The warm midsummer sun barely begun to set over the dusty Parisian streets when a crowd of all those with means and motive flocked to the nearest sites of entertainment. Already, the clanking of hooves and rumble of wheels could be heard against the pavement before the Grand Théatre as carriage after carriage pulled up to its steps, unloading lovely ladies and neatly dressed gentlemen. Some guests arrived alone, others in groups or pairs, but all sported the best form of evening regalia of the early Empire period. Men strut about like peacocks in their colorful waistcoats and revolutionary three piece suits, gallantly offering their arms to elegant women that fluttered at their side like pastel butterflies. Light muslin gowns clung suggestively to feminine curves, delicately framing exposed cleavages and emphasizing the sway of hips as they advanced towards the building's entrance. The entire scene was reminiscent of an ancient  assembly in front of a Roman temple as the crowd slowly grew in size and sound before its majestic columns.

With the usual clapping of hooves, another carriage pulled up to the marble steps and a lanky lackey hopped off his perch before the vehicle had a chance to come to a full stop. With rehearsed speed of motion, he swept open the side door and straightened himself like a soldier at inspection to welcome the emerging passenger. In stark contrast to the lackey's agitated persona, the man descending from within was in his mid 40s and bore his countenance with the air of an aristocrat. Carefully combed locks of dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard framed his stern yet cultured features. He wore a night blue jacket over a matching suit and breeches, neatly tucked into knee-high leather boots. An ornate sword dangled at his hip with no other purpose than a fancy accessory and a testimony to his noble heritage. He bowed curtly, offering his brief gratitude in words and coin to the expectant driver and proceeded to the opposite side of the carriage.

“Mademoiselle...” He spoke in a low yet pleasant voice, which carried the timbre of his later years, as he took his place before the opening door. A delicate feminine hand reached out from within to take a hold of his arm, extended as a courtesy and support. The aid he so gallantly offered, however, could be no more than a matter of ceremony, for the lady that stepped from the dim interior, despite her grace and elegance, possessed such ease of movement that rendered his services unnecessary.

Her small frame seemed to be of perfect feminine proportion, even if the elevation of her heel compensated for a slight lack of natural height. A light gown of pale lavender veiled her youthful form, giving it the allure of mystery and seductive charm with every motion it concealed. The gentle fabrics flowed like a waterfall from a silken ribbon below her shapely bosom, while the décolletage of her dress hinted at a black laced bodice tightly wrapping the curves beneath. Last rays of the setting sun played with the glitter of her collier and earrings, turning them from silver to gold against a honeyed complexion of her skin. Raven locks curled at her neckline and temples, escaping the confines of numerous pins that meant to hold her hair in a classic bun. Lively eyes of liquid onyx wondered briefly about the scene, surveying the gathering from under inky lashes with reserved curiosity. The girl could have scarcely been in her early twenties, yet she stepped from the carriage and took the arm of her escorting gentleman with all the air and manner of a well bred lady.

Despite the guarded reserve so often attributed to the high society of the period, which composed the majority of those present, several unwilling heads turned to greet the new arrival. A wave of murmurs spread through the assembled crowd as women lowered their melodious voices and whispered conspiratorially to one another in hushed tones, throwing stray glances in her direction. She could only imagine what assortment of reproach and gossip they contained, but her position in their world warranted such behavior for it was always regarded with a mixture of jealousy and contempt. Jealousy from the young women who envied her state of independence, or the older ones who scorned her youth and elegance, which on many an occasion captured the hearts and purses of their unfaithful husbands. Others eyed her with distaste that a lack of reputable birth inevitably awakened within their still prejudiced minds, especially when its object enjoyed a quality of life equal to, or better than their own.

The exotic beauty of her mixed heritage, where the passion of a French mistress met the mysterious charms of a raven haired Gypsy, did very little to appeal her case before the scornful or the envious, yet she bore their gaze with the pride and confidence of a queen. Her gloved hands snaked delicately around the extended arm of her companion as she walked along his side to the marble stairs. Not once had she lowered her eyes, nor let her chin fall too low when nodding politely to all those who greeted them along the way. She was a Parisian courtesan, a professional temptress, a moving masterpiece, a skilled actress, and tonight was merely the beginning of her seamless performance.