Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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Milly watched him, believing every word. It was hard to remember that he had come to her rescue that night. Heroes weren’t like that—she knew; she had lived with one. They brooded constantly on their achievements and retailed them to strangers at least once a day. When she had thanked this young man he told her gravely that Mr. Carnegie had been trying to get him on the ouija board all that day.

After a dramatic stop before the house in which Landru, the Bluebeard of France, had murdered his fourteen wives, the expedition proceeded on to Versailles. There, in the great hall of mirrors, Bill Driscoll delved into the forgotten scandal of the eighteenth century as he described the meeting between “Louie’s girl and Louie’s wife.”

“Du Barry skipped in, wearing a creation of mauve georgette, held out by bronze hoops over a tablier of champagne lace. The gown had a ruched collarette of Swedish fox, lined with yellow satin fulgurante which matched the hansom that brought her to the party. She was nervous, ladies. She didn’t know how the queen was going to take it. After awhile the queen walked in wearing an oxidized silver gown with collar, cuffs and flounces of Russian ermine and strappings of dentist’s gold. The bodice was cut with a very long waistline and the skirt arranged full in front and falling in picot-edged points tipped with the crown jewels. When Du Barry saw her she leaned over to King Louie and whispered: ‘Royal Honeyboy, who’s that lady with all the laundry on that just came in the door?’