Flowers on Stone

By Nora E. Milner

It is 1879, and a great dream is about to come true for France. It has been decided that a canal should be built between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans in Panama. No one is more excited about the adventure than Charles de Corneau, a handsome, upper-class engineer who has no idea of the world he is about to be thrown into in just a few months. But first, he must somehow attempt to tame his wild desires for Monique de Chesgne, the beauty who has unwittingly drawn him into her soul.

After finally winning the battle for her affections, Charles marries Monique, who naively follows him to Panama, where neither has any idea of the challenges they are about to encounter. Driven by the rapture of their passionate, unbridled love, Charles and Monique happily begin their new life together during construction of the canal—unaware that a mysterious rogue hides in the shadows, waiting to satisfy his desires and conquer Monique.

In this vivid historical tale, those who have sacrificed so much to help build a monumental canal must summon the greatest courage to survive overwhelming peril and loss—and surrender to the love that will ultimately decide their destinies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475967708

Nora E. Milner

Nora E. Milner earned a BA in international relations from California State University at Sacramento, a JD from the University of Denver School of Law, and two other advanced law degrees. She served in the US Navy before leaving to start a private law practice. Nora lives with her husband, dogs, and horses in the San Diego foothills. This is her second book.

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Copyright © 2013 by Nora E. Milner.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-6769-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6771-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6770-8 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 2/22/2013

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About the Author

In Loving Memory of My Mother, Eleonora Adriana McGuigan Corneau de Payne, for all she was and will always be to me.

-nem

Prologue

T HE SNAKE WATCHED him, knowing instinctively that something was wrong with the bundle of flesh that lay not far away. After all, it didn’t move. As nature had planned, the constrictor would be able to approach the feeble creature and swiftly wrap itself around the animal. Once fully engulfed by the snake, the creature would soon lose whatever breath remained in its body and would die, later to be consumed at the snake’s leisure. The snake moved slowly, determined to reach the injured prey not far away.

Water dripped from the big hibiscus flowers above his head, sweet drops, really, of fine rain. No longer the torrent that he had come to know so well in this land, this miserable hell-hole to which he had come, carrying his bag of dreams. As he looked up, the flowers, bent down with water, leaked their moisture into his mouth, into his eyes, down his cheeks. He lay there, unable to move. He knew he was hurt, he just didn’t know where or how much; his entire body ached so much. Trying to move his right leg slightly, it became obvious that it was broken somewhere, the pain was so intolerable. He looked up into the sky, now beginning to go dusk with the end of the day approaching. His mind wandered back to the years that had been filled with promises, so many of them now broken.

He tried to remember how he got here. He closed his eyes, recalling not only this day but others that had been full of pain, loss and agony. But there had been other days, well before these, that had indeed been sweet, happy and full of promise. The torrent of rain that had hit him today had come from nowhere, just like so many of the outbreaks of anger that nature seemed to continue to heap upon him and those nearby. Generally with no warning, the sky seemed to open up, furious, sending rivers of water sliding down barren hills, stripped by the men and their machines. With a sound that seemed like demons screaming from below, the hills would lose their stability, dirt would wash away and men and machines and everything else with it. He remembered those nightmares, looking back over his shoulder, just in time to see the wall of water heading toward him, men shouting and waving arms in useless resistance. Nothing ever stopped the fury of the water when it came from the sky. God, would it ever end? Did it even matter anymore?

He couldn’t think like that. If he did, it would all have been in vain, everything that he and the others, men and women alike, had given up to be here. There had to be a reason, a purpose for all the sacrifices that had been made thus far. If not, then he and the others were part of a big, sad joke, played on them all.

He shook his head, trying to return to the present, to the reality of where he was, and that was when he saw the snake, slithering toward him. He had heard of these snakes before; he knew what they would do to injured, helpless animals. He had to get up, somehow. But his legs would not move. His body would not respond to the message his brain was screaming out to his limbs. Get up! Run!

He tried, desperate to move even a little, to cause the snake to rethink its plan. As he did, the pain engulfed him, erasing any effort his body might make to get up again. His mind reeled and, suddenly, without warning, he felt himself being washed away again, falling, falling down into a deep hole. The ground gave way and he went with it below into a ravine. Crumpled, aching, he lay there. Moving his head to the right, he could see that he had slid down the hill, now a substantial distance from where he had been. There was no sight of the snake, at least for now.

He laid his head back, feeling the dripping again of the light rain from the plants just above his head. The rain. It tasted so different here. He closed his eyes again and his mind drifted back to another time, another rainy day…

Chapter 1

T HE RAIN LOST itself along the cobblestone streets and down into the gutters as Charles hurried home, energy unbridled and almost unaware of the water filling his top boots. It was simply too wonderful to be true! He took steps that normally would have left him off balance. But today, he could not hurry enough.

Late April in Paris was normally a sunny, kind time of year, trees in full bloom and flowers along the boulevards dressed for coming summer days. It had rained on and off for the past few days, but today it seemed that Charles was not even aware of his surroundings. The world was changing! So much had happened at the Societe de Geographie today. The thoughts of it all filled his head with comings and goings of the future ahead. And, think, he, Charles, would be a part, an important part, of it all!

As he turned the corner onto the Rue de Madeline, he looked up for the first time, aware that he had been so distracted. He had been in such a hurry to get home that he had decided to walk rather than wait for the carriage to arrive. There, at #113 stood the city apartment of the family de Corneau, filled with Persian rugs, fine Louis XV furniture and exquisite art objects. And always the house smelled of good food. Even now, late in the afternoon, Charles could recall earlier days as a child arriving home to the pungent aroma of meats and soups that the servants would have cooking on the stoves.

The family had several homes, but the city apartment was where they lived during Charles’ school days and his father’s flourishing business deals which generally took them through the fall and winter to early summer.

Opening the door, he realized for the first time that his boots were full of water and that his umbrella had hardly kept out much of the rain. He shook himself and emptied his boots, much to the keen displeasure of Charlotte, the family’s downstairs maid and chief cook. She had always taken a rather dim view of the children’s activities in the house, especially disliking any dirt on their valuable rugs. Of course, today was no exception, as she scolded Charles as if he were still ten years old.

Monsieur Charles! You know you should not get these rugs so wet! You are totally soaked! Upstairs with you and get into something dry at once!

No time, Charlotte. Where is Mama?

Upstairs in the drawing room. I believe Mademoiselle Charbonne is still with her. They are having afternoon tea and I’m sure that they will be some time still.

No time to wait, he called back to her as he took the steps, two at a time, looking back just long enough to see Charlotte shake her head in disgust and reach down to pick up the soggy baggage that he had deposited at the front door.

Almost unaware of his wet condition, Charles knocked on the door, but did not wait for a response. Bursting in upon his mother and her company, he stood there waiting for them to look up and stop their conversation.

His mother looked up, somewhat chagrined at her son who had entered unannounced, seeming to have forgotten his manners. Charles! What a nice surprise! You know Mademoiselle Charbonne, of course.

Barely acknowledging the elderly woman’s presence, Charles nodded and started talking at a fast clip about the day’s events. He wanted so much for her to know how he felt, to share his excitement. However, it became immediately clear that the two women were still in somewhat of a daze about his curt entrance and were unprepared for anything of substance he had to say.

Realizing the two women were not even listening to him, Charles said in an exasperated tone, Mama, please excuse me, forget it, stuttering and turning on his heels to leave the room as quickly as he had entered. No matter, he said to himself, he would have all evening to tell his parents about today’s events. They were events that would surely change the world, and he, Charles, would be standing at the helm of it all. Well, almost, of course only his true hero, Ferdinand de Lesseps, would be at the helm. But Charles would surely be his right hand man.

Charles went into his room and began to change into something dry, pouring himself a brandy from his dresser and looking out onto the Paris of late afternoon that was hurrying home at day’s end.. The city below, with its tree-lined streets and abundant flowers, seemed to reach out and caress each passerby. Shopkeepers, police, students, all filled the streets, each on his own secret mission. The rain had subsided somewhat and the clean, fresh air that always lingers temporarily swept away the dust of the city. It was now the Paris of the late 1800’s. A new decade had heralded in wonderful, exciting news for the country that was just coming out from cataclysmic seizures of war.

The events had been tumultuous for France. Emperor Napoleon III had declared himself dictator of the Second Empire in a sudden coup d’etat in the 1850’s. With great pomp, he proudly announced that France was now entering a new, golden age, one in which she would shape much of the world. It was during these years that the Suez Canal had become a reality. Charles grew up hearing the vivid, rich stories of the canal and the colorful figure that was Ferdinand de Lesseps, the man who took France by storm. On November 17, 1869, the day of the inaugural ceremonies of the Suez Canal, a fevered fourteen year old Charles had stood near his father waving small French flags from his family’s balcony as the crowds below gathered in the streets in joyous proclamation of the victorious de Lesseps and his canal that so many had said could not be built.

From the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war, to the devastating fury of 1870 when Napoleon III finally surrendered, France held on, hardly knowing where the years, which had previously been so gracious, would leave her. As it was, the war had ended in January and a beleaguered citizenry struggled back to its feet. Charles’ family businesses had thrived during the war, providing food for the soldiers and bankrolling the war effort, in general. But much of France had paid a dear price and had survived only by sheer will power.

The defeat had been overwhelming. Insult was added to injury as the victorious Germans marched down the Champs Elysees while Frenchmen everywhere stood in tears and despair. In the spring, however, reeling from the humiliation of the German entrance into their beloved city, the new Third Republic emerged and the French gathered themselves and refueled their spirits. Strength to not only survive but conquer again surfaced as Napoleon III and Baron Huassman began a new construction project to rebuild France. From the old rubble came a new age of grandeur for France—she would rise again!

One of the lessons that France had learned was that the world had indeed grown smaller. Geography, once a dull subject drilled into a student’s head by a determined schoolmaster, now was in vogue. New groups dedicated to the study of geography had sprung up everywhere. Geography was now fashionable as such men as Jules Verne attended the Societe occasionally to read and study in the library. Charles had heard of his visits there and yearned to become a man of such caliber. Charles had become an avid reader of many types of books during these years, among them geography and several new philosophical treatises written by men who believed they had been chosen to lead the country to a new and brighter future. Comprised of professionals from the fields of science, industry and art, these zealots were dedicated in a manner of a religious order to constructing railroads, highways and other public structures. It was just this type of philosophy that had been the building block of the Suez Canal. Charles had grown through these years and felt that he too would be among those chosen to be a part of the next world adventure in engineering led by men like himself who were well schooled, idealistic and disciplined in the rigors of engineering at the finest school in Europe, the state-run Ecole Polytechnique.

Charles plopped down into the divan and, resting his feet on the stool in front of him, closed his eyes to reflect upon the events of the past few days. In his mind’s eye, he relived all that had happened today. He had been there, in the audience just a few rows back from the delegates who had gathered from around the world to hear his mentor, de Lesseps, talk enthusiastically about the project which would link two great oceans and cut traveling time for ships around the Horn to less than half.

That day, May 15, 1879, had been a glorious day for Charles and all of France. Charles had taken a seat, heart pounding and anticipation running wild. He had heard many discussions about the project. Just to be in the grand salon with such dignitaries and visionaries was overwhelming. To his young mind there were absolutely no boundaries that could not be conquered with determination. What was it de Lesseps was so fond of saying? They never achieve anything who do not believe in success. How grand! How simple, yet so true. With these words stamped in his mind, Charles had listened to the oratories and commentaries about the world which lay across the Atlantic from France. A world that was waiting to be conquered by the French!

Charles had seen many beautiful women in the audience that day, ladies who came to be seen. After all, it was THE place to be. He had been standing near Augustine that day, dressed in her tight fitting gown and opulent feathered hat. She was petite, almost overwhelmed by the crowd and the bustling men around her. She had motioned for him to come over, gushing with what Charles considered feminine twitter. Putting her arm through his, she leaned toward his face, kissing him slightly on the mouth.

Hello, Charles, I knew you’d be here today. The words slid across those full lips like honey, spoken with an invitation for more. I have missed you, she purred. Do come by the house soon and renew our, ah, ‘friendship’.

Charles had looked into those deep green eyes and let his own stray down to her breasts that were accentuated by her dress. He knew those breasts well. Although generally small, they were sweet as berries and he had often tasted them. The rest of her body was a keen adventure for Charles, and, as he fully knew, for many of the other men in the area, as well. He wasn’t deluded that Augustine was just his; he knew better. But, it didn’t matter anyway. He had other goals in mind and he fully knew that his parents, particularly his mother, would never accept someone like Augustine as his wife.

He remembered staring at her breasts today. The dress she wore invited such admiration. It was cut low and tight, the style of the day. She often wore the scent of lilac-perfumed water; somewhere on her body today it lingered, lusty and feminine. If it had not been a day of more important things, he would certainly have considered setting a time to renew that friendship. But today history was being made and there was little time for play, even with one so available.

That Charles could submerge his strong masculine desire to rove careless fingers across the tiny gold buttons that stood watch all along Augustine’s bosom was a testament to his firm schooling and consistent discipline. From the time that he had decided to become an engineer, he had dreamed of entering the elite Polytechnique. Just to be accepted was an honor that all men of his caliber sought. He had passed the entrance exams with ease and knew from the moment that he walked through the gray stone doorways of the school on the Rue Descartes that he had embarked upon a supreme adventure. Even though he had a unique talent for the arts, handling a paintbrush and charcoal with ease, art was nothing more than a pastime for him, one that certainly could not be a career.

Charles had donned the blue uniform of the school and reveled in its rigid rules. While others balked at the military rules of the Polytechnique, Charles had taken immediately to them. The school was actually more like a military academy and was devoted entirely to the study of the pure sciences. The curriculum taught was based upon the classical studies. The mathematical education provided was the most advanced in the world. Charles had studied hard and only occasionally let himself go to the more worldly pleasures. Among them had been Augustine and her friend, Brigette. Parties at their country manors were splendid and memorable for a young, bright and wealthy man like Charles. There, at their estates, he had ridden with friends on splendid horses and tasted the sweetest wines of the countryside. Week-ends like these were filled with endless pleasures that Charles engaged in only sporadically. There was simply little time for such adventures and often not nearly enough energy.

When Charles had graduated at the top of his class, the world seemingly lay at his feet. As the highest-ranking student of his class, he was expected to go on to the Ponts et Chaussees, where all the principles taught at the Polytechnique were put into action. Here the engineers would become the builders for the state, creating its bridges, highways and other structures. They would also become the officials for the state-run railroad.

Charles had been working at the Ponts et Chausses and continuing his professional treatises at the Polytechnique when the news about the canal had become common talk. He, like the other engineers who frequented the Societe, took the project to heart and became determined to embark with de Lesseps on the grand adventure.

A knock on the door stirred Charles out of his reverie. Monsieur Charles, dinner is served. Henri, the butler, opened the door slightly and, seeing Charles already dressed in dinner jacket, stepped aside while Charles came through on his way to the salon.

Ah, there you are Charles, darling, his mother called from the hallway and motioned for a kiss from her eldest son. Charles took her arm and escorted her to the dining room. As he held out a chair for her to sit, leaning over and leaving his usual cursory kiss on his mother’s cheek, he murmured, Sorry about this afternoon, bursting in on you and Mademoiselle Charbonne. I just wanted to tell you about today.

Well, yes, darling. Now what was so important? Poor Mademoiselle Charbonne, she is having trouble again with her brother, you know, the new Eleve-Consul. Such an impudent man. Awfully arrogant and so blustery and never seems to leave even the slightest time for his poor, older sister. The Charbonne family has this lovely country manor and he is supposed to share the servants and income with his sister. But you know, he has these parties and leaves the poor dear up in her room, absolutely unattended to. And …

Her voice trailed off as she looked up to see Charles studying some papers on the table, totally absorbed in his own thoughts, obviously having heard nothing she said.

Papa! Charles stood up from his chair as his father, Claude, entered and took his seat at the table. He motioned for Charles to resume his place and waved a kiss in the air to his wife, seated at the other end of the table. Henri entered and began to serve the dinner of meats, potatoes and bread. He took the silver goblets on the table and filled them with the warm, red wine of the French valleys.

Claude took a few sips of the wine and savored the flavor. As he put down his glass, he looked at his son, fully aware that he was anxious to discuss the new canal project.

Charles, your mother tells me that you have something important to share with us. He teased his son slightly, fully aware of Charles’ activities and already one step ahead of him. He admired his son greatly and was justly proud of him. But he also knew that Charles was a dreamer and highly idealistic, just the kind of man de Lesseps was anxious to recruit. He also knew that Charles had now latched on to this great dream of de Lesseps.

Although he had shared in the riches of the prior investment in the Suez, he didn’t really trust the silver-haired genius that was de Lesseps and he felt an instinctive uneasiness about this project. He feared for Charles. He, unlike Charles, had heard more about this Panama that worried him. He had heard the stories of men who went there and tried to conquer the jungle, only to die or come out living skeletons, racked with disease and often out of their minds. This dream had a sordid ending, he feared. But, now watching Charles’ beaming face and passion, he found his heart breaking for his son because he knew that no matter what he could say, there would ultimately be no stopping Charles. He would, indeed, join the company for the great adventure in Panama.

Claude was a wealthy merchant whose family had carved out a financial empire in banking and trading with the Orient and America. Still a handsome man at fifty with his graying temples and slim waist, he caused more than one female eye to turn as he passed on the streets. From his father Charles had not only been the recipient of good looks, but a keen mind and a stern disciplined nature.

Why, yes, Papa. I’ve been attending the Congres International de Canal Interoceanique this past week at the Societe, as you know. Today the most astounding decision was announced. Monsieur de Lesseps, after consulting with all the great minds on the subject, has decided that the canal shall be built through Panama. He’ll spearhead the project to raise the necessary funds, and, well, I was hoping that you would agree to meet with him regarding the best way to go about it.

Claude had been an investor in the Suez Canal project, along with other men of his position. He, like them, had profited royally when the canal came to fruition. The much-admired de Lesseps had contacted such men as Claude to garner the revenue and in the process had become somewhat of a political genius and ally to Mohammed Said, the new ruler of Egypt. Claude had on one occasion met the fat ruler who liked to hear French stories and drink to the punch lines. Claude’s business had profited by this contact, as had his family’s banking enterprises.

Charles, you know I’m aware of what Monsieur de Lesseps has proposed. I’ll give it some thought and will be happy to meet with him at the earliest time possible. However, I went to the Salon de Tourney today and had a drink with several of the men from the Societe. It seems that there may be a great deal of trouble raising such massive funds.

Well, Papa, that may be. But, of course, no man of true vision could deny the potential of this project. Why, even having a small piece of the action would be worth the risk.

Claude smiled and took a long sip of his wine. He sighed deeply before he spoke. He wanted to share his son’s enthusiasm, but something troubled him. He didn’t know what, just perhaps that this project seemed too vague, too grand for his blood. Charles stared at his father, waiting for his show of support.

Finally, Claude spoke. Okay, Charles. I promise you I will meet with Monsieur de Lesseps at the first opportunity. Just keep your eyes on your work here in France. We need you here, not off in some distant country that none of us knows anything about. Don’t put your head in the clouds about this project. There is much we just don’t know about it yet. I know we did extremely well with the Suez, but this Panama, it just doesn’t sound the same to me. Thank heaven you have a good background in something substantial as engineering for that will save you from drifting too much off the ground. He tried to make light of what had now become a serious subject.

But, Papa,… Charles continued.

Okay, Charles, Claude interrupted. I’ve already made some inquiries into the matter and funds will probably not be far off from what Monsieur de Lesseps needs to complete the project. He wanted to end this conversation, particularly at the dinner table with his wife there. She normally didn’t mind much that they spoke of business at dinner. But he knew full well what this meant; that Charles intended to leave France as soon as possible in the first enlistment for Panama. He knew his wife would be hysterical, unable to understand that her much-adored son would leave her to go off on some ridiculous plan, and, for what? Now, at this moment, he just wanted to derail this conversation as quickly as possible.

Charles looked over the rim of his glass and laughed at his father’s initiation into a project on which thought he would have to sell him. He should have known that someone as astute as his father would be one of the first to join in the endeavor. Charles wanted to tell them that he planned to join the team to go to Panama soon.

Papa, I was too young to take a part in the building of the Suez Canal. But I want to be a part of this canal. I see it as the next world wonder and I just can’t miss being there. I know that my work at the Ponts is important, but there will be lines swelling the ranks to go to Panama and I want to be at the head of the line!

But, Charles, darling, his mother finally interjected. I have heard that Panama is absolutely dreadful, a horrible place for anyone to go.

Mama, I can’t spend the rest of my life in these safe, sterile offices in Paris building yet another highway for France when she calls me to my greatest work! I want be like my other countrymen, called to the grand adventure, a ‘ soldier under fire’ for my country! Isn’t that what it’s all about, all this education and training? Charles’ eyes lit up at his pronouncement and he fairly went rigid with pride just thinking about it all.

Charles, I understand that you think this is all grand, but our money will help put the work into action. Should I also send my eldest son and special one to such a far off land full of animals that, well, swallow ships whole!

Oh, Mama, laughed Charles. You sound positively medieval! You know such stories are made up by silly women in drawing rooms when they have little else to talk about.

Well, I still think that you should continue your work here and not chance such a risky endeavor so far from home. Elisabeth, Charles’ mother, was a beautiful woman of forty-two who loved her eldest son dearly and tried to pamper him. She looked at him now with deep concern and feared that the world would take him far from her.

’Lisbeth, my pet, we don’t have to settle Charles’ future right here and now. He’s a bright young man and I think that we’ll have time enough to discuss this project in greater detail. Besides, he has to serve his required time at the Ponts and I have considered putting his name on a new project for the city’s bridge that we are financing. I am told it will take some five years to complete. That will give us all enough time to study this Panama project in more detail.

Charles demurred for the time being to his father’s stern command and took another drink of the sweet, red wine.

Freed from the heavy subject now discussed, Elisabeth took the opportunity to bring up the party being held next month at the country manor of Vicomte de Grivignee. The Vicomte had sent a calling card to ask for the attendance of the family de Corneau to welcome the new Eleve-Consul, his cousin, to his new post. The party would certainly be the place to be in early June when Paris elite took to their country homes to cool off and get away from work.

Charles, I, received an invitation to the home of the Vicomte de Grivignee, you know, the tall, slender man who walks with a cane? His cousin is taking over his post as Eleve-Consul and, as you know, he is the brother of our dear Mademoiselle Charbonne. I’ve heard that it will be quite the grand affair, full of all the best from France, and I was sure that you would accept to join the family there.

Mama, I’m not sure where I’ll be on that day, but I assure you that if I am still in France’s arms, I shall be at the party, he teased, not wanting to disappoint her or return to the subject that really held his interest. He knew his mother would object strenuously once she fully understood that his true intent was to join the initial party on the maiden voyage to Panama. No use bringing it up now. It could wait for another more opportune time.

Wonderful, darling! Elisabeth somewhat pouted at her victory. She was concerned that Charles might resist a party that might prove to be a little tedious. But she wanted to assure herself that her son would be at such an important event. Perhaps Augustine will be there, Charles, hinted his mother, fully aware of the affair.

Perhaps, Mama, murmured Charles and smiled a secret smile.

* * * * *

The next few weeks were full of conversation surrounding the Panama project. The canal was to take twelve years to construct; the French expecting to complete the canal by 1892. The cost of construction was estimated to be 1,070,000,000 francs, a cost almost triple to that of the Suez Canal construction. De Lesseps planned to contact about 270 influential men who, for providing 2,000,000 francs, would receive founders’ shares at a more favorable price. This show of confidence would serve as the building block for the entire financial scheme.

De Lesseps would be forming a financial syndicate to raise the initial capital for the project. Payment was to be half in cash and half in stock in the new company. Lucien Wyse, one of the founders, had mentioned to Claude while dining at the Hotel Continental, overlooking the Tuileries Gardens, that de Lesseps would put him in command of the work for his support of the plan to build the Panama Canal as a sea level project. Wyse, himself a relative of Napoleon Bonaparte, had shown Claude a prospectus which had been prepared by the Compagnie Universelle du Canal Interoceanique de Panama. He further informed Claude that de Lesseps was conducting a tour of France to raise revenue for the project. Claude had brought the prospectus home to study and Charles had seized upon it with fervor, determined not only to invest his cash savings in the project, but to volunteer as one of the engineers who were soon to leave for Panama. Truly, the entire city was bustling with news of the project. Discussions concerning it filled every salon in the city and every country manor that summer.

As May gave way to the splendor of June, the de Corneau family closed its city apartment. Charles joined them in their country home, a beautiful, spacious estate that had been built some fifty years earlier by a cousin of Claude’s.

It was located in central France, in the province of Berri nestled between rich farm lands and cool green forests. The estate had been a special retreat for the family for many years. Even now after coming here for so many years, the entire family never ceased to be enchanted by its eternal beauty. The green forests and never ending seas of blooming fields greeted the visitor with constant charm. In the summer months, olive and almond orchards not only grew their special gifts, but lent their branches for cool shade. Fragrances of rosemary, thyme and the ubiquitous lavender filled the air with a myriad of aromas. Here and there stood small villages that had heralded the Romans upon their arrival to France and remained standing long after their departure.

Charles still joined the family in the summer at the estate because some of his work could be done in the spacious, well-lighted study. He only occasionally needed to commute to the city to deliver his graphs, charts and drafts. Elise, his sister of twelve and Jordan, his brother, fifteen, would go ahead with the family and Charles would join them in the middle of the month.

Alighting from the carriage, Charles gave his suitcase to the valet and took his top hat in hand. His mother greeted him at the door of the manor with their maid, Charlotte, who growled, once again watching to see if Charles dragged any dirt into the house from his journey. She had been with the family so long that no one, not even Charles, was bothered by her grumbling. But it was his mother with her charm and never-ending devotion