Théâtre Bohème, 5 December 1870
Johann was a cad. He’d been called that many a time by many a woman, but this was the first occasion he felt it. Even in her trance, Marie’s face showed the strain of the memory, what her attempt at independence cost her. He breathed through the mask, which smelled of something acrid, but whatever it was, it kept him from falling into the past like she had.
When they’d started on this strange journey, he’d only seen her as a maid and then as an actress who could be treated like the others. None of them had ever indicated to him that they were anything but willing to bed him, the famous musician, but he now wondered if that was because he’d never looked for shadows behind their eyes or had mistaken the cynical twist of their mouths for flirtatiousness. And
