“Monsieur Galliard and Father DeLorme have also decided to visit us this evening,” said Claude as he led Haidée and Renaud down a different flight of stairs. This one was narrow and cramped forcing them to go one by one—first Claude, then Haidée, and then Renaud bringing up the rear. “Monsieur Galliard is a friend of Monsieur Everard. Although Galliard mostly concerns himself with the daily tasks that being a magistrate on this island entails, he does have an honest interest in scientific matters.”
“Galliard is an amateur astronomer?” inquired Renaud.
“Yes. He says he took up the hobby of sky gazing when he had matriculated at the Sorbonne when he was a younger man. I’m sure he will tell you all about it during dinner.”
“And is this Father DeLorme also another astronomy enthusiast?” asked Haidée.
“Are you worried that the dinner conversation will bore you?” said Renaud.
“On the contrary,” she replied coolly. “I was hoping to learn something of the stars. I know little of the constellations.”
“Well said, although I’ll have to admit that most of the old bachelors in this observatory would find it a daunting task to teach a beautiful young woman such as yourself,” Claude replied. He turned back briefly to grin at her.
“Ah, Monsieur, you flatter me,” she said coyly.
Renaud gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t be fooled by her pretty eyelashes, my friend. I bet she’s probably a hundred and five under that powdered mask.”
At the bottom of the stairs, she gave a quarter turn before raising her chin and glaring. “It is no laughing matter to joke about a lady’s age, Jacques Renaud.”
He was smiling in vicious pleasure when he said, “My name is Jacot Renaud, Mademoiselle. And I hope you don’t forget it. Unless your aging memory fails you again?”
“Pardon me, but by the way you pronounce your own name, any reasonable person would be mistaken.”
Claude shook his head. “The dinner hall is this way.”
The dining hall was long, thin, and high. A table of polished cherry stood at the center, set with silverware, wine glasses, and white porcelain dishware decorated with painted rosebuds. A chandelier of iron and crystal hung suspended over their heads from an arched ceiling buttressed by fat, plain columns. At the end on the room was an enormous window paneled with a multitude of square glass, each pane no bigger than a handkerchief. The light thrown by the wall sconces and the chandelier reflected off the glass making them appear opaque, obscuring anything that might be seen outside.
Claude directed Haidée and Renaud to their seats. Already at the table were several men who hastily stood to introduce themselves. Leonard Everard, a rather tall but plump man with a meticulously curled wig and a faintly stripped brown waistcoat with square buttons, was the first to greet them. Renaud received a hearty clasp of the hands and an exclamation of surprise that he had arrived one month earlier than had been expected. Haidée received an impersonal, yet polite greeting with the comment from Everard hoping that the accommodations were adequate despite that fact that the observatory was not an inn.
Haidée noticed that the other astronomers, who tried their best to ignore her, were watching Renaud with ill-concealed malcontent. She had had little contact with the scientific elite—most of them considered the theatre a waste of time—but she had heard that intellectuals were often egotistical and too sure of themselves. Everyone else who worked in their own fields were often regarded as rivals of the utmost echelon. There were four of them, and they clustered near the far end of the table closest to the window. Edouard Garnier was a rather short, red-faced man with graying hair. She judged that he was probably still a few fingers shorter than she, even if she was not wearing any shoes. Garnier also had the odd habit of scrunching up his face whenever he was talking.
Raymond D’Aubigne was thin and bespectacled. His hair was the color of flax and he wore several fobs and a pocket watch on his waistcoat. He made an obscure joke about telescopes and the “coefficient of expansion” that made all the men laugh. Haidée frowned, sure that it was a dirty joke even when the mechanics of it completely flew over her head. Laurent Roland, if it was even possible, was thinner than D’Aubigne, and truly appeared to be one hundred and five. The old man walked hunched over and bore a wooden cane. His wig was ill-fitting and his skin appeared so papery that it looked like he could blow over at any moment. Xavier Legard was rather robust and appeared to be the leader of the group with his brash gestures and his flamboyant tongue. Legard reminded Haidée of some of the actors that she had worked with in Paris who specialized in playing dark-haired villains with swarthy complexions.
There was another astronomer who also worked at the observatory named Paul Ninon. However, he almost never came to dinner with the rest of the astronomers as he was married and owned a small cottage with his wife Josette in the village. Haidée thought it too bad that the Ninons were not attending the dinner—at least then there would have been another woman to talk to aside from the observatory servants, a maid she had glimpsed while walking to the dining hall and the cook.
The two other guests at the dinner, however, did not wear wigs. Father DeLorme was perhaps in his fifties, but he managed to cut a dashing figure in his entirely black frock and a shock of silver hair that looked like it had been mused by the wind outside just a moment ago. His eyes were a clear gray and he smiled congenially invoking blessings from God as he personally greeted Haidée and Renaud. The magistrate of Mont Saint Filan also seemed to deviate from Haidée’s mental image of local politicians. Merle Galliard wasn’t dour and stout. In fact, he looked like one of those young dandies who often hung about the backstage dressing rooms, hoping that one of the actresses would bestow her favors on one of them. If appearances were anything to judge by, Haidée figured that he probably only graduated from the Sorbonne a few years ago. With his shining brown hair and a mysterious scar on his cheek, Haidée fancied him quite dashing.
When she was introduced to Galliard, he made a gallant gesture of sweeping her hand up for a kiss before pulling the chair out for her. “I’m enchanted to meet you, Mademoiselle Avenall. You brighten up an otherwise dreary affair with us old cranks.”
“You are certainly not old,” she replied smiling. “You couldn’t possibly be older than a few years out of university.”
“You are correct, Mademoiselle, if those few years equals a decade and a half,” he replied.
As everyone was seated and Claude and the maid, a rather mousey looking girl named Colette, began to serve out the first course, Father DeLorme tapped his glass with a spoon. “I would suggest that we say grace before our meal, shall we?”
“Oh. Hm. All right,” said Everard reluctantly.
“What if we don’t believe in God?” Legard said loudly. His fellow astronomers nodded.
The rest of the dinner guests were silent. Galliard’s mouth was hanging open as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Haidée slanted a glance at Renaud. He seemed impassive.
“We’re atheists,” Roland explained in a rheumy tenor.
Everard gave an embarrassed cough. “Father DeLorme will do the blessing. I don’t see how that would hurt regardless of your beliefs.”
Roland subsided back into his chair. “Well, you have a point. I don’t see how a blessing will hurt out digestion.”
Legard wasn’t appeased. “Well, it will hurt my digestion. I do not wish to be subjected to something that is idiotic and superstitious. I’m going to take dinner in my room.” The man got up, scrapping his chair along the floor in an agonizing screech, and then flounced out of the room.
When he was gone, Everard said, “My apologies, Father. Monsieur Legard has been out of sorts lately. Problems with his current research as I understand it.”
The priest nodded sagely. “I will pray for him then. Hopefully his humors will align themselves back into accordance with the natural laws soon enough. The Lord loves all of his flock, be they amiable or in need of some guidance. I have noticed that Monsieur Legard has never attended any of my Sunday services. Perhaps you can prevail upon him to try at least once.”
The head astronomer reluctantly shook his head. “Xavier is a hot-headed man. It is his personality, you see. He would take any suggestion the wrong way.”
“I see. Well then.” Father DeLorme folded his hands on the table serenely. “Let us proceed in asking for the Lord’s blessing for the meal tonight.”