No reason to rush things. Might as well rest until the banquet.

For a couple of minutes he paced around the room nervously, trying to pick the best of the options at hand, but just when his mind was finally made up the young man let out a long yawn. He stepped away from the door and looked at the clock on the cupboard. He still had a few hours to rest before the banquet would begin.

“Oh, to hell with sightseeing” he muttered before going to bed.

When one of the servants woke him up later, he was politely informed that the margrave’s party had already begun. Some fifteen minutes (and a dozen of French vulgarisms) later he was ready and the servant lead him to the dining hall.

He could hear the music from afar as they walked along the wide corridors and every once in a while a sudden burst of laughter would fill him with warm feelings of anticipation spoiled only by the thought of duchess Magdalena’s rebuke that surely awaited him for being late. He was her escort, after all. Yet, as he entered the large and beautifully decorated hall filled with merry music, the noise of dozens of conversations and the smell of the finest cuisine, the Frenchman noticed (with some jealousy) that his lady was enjoying herself well enough without his company. She never noticed his arrival.

All of the people present – including himself – were wearing half-masks. Each of the guests had a unique one, while the masks of the servants were black and with no ornamentation. Beautiful ladies in the most fashionable and often nearly scandalous gowns were entertaining or being entertained by rich and elegant lords while the staff scurried to keep everyone’s chalices full. There were plenty of food and probably too much **** on the wide table, one could tell by observing the guests who had lost much of their inhibitions. Maxime raised an eyebrow in surprise as he noticed one of the ladies sitting in some older man’s lap and kissing him passionately, while he groped her breast and bottom quite openly. Two other male guests were leading one buxom maid away from her duties to some private place, as the dark-haired man suspected. The girl seemed unaware of their intentions, but clearly confused whether she should abandon her work or risk making the two guests unhappy. He even thought he saw a priest somewhere in the crowd enjoying the atmosphere… and the atmosphere was certainly not that of piety. “So this is how the rich spend their money” he thought, amused.

Maxime quickly surveyed the area and spotted a gorgeous brunette girl who, he decided, would be his before the night would be over. Her hair was cut rather short, tied in a neat bun, which was quite a fashion statement, and her luscious body was wrapped in little more than a red and black corset and matching stockings… and a colorful half-mask in the shape of a butterfly. Her tantalizing lips were deep red and a small beauty spot on her left cheek accentuated the fairness of her skin. This woman had the look of a spoiled, rich, young noble and this was his very favorite combination of virtues. She was sitting in the lap of a young nobleman who kept bragging about the estates he would inherit once his parents would pass away; she listened but was obviously bored. Unabashed, ‘baron’ Alexandre smiled to her and bowed courteously before taking the seat next to the two.

Things went smoothly: eye contact, some basic pleasantries, a few witty comments, an ‘accidental’ brush of his hand, a bit more personal topic of discussion, a couple of bold compliments, and so on until he had her in the palm of his hand. There was alchemy between them, a sort of magnetism of personalities, therefore – after a while – Maxime and lady Genevieve Lavallee (“A Frenchwoman! What a wonderful coincidence.”) followed the examples of other couples and left the hall in search of some privacy.