Le Prologue- The Prologue

In the West world civilization of the turn of Nineteenth century France, there was a wealthy woman who was unhappily married with a useless, recluse butler and a small, lifeless dog.

Her husband, a failing lawyer who lost most of ten cases, was the reason she was in increasing debt.

So, she decided to write a novel to save her home and luxurious life.

That is what this novel is about.

My useless butler and I write a novel together to save my life and make money.

Nineteenth century France.

Where everyone is supposedly blonde, and women have to wear large dresses that cover their entire body from the neck down.

Where women couldn't do jobs that men could do, and couldn't go places where men could.

In the Eighteen Sixties, when Napoleon was emperor and everyone was so focused on politics that they couldn't see an untidy home before their faces and clean it.

I'm talking about my retarded, useless, shy, nosy, curious, and kind butler.

I don't have inspiration.

After all, what am I supposed to write about in times like these? All I do all day is drink coffee to stay awake, play with my lifeless dog, and let my butker pester me with ludicrous ideas for supper.

No one likes whatever the British might be having for supper tonight. We French don't even like the Britains right now.

After all those ridiculous ideas of the day, I sit in my husband's office thinking of what I could've been. If only I were a man who could toss a woman around, except, I wouldn't.

I could never toss a woman around the way my husband does me, telling me to wait just another case with which he's so positive to win. Instead, he loses, comes home, and then we argue about the bills that are overdue on the table of his office piled up with the amount of cases he's lost.

Plenty.

I wonder where his spark for justice went.

Where did you leave and run off too, Mr. Pierre?

Louis Pierre. My husband, who I intend to leave if he doesn't start making money.

I currently swivel around in my husband's office chair to look through the windows of my mansion.

My life is the equivalent of horse manure and old coffee.

I can't find anything to write about, I have a useless butler, my dog looks like it's not breathing half of the time, and my husband is terrible at his job.

Not just bad, but so completely terrible that it's laughable.

I stand to open the windows just as a breeze rustles the trees.

I sigh, swiveling back to the office table as there is a swift knock and opening of the door.

My butler, Henri is there.

"Mistress, there is someone who wishes to see you."

I stand. "Who might that be?"

"Mr. Charles." Henri says, displaying my empty dog from behind his back.

"Mr. Charles." I say, my tone flat and face plain.

Henri brings the dog to me and it makes a small whimper. I take the dog into my arms, and pet it softly.

"And when will my husband return home from work?" I ask.

"Master Louis should be arriving in an hour."

"Have supper prepared by then."

"What would the Mistress like for supper?"

"Soup."

"What specific-"

"I don't have time for this, Henri. Make a regular potato soup, with potatos and meat! Now get out!"

Henri makes haste out of the door, and I wait a few seconds before I frantically close the window and curtains and fix everything out of place.

It is a secret I'd like to keep, and it will he kept.

I peek out of the brown drapes and look around.

Nice, my failure of a husband is not home yet. I have an hour to do whatever I please for the rest of the day.

That means, drinking.

Not to drink myself out of knowledge, but to tip myself almost over the edge.

I shall, and always forever, have a lousy life and love, until the day Death stops his carriage for me to get in.

And get on, I happily will.

I did not stop for Death, and so he did for me.

Make way for the French mistress that gets exactly what she wants.