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“I don’t think you’re ready to practice dancing yet, Mademoiselle Babineau.”

Marie Taglioni looked with concern at Cora entering the practice room. Cora’s face was pale, and her usually serene blue-green eyes looked full of an unidentifiable sorrow.

Two more days had passed since Cora Babineau returned from Nicaea. She had been forced by Beatrice’s insistence to stay in bed for two full days more. In the meantime, Eugène Lacroix had stayed on at the villa with his friends and enjoyed the summer to the fullest. He went yachting and swimming along the Azure Coast, played tennis, and golfed. Sometimes he charmed the kitchen maids with his handsome smile, packed mountains of food and drink, and rode out on horseback for a picnic.

And the boy, she was told, had shaken himself off overnight and was back to doing odd jobs at Villa Efrysia as before. Maya had told Cora this and scolded her again. No matter how much Simon Fournier tried to stop Voclang, he wouldn’t listen.

The butler and other servants who had worked the boy so hard were apparently hesitant to give him tasks now, given how bad his condition had been. Even so, the boy had come out with his lips pressed tight and, as always, cleared waste and hauled food supplies.

Only Georges had mocked him for it. He sneered that the boy had gotten himself into that state by serving a Young Marquis above his station. Then he cackled about how arrogant he must have been to end up like that, and kicked the boy in the back as he was moving cargo.

Cora had listened to Maya’s words with a blank expression, then gathered her pointe shoes and headed to the practice room. Ballet lessons had been suspended for the past ten days. If she kept skipping sessions, it might put Marie Taglioni in a difficult position, having come all the way to Cappera to teach her.

But at Cora Babineau’s gaunt appearance, Marie Taglioni shook her head and refused to hold the lesson. Cora was disappointed by her firm stance, but then she quietly caught the hem of the teacher’s clothes as she moved to leave the hall and held her back.

“Then, Madame, please spend some time with me.”

“Spend time?”

“Yes. I’ve been lying down for so long that I don’t want to go back to my room.”

Marie Taglioni thought for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.

“All right. Then sit here.”

She lowered herself to the floor without hesitation. Then she patted the spot beside her with her palm and called Cora over. Cora sat beside Marie Taglioni, drew up her knees, and tilted her head.

“You know, Madame.”

“……”

“Something you said to me not long after we started lessons.”

“What did I say?”

“That all art must reach the extreme of emotion before it can begin to bud.”

“……”

“You also said that the pinnacle of dance feels not like heaven but like hell.”

Marie’s lips moved at Cora’s words. Then she tucked back the hair that had slipped down her cheek and let out a soft laugh.

“I said all sorts of things, didn’t I.”

Marie Taglioni was not ordinarily the type to ramble on. Back then, she had cornered Cora Babineau in a way she herself couldn’t quite explain.

It had perhaps been because of her fondness for Cora Babineau, or perhaps because of her hatred for Eloise Babineau. She had come to Villa Efrysia with firm resolve, but had gotten too worked up. Had reaching the extreme of emotion made her chatter bud. Marie laughed at herself.

“So, Mademoiselle? What is it you want to say to me?”

“……I am so lonely.”

Cora’s eyes were hollow. Marie Taglioni doubted her own eyes and ears for a moment. Until barely a month ago, Cora Babineau had been full of life. She had looked at her with eager eyes, learning ballet and saying she wanted to be good at it.

But the Cora Babineau who had returned from Nicaea looked somehow emptied out. And yet at the same time, she was full of something. Marie Taglioni started to think about what the source of that change might be, then stopped.

“It feels like standing alone in hell, in a place burned to ruin.”

“……”

“You said that was what it meant to pledge your emotions entirely as collateral.”

“……”

“I think you were right.”

“……”

Marie let out a quiet breath. She had no way of knowing what on earth had happened over the past ten days to make this girl speak of hell.

“What do you want from me, Mademoiselle?”

“For you to keep your promise.”

“A promise?”

“You said to tell you when I came to understand that feeling.”

“……”

“And then you would teach me to dance.”

“I said I would ‘reconsider teaching you,’ not that I would teach you.”

Cora’s shoulders drooped. Marie laughed inwardly at the sight of her deflated.

“Mademoiselle, then tell me about that feeling.”

“Tell you?”

“Now is the right time to turn that ‘reconsideration’ into a ‘definite answer.'”

“……”

“I want to hear what you’re feeling and what you’re going through. I think it would help me a great deal in making my decision.”

“Do you really need to hear it?”

“Yes. As you know, I have a contract with the former Countess Babineau. She doesn’t approve of her granddaughter becoming absorbed in ballet. I had agreed to follow the Madame’s wishes.”

“……”

“But if I’m to go against the former Countess and give you the lessons you want, shouldn’t I also have a reason I can accept?”

Marie Taglioni’s expression, always seeming strict, was softer today than usual. Cora Babineau observed the way the corners of her eyes had gently lowered, then seemed to make up her mind and found her voice. It felt as though Marie’s voice itself was encouraging her.

“At first……”

“……”

“I felt sorry for him.”

“……”

“Then……”

“……”

“I came to respect him.”

“……”

“And I was sad to part.”

“……”

“I missed him.”

“……”

“I was glad to see him.”

“……”

“And now……”

“……”

“My heart hurts so much.”

What had it been like for the daughter of a goddess in myth. Had she longed for her mother, or had she loved a man. No one knows. But Cora Babineau at least knew her own heart. She had found peace in the knowledge that the boy was the one whose firm arms had held her as she thrashed desperately at the water’s edge. The sharp edges of her nerves had melted at the warmth of their bodies pressed together.

The love a young girl had dreamed of was something like playing in heaven. She had believed without question that it was something peaceful, clear, and unchanging. But Cora, fallen in love, was in hell now. She was lost in a fire that was confused, burning, and shifting from moment to moment.

‘I think that depends on your choice, Miss.’

It was a feeling Cora Babineau had chosen. It was a hell that no one but Cora herself had walked into, moving her own legs and finding her own way.

“Is this about Young Marquis Lacroix?”

Marie Taglioni asked, setting aside the curiosity brimming inside her. Of course, she had asked already knowing the answer was no. It was simply her intention to clear the air.

Eugène was the most sought-after bachelor in Lutes, but he was also known by everyone in Lutes as a womanizer. His father Arnaud Lacroix, who was said to be utterly helpless around ballerinas, went without saying. Marriage to a man like that. The gentle Cora was no match for the shrewd young ladies of the capital. On top of that, there was no way Cora could bear Eugène Lacroix’s way with women.

Mathieu Babineau was famously neglectful of his daughter, but it was surprising that Beatrice Babineau, said to adore her granddaughter, was pushing the marriage. If she truly cared for Cora Babineau, she couldn’t fail to see that Eugène Lacroix was wrong for her, and that he would make her unhappy.

“……”

Cora Babineau stayed silent. Marie Taglioni gripped the barre mounted on the wall and pulled herself lightly to her feet. Then she held out her hand to Cora, who was hugging her knees as though protecting herself.

“The day after tomorrow, let’s meet here again.”

“……”

“Until then, eat well, sleep well, and get your strength back.”

“……”

“I won’t be going easy on you from here on out.”