s offer. It was more likely that both of us would have been subjected to my brother’s wrath.
    That night I did not go down to dinner, nor did anyone ask to see me. Joséphine brought me a tray in my bedroom. She too congratulated me on my good fortune and represented to me all of the advantages of the match. I said nothing, too nauseated to touch the food.
    For the next few days Joséphine continued to bring me my meals. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding in Fontfreyde that I was not to leave my bedroom. Yet before the week was over, a maid came to fetch me. She announced that there was company waiting for me in the drawing room. I thought at first that the Baron had come for a courtship visit and fervently hoped that we would be left alone for a moment. I intended to throw myself at his feet and confess my attachment to another. Perhaps he was not cruel. He might take pity on me and release me from our engagement.
    I was startled to find a little crowd in the drawing room. In addition to my fiancé , I saw my brother, our mother, my sister Madeleine, her husband the Count de Chavagnac, the Chevalier des Huttes, who was a friend of my brother, Monsieur de Laubrac, the Baron’s cousin and heir, and still another man, tall and thin, whom I did not know. All faces were solemn. An uneasy silence greeted me. It was broken when Madeleine walked to me to kiss me and offer her congratulations.
    The Marquis spoke. “Gabrielle, we are gathered here to sign your marriage contract.”
    It was customary in France then, and I believe it still is, for future spouses to enter into a written contract formalizing the mutual promises of marriage and settling in advance all financial matters. It was signed by the spouses-to-be and their parents, and also by other family members and friends who attended as witnesses. All persons of substance entered into such contracts before marrying. No Montserrat had ever wed without one. Yet I had not expected mine to be signed so