Fanchon's Book(2)

"Enough," I murmured weakly.

"Mmm?"

"Rosalba, no. I want you to stop."

Her hands cupped the backs of my knees. "Madame?" She glanced up, imploring, her open mouth still nuzzling with a kind of wistful tenacity. "You-you won't let me?" The veiled voice tickled, teasing the tendrils of my hair like a coquettish zephyr. "You won't let me say good-bye to you?"

"Good-bye? Oh, so that's what you're doing."

"Yes, Madame. You-you don't like it?"

I peered down, all but blushing at the sight of her smeared face. The sheen of her skin-of the perspiring forehead and passion-slicked cheekbones-was hardly less humid than the depths of her misted eyes. She looked positively lewd, and I was sorely tempted to revoke my veto and yield to her shameless ardor.

But I steeled myself. "Of course I like it, you silly girl. But here? In the bathroom? Not exactly the setting for a fond farewell scene, is it?"

"Oh. You're right, Madame. I'm sorry. I should have known better. But it's getting late and I thought maybe… uh… " Her words trailed off despondently.

"Hmm? Tell me."

"Well, I thought maybe I wouldn't get a chance later on. Like this, I mean. The chance to say good-bye to you."

"Like this? Rosalba, is it so important?"

"It-it's the only way I know, Madame. The only way I can show you how I feel."

"You're a darling." I smiled sympathetically, quite flattered by such a charmingly candid testimonial. "But you mustn't waste your caresses on me. You should be saving them for that young man of yours."

"Oh, he'll get his share. Don't worry, I'll make him a good wife. But I'll never forget you, Madame. I'll always be thankful for everything you've done for me."

"So it's gratitude, eh? Is that all?"

She turned her head, pressing a tender cheek against the under curve of my belly. "You know… " Supplicating arms encircled my thighs, clinging in forlorn hope. "Oh Madame, Madame, this will be our last time together."

Her near-tearful plaint struck a chord of commiseration in me. I felt expansive. Benevolent. And a bit condescending too, no doubt, but that was only natural: after all, the girl was still in my employ.

"Our last time. Umm, perhaps not, my dear. We'll see each other again. Surely you'll come and visit me some day, won't you?"

"Madame! You-you really want me to?"

"I'm inviting you." I stroked her disheveled hair indulgently. "And you'll be my guest then, not my servant; I'll even insist on your calling me by name. No more 'Madame'-just your old friend Fanchon."

"Oh… Madame… you're so nice. How can I ever thank you? Yes, I'd love to see you again;" She sneaked a quick kiss, then sniffed querulously. "If only I didn't have to live so far away. But you know I'll come if it's at all possible."

"Fine. I'll be looking forward to it. But enough of this sentimental foolishness before we're both in tears. I have to dress now. Do stand up, Rosalba, your poor knees must be aching."

Slowly, reluctantly, her hands fell away and she sat back on her haunches. "My knees?" A wan grin flitted across her features. "But it's my heart that's aching. Because you didn't let me finish saying goodbye."

"Is that so? Then you'll just have to go on suffering, I'm afraid. Still, we might find time later-if you hurry and help me dress. But I'm not making any promises, mind you."