The red-haired clown. A novel

“I understand everything from the first time.”

“That’s for sure,” she smiled.“Bebe and I have never had such a smart disciple, and we will never have. Why do we need new disciples if we have Benosh?”

“Why don’t you have children?” he asked.

Lele waved away, grabbed an empty bucket and ran out of the show-booth.

“Ah, I am such a dummy. I forgot to warn you not to talk about children,” Bebe knocked his forehead. He closed the door, took a stack of yellowed photographs from the box, and handed them to Charles.

“This is Lele. She used to be a trapeze artist. The incomparable Marie Kalish was written on the posters,” the voice of Bebe became gentle, his eyes moistened. “Dancing on the wire, flying under the dome of the circus, dizzying pirouettes on the trapeze… She was shining. She was loved. She was admired. Rich gentlemen showered her with flowers and precious gifts. And she loved the stupid redhaired clown Bebe, who was coming out to the circus arena in his down-at-heel shoes and tattered clothes. She loved the clown, whom nobody called by name. No one but Marie did not know that the clown’s name was Michael.”

Bebe sat down on a stool in front of Charles and sighed.

“You have a beautiful name,” Charles smiled.

“Yes. Lele also likes it. The conversation is not about me but about her,” he began to whisper. “Once a rich gentleman appeared in the van of Lele.”

They were talking long about something, and then he opened wide the door, and shouted:

“I will not let it go. You will pay for your impudence.”

Three days later, Lele fell from the trapeze. Someone had cut the harnesses… Bebe got up and turned away to the window. His voice became dull.

“We thought she would not survive. And she…” Bebe turned and wiped away a tear. “She showed all of us up. Lele is a good woman. She is a real fighter, a hero. That’s just… she will never be a mother. We gradually got accustomed to this. Then you came along. Lele proposed to consider you our son. I agreed. Benosh, you are our son. We will not have other children. We are ready to give you everything we have. So you better not let us down, son.”

“I will not let you down, Bebe,” having hugged him, Charles said. They hid the photographs inside the box and sat down by the window.

“Tell me, Bebe, haven’t you thought that the Director of the circus cut the harnesses?” Charles asked.

“Rudolf? No. He is too cowardly, “Bebe shook his head. “Moreover, he is madly in love with Marie. He is still in love. Still madly,” Bebe began to laugh. “Did you think I do not know? I know. I know everything, everything, everything, son. Marie and I have no secrets from each other.”

“I will wash the floor,” Lele said aloud, having opened wide the door. “I am tired of your mess.”

“My dear, the mess should always be in our show-booth, otherwise, it cannot keep its sonorous circus name the Show-Booth,” Bebe said in a good-natured voice. “Leave your bucket, let’s go for a walk among sunflowers. Benosh, will you go with us?”

“No, I will stay and wash the floor. That’s why Lele dragged this heavy bucket,” Charles said. Lele kissed him on the forehead and winked: “Don’t get the drum wet.”

“And then what?” Charles asked, having looked at the bellied drum with polished chopsticks in the corner.

“And then the grenadiers will come and take you to the battle,” she said, leaving.

Then sunflowers, which were in the bucket and exuded a sweet-spicy aroma, appeared in the show-booth. Bebe was peeling seeds, praising the Director, who chose this wonderful place for the circus tent. A field of sunflowers seemed to follow them everywhere. Charles always saw sunflowers in the window of his show-booth. Always…

Lele chose two suits for Charles: light purple and light golden. She ordered to try the golden one first.

“Yes,” she nodded approvingly when Charles came out from behind the screen.

“A lovestruck young man should look like that.”

“Do you think I am madly in love with this girl?” Charles frowned.

“Not madly,” having folded her arms on her chest, she said. “But you are in love. My woman’s intuition have never let me down. Will you say I am wrong?”

“I like Simone,” Charles said. “I like her a lot but… She grew up right in front of my eyes. I was playing dolls with her. I considered her my sister. Yes, yes, yes, she is my younger sister, whom I have no right to love like a man. But…” Charles lifted his hands in dismay, “the trouble is that I cannot cope with my feelings, although I am honestly trying to get rid of them.”

“The trouble is not in this,” Lele shook her head. “Your trouble is that you are trying to destroy the best, the brightest, not thinking about that you are destroying yourself. What for?”

“That’s because I do not want to be responsible for anyone but myself,” Charles replied, having turned to the mirror.

“Well done,” Lele tapped him on the shoulder. “It is easier, free to live like you. Tell me, why do you need this suit then? Why are you going to the house of the banker? Do you want to spank the shameless girl?”

“Lele, you always ask questions that lead me up a blind alley. I am confused, I do not know what to answer,” Charles admitted.

“I prepare you for surprises,” she smiled, having flicked him on the nose. “Go, do not waste precious minutes. Remember, you are a person, worthy of respect. Even Simone said that she owed you, Charles Benosh, a lot.”

“Thank you, Marie,” having kissed her hand, Charles said. She hugged him and pushed to the door.

“I will pay for everything myself. Go.”

The porter opened the door and smiled: “Come in. You have been long awaited. Go downstairs.”

The servant, dressed in an expensive livery, bowed, passing Charles to the mirror room-hall with a gleaming parquet.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Clown,” a demure and cold voice sounded. The banker Schwartz Schtanzer was reflected in several mirrored corridors at the same time. Charles was looking distractedly at the reflection, not knowing which one was the main.

“I am glad you came today,” the banker said, coming from behind Charles. He was confused. The banker smiled, pointed to a white armchair in gilt.

“Have a seat. I have something to tell you. I have to reveal the secret, which I had been keeping for twenty years,” he sat down in front of Charles in the same armchair-twin and clapped his hands. The servant, who emerged from the mirror, gave him a red velvet folder with a large emblem and left. The banker looked at the concentrated Charles, opened the folder, and said:

“This is the last will of George Stowasser the husband of my sister Eugenia, the mother of Simone. George was a seer. He made this will when Simone was five years old. And two years later, there was a terrible tragedy. Two trains collided. Three hundred and fifty people died.”

“The tragedy occurred on the sixth of November,” Charles said, looking at the banker. He remembered that date because the tragedy occurred on the day of his birth. Lele and Bebe decorated the show-booth with balloons, made a fire from firecrackers. Seventeen times for the seventeen years. And when the volleys died down, a tragic voice was heard from the loudspeaker: “Today…”

“You have an excellent memory,” Schwartz Schtanzer said. “Yes, it happened on the sixth of November. The parents of Simone, George and Eugenia Stowasser, were among the dead people. We had been keeping secret the reason of the absence of parents from Simone for a long time. On the eve of the tragedy, the girl was very ill. Her body was so weakened that the doctor recommended delaying the sad news. But the maid forgot to hide the portraits of George and Eugenia, placed in the mourning frame. Simone distractedly looked at me, pressed both palms to her lips, closed her eyes, and fell backwards. She came to her senses in two hours. All this time, I was in a vacuum of hopelessness…” he closed his eyes with his hand and sighed.

“But, thank God, it is over. It is in the distant past. And now we are more interested in the future. So. The will of George Stowasser, which he left fifteen years ago, shocked me. But now, it does not seem to me folly. This will is quite reasonable, as well as everything that George was doing. I bow before him, before his ability to come out any situation with honour. I am proud of this man. I try to be like him, as much as possible. George was a man of his word. His ‘yes’ was always ‘yes’. His ‘no’ meant an uncompromising refusal. He never teetered on the brink of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, never acted meanly, never lied, never bustled.”

“What is the use of titles? What is the use of ranks? Simple sound. If you take them away there will be only emptiness,” George grinned. “I will never go to the court tailor. I will not overpay him because of the word ‘court’. I would rather go outside and look for a self-taught tailor, a master by vocation, and not by pleasing the court!”

“This statement sounds like the one by Madame La Rouge,” Charles thought with a smile. The banker also smiled and said:

“George Stowasser wanted to give Simone good education. He spent a lot of time in order to find a good school. He found the boarding house of Madame La Rouge accidentally. You know, it happens in life: you get lost and end up in the destination place,” Schwartz grinned. “George found the boarding house, called me, said that he could entrust the education of his daughter only to Madame La Rouge, and then took me to an amazing place the boarding house La Rouge,” Schwartz closed his eyes, paused for a moment, and said:

“Madame Aspasia charmed me from the first minute. I was totally blown away. I was ready to throw the whole world at her feet.”

“Oh, dear Schwartz, my dear banker,” she sang with her soft voice. “I do not need your wealth. Give them to your wife…”

“Yes, Mr. Clown, I was married. I was married, much to my regret, “he sighed. “I asked Aspasia permission to be her friend, a friend of the boarding house, a philanthropist, a helper, to be anyone she would deem necessary for me to be.”

“I will assume you are a good man,” she smiled and after a pause added: “Maybe, we can be friends. When I brought Simone to the boarding house, Aspasia took her as her own daughter, surrounded her with care. George left enough money so that Simone could get a decent education… For thirteen years, which Simone spent in the boarding house, Aspasia did not accept a single gift from me. The boxes and parcels, addressed to her, came back not even unpacked. The only thing that we had with Madame La Rouge – letters,” he smiled.

“Aspasia a master of words. Two or three sentences sometimes have so much sense, which a wordy statement does not have. I know that sometimes I am too chatty. But you, Mr. Clown, should forgive me this sin. I have been waiting so long, I have been keeping the secret so long that words just flow from my mouth like water from a spring. So… George wanted Simone to be brought up in the boarding house until she turns twenty. He made a list of required sciences, which she must learn. We fulfilled all his wishes, everything he asked for. Yes, yes, he asked. You heard it right. George Stowasser never demanded. He never yelled, never ordered. He slightly changed his tone and said: “I am asking you to do this.”

He even talked like this to the servants. He scolded the guilty ones in a low voice:

“You should be ashamed. I asked you, hoping for your honesty, and you… After such lessons, people did not dare not to comply with his requests commands. I promised George to do whatever he asked me for. I am keeping it… He bowed his head and delved into reading of the will. He was reading slowly, placing emphasis on the right words. Charles imagined that George Stowasser himself was reading the will.”

“In the case of our death, our daughter Simone Stowasser becomes the direct heiress of the whole fortune. Prior to the twentieth birthday of Simone, the right to dispose of property is given to the brother of my wife Eugenia Stowasser, Schtanzer Schwartz. On the twentieth birthday, Simone must bring home the red-haired clown from the circus Chapiteau. But it is not a simple clown for entertainment but a person, who fell in love with her as a little pupil of the boarding house in a simple black dress-trap. A clown should not know that Simone is a rich heiress. He should not be older than forty years. If such a person is not found, then you, Schwartz, have been searching badly. Simone gets the right of inheritance of the fifth part of the fortune when the red-haired clown will enter the house. Three parts of the fortune I leave to Schwartz Schtanzer.

One part goes to Aspasia La Rouge. One part goes to the red-haired clown named…” the banker raised his head, looked at Charles over the top of the glass, and asked:

“What is your name, Mr. Clown?”

“Charles,” he whispered. The banker nodded, lowered his head, and read aloud:

“Named Charles Benosh! It does not matter whether this gentleman marries Simone or not. By forty years he might be a father of a big family. If so, I congratulate him. I ask, I beg him about one thing: to treat my girl as a sister, not to leave her in difficult times.

I hope that Charles Benosh is a decent person, that he will understand that I do not buy his love, his devotion, his friendship. If Charles Benosh is a man of a different sort he may take the money and disappear from the life of Simone Stowasser forever. This is his right,” the banker raised his head, looked at Charles.

“But I believe that the red-haired clown is a man of honour. Otherwise, he would not sit in my house, where evil thoughts of dishonest people are reflected in the hundreds of mirrors like black ghosts. Only a sensitive, sympathetic person with a gentle, sensitive heart can listen to the three-hour chatter of Schwartz Schtanzer, not fearing the shadows of the past that are dancing in the mirrored corridors.

Love my Simone. God bless you. I wish I could shake your hand. Let Schwartz do it for me. Sincerely, George Stowasser. The banker closed the folder, smiled, got up, stepped towards Charles, and held out his hand. Charles hastily got up, shook the banker’s hand, and smiled distractedly.”

“I congratulate you, Mr. Charles Benosh. You have just become a millionaire. By the way, this colour of warm gold suits you.”

“May I ask, Mr. Schtanzer, how Simone’s father found out my name?” Charles asked, feeling that his knees were shaking, and on the back, rolling beads of sweat.

“George was a seer,” the banker smiled. “Sit down, Mr. Benosh, I have to tell you something.”

He put the will aside and sat down in the armchair, having thrown one leg over the other.

“I would like to tell you the story of how Simone and I were looking for the red-haired clown,” he grinned. “It took us six years to find you. Six! The word “circus” was causing me a migraine. I was shaking when I saw painted faces and heard stupid laughs. All red-haired clowns were actually stool pigeons. Some were too old, some were too stupid, too conceited, too great, and so on to infinity. None of them wanted to visit the little girl in the boarding house. Aspasia and I began to panic but Simone, childish frankness, said:

“I will recognize my red-haired clown immediately. Let’s stop unnecessary the conversation with all these respected people.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go to the circus on the outskirts of the town today, and then let’s have an annual respite. Simone agreed. She picked a white dress, hid the hair under big cherry bows, and wrote a note.”

“Today I will see him,” she whispered. “I am telling you beforehand, lest you think I am cheating. I even know that he will choose me for his clown’s trick. And then…” she closed her eyes as if looking at her only visible picture in advance. “He will pick me up and will carry into the arena. Everything happened this way. Do you remember?” Charles nodded. “When Simone gave you a note and sat in the carriage I told her that you were a swaggering fool, like all the previous clowns. I did not like you at all. Your makeup was terrible. Your cherry nose was too big. You had the exaggerated eyes on the white face, the huge mouth from ear to ear,” Schwartz screwed up his face.

“And then, when we were talking near the trailer I was ready to slap you in the face but decided not to upset Simone. She, by the way, immediately said that you were a very nice person. I can see that now. You are smart, well educated, have learned to listen to the interlocutor. Now it is not shameful to invite you in a decent society. And then, sitting in the carriage, I was indignant. I said that you would never come to the boarding house. Simone smiled and said that you would come because you had promised her. Then I promised to pay a hundred ducats to a man, who would bring me such happy news.”

Simone gave me a cool look and said: “You can say goodbye to your ducats right now. The red-haired clown will come to me on Monday.”

“In a hundred years, I smiled. Next Monday, which is tomorrow,” she replied, looking ahead.

“And if he does not come will you have a hundred ducats to pay me?” I asked.

“I will not have to waste your money because the red-haired clown will come. He will definitely come!” she closed her eyes and did not open them to the boarding house.

Simone was sure about you but Aspasia and I did not expect that things would develop with this rapid speed. Besides, we were not waiting for an elegant dandy but a clown in a clownish attire,’ he smiled. ‘Haven’t our secrets yet exhausted you? You are too pale. Would you like some water?”

“No, thank you, it is all right,” Charles said, relaxing neckerchief. “I am just not used to sitting so long in one place, in one position.”

“You can stand up if you want. Only I would recommend you not to stand up not to fall from the next mystery, which…”

“Uncle Schwartz, let me invite you for tea,” the voice of Simone sounded from the depths of the mirrored corridor. Charles saw her reflection and smiled. She was again dressed in the black dress-trap.

“Perhaps, mysteries can wait,” Schwartz said, having gotten up. “Let’s go to the terrace. A breath of fresh air will not hurt. Besides, it is time for the afternoon tea and leisurely conversations about the weather. I hope you are not in a hurry.”

“I am not in a hurry,” Charles said, knowing that he was in a hurry to see Simone, to hear her voice, to look into her in the eyes. He was looking forward to asking about the plum three-year-old Angel with a plaster face, about a tiny brook in a dual willow frame, about their secret summerhouse, where she was teaching him different sciences, and he was telling her about his homeless childhood. Is it possible to lose it? Is it possible to forget this, to exchange this for ducats? He does not need the wealth of Simone Stowasser. It does not matter how much this house, this huge garden, this furniture with gilt are estimated. He is ready to wander around the world in an old, painted bright colours, show-booth, look out the window at the changing scenery, and listen to the song of the squeaky wheels…

“Good afternoon!” the voice of Madame La Rouge sounded like a cello. “You are so elegant tonight, Monsieur Charles as if you came to woo.”

“Yes, you are right. I came to woo,” he replied, looking at Simone. She nearly dropped the teacup.

“Simone,” Madame Aspasia shook her head.

Simone put the cup on the table, sat down on the edge of her chair, dropped her head so low that her chin rested against her chest.

“It is commendable,” Madame Aspasia smiled, picked up the cup, and asked: “Tell me, Monsieur Charles, did you think how the Holy Church would treat a marriage between relatives?”

“No,” he replied, having noticed how Simone startled.

“It is a pity,” Madame Aspasia said, having taken a sip.

The banker began to drum his fingertips on the table, and, grunting “I see”, turned his head away. Aspasia and Charles sat at the table opposite each other. She was freely leaning back in her high chair, behind which the surface of a small pond was glittering. A flock of wild ducks was swimming slowly along the shore, making short stops to dry their wings. The flaps of wings were like the sighs, the cries of despair, the confused misunderstanding that arose in the chest of Charles. He sat on the edge of the chair, ready to dart off and run, run without looking back to the horizon at any moment. What for? To find himself in another place, where no one knows him, where he will be able to start everything all over again. Everything, everything, everything. What for? To prove Simone that she was wrong. He does not succumb to the difficulties. He is not a coward but…

Charles stood up. Madame La Rouge smiled, put the cup down, and nicely laid her thin hands with long musical fingers on her knees.

“I must confess to you, Madame La Rouge, Simone is not my sister,” he said, looking down at the smiling Aspasia. “I claimed to be her cousin in order for you not to kick me out of the house.”

“Bravo, Monsieur Charles,” she said.

“Tell me, have you thought about the fact that Simone, left without parents, can be your sister? You also grew up without parents. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Charles replied. “I am an orphan. My parents passed on long before the birth of Simone, so to search for some connection in our orphanage would be foolish.”

“It would be foolish,” she repeated, having gotten up. “But, nevertheless, there is some connection between them.”

“Are you kidding?” Charles distractedly smiled.

Simone raised her head. Her look was full of despair. Another moment and tears would pour from her eyes.

“Aspasia was not joking,” ceasing to drum on the table, Schwartz said.

“Simone, did you know about this?” Charles whispered, having turned pale. She bit her lip and shook her head.

“She did not know,” Schwartz said, having gotten up.

Simone remained seated. Her body, dressed in the mourning and ceremonial dress, reminded of the monument to the mourner. Charles thought she was petrified. Tear, running down her cheek, was proving that Simone was alive, that it was the same a surprise for her. Charles fell on his knees before her, took her hands, and said: “Simone, do not cry, please. Perhaps, Mr. Schwartz is wrong. The will of your father says nothing about our kinship. It just calls my name. But Benosh is not the last name. It is my stage name. I am the red-haired clown Benosh. Except for the name Charles and the vague childhood memories, I have nothing left from my parents.”

“And how should we do with a birthmark in the form of a comma on his right forearm?” Aspasia asked.

Charles turned his head, looked at her from the bottom up, whispered: “How do you know?”

“George Stowasser told me,” she replied and looked at Schwartz. “It is time to show them a letter from George. Take them to the private office. I can no longer watch what is going on here.”

She turned and, rustling her chocolate satin skirt, left.

“Let’s go to the private office,” the banker said, having taken Simone by the hand. Charles followed them.

“When I was telling Lele that I treated Simone like a younger sister, “he thought, “I was trying more to convince myself, not her, that it was this way. But now, when we are ascribed a kinship, I am terrified. I am crushed by the realization that I am madly in love with my own sister. I just realized that all my feelings are real. Real! Will I ever be able to experience something like that, or will I have a fear of new disappointment? Why do I love her? Why? The Prince has only one Ophelia – Simone Stowasser. But…”

“Come in. Sit down,” Schwartz said, opening the door to the private office.

Charles came in and looked around. There were bookcases with glass doors along the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a large leather sofa. On the opposite side, there was an unpolished desk with one big drawer, from which Schwartz got the folder with the emblem. He hoisted his eyeglasses on his nose, cleared his throat, read: “Dear children!” he looked at Simone and Charles, sitting on the edge of a deep sofa, and grinned. “You are like the frightened birds that fell down from the nests.”

“We are like the prisoners awaiting the death sentence,” Charles said, having firmly gripped his hand of Simone.

“I love,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

“Dear children, I am glad that you have found each other!” Schwartz cheerfully exclaimed. And Charles felt the lump in the throat and wanted to burst into tears. For the first time in many years, he wanted to scream from pain and despair. But he was sitting on the sofa, was looking unwinkingly at the books behind the back of the banker, and was listening. He was waiting for the verdict to be announced, for the guillotine to fall down.

“Simone, the boy next to you is the one, whom you, the five-year-old girl, wanted to save,” Schwartz smiled, looked at Simone.

She opened her eyes, considered for a moment, remembering something, and nodded.

“Do you remember that we went to the circus Chapiteau on the outskirts of the town?” the voice of Schwartz sounded more cheerful. “First, the trapeze artists were flying under the dome, and then, there were the clowns, the red-haired and the white-haired. They brought a boy to the arena and began to push him into the gun instead of the projectile.

You grabbed me by the arm and demanded:

“Dad, save him! Save him immediately.”

“Wait,” having hugged you by the shoulders, I said. “It is the circus, my dear, and nothing bad will happen with the boy, you will see.”

“Something bad has already happened,” you frowned. “Why is he here and not in the gymnasium, as cousin Leo? Where are his parents? Why do they allow the boy to skip classes?”

“Probably, his parents also work in the circus,” I assumed. At this time, the shot rang out, the gun broke into two pieces, the audience was showered with multi-coloured paper stars. The boy bowed and ran backstage together with clowns.

“Dad, please, save him,” you whispered, looking at me with eyes full of tears.

“Simone, this boy is happy. You saw how he smiled happily,” I said.

“Please, dad, you said barely audible. I know, I know that he needs help.”

“Okay,” having shaken your hand, I said.

“We will save your boy. I put you in the landau, while I went to the Director of the circus.”

“What is the name of the boy assistant of the clowns?” I asked, having introduced myself.

“Benosh,” he said. “This boy is not as small as you thought. He is already fifteen. He has a promising future. He will have his own number in the new program. He will become the youngest red-haired clown.”

“Tell me, is Benosh the name of the boy?”

“No, no, his name is Charles,” the Director smiled. “Benosh is a stage name given by the clowns.”

“And who are the parents of this boy?” I asked.

“He is an orphan,” the Director said.

“An orphan boy named Charles,” I said thoughtfully and got up. “Mr. Director, can I ask you for a favour?” he stretched in a string. I put a few large bills on the table and said:

“I will support your circus, and you will support this little clown. Let him keep his stage name. Let him introduce himself as Charles Benosh.”

I promise that we will declare in the new program: the red-haired clown Charles Benosh! the Director promised. I bowed and went out.

On the street, I was almost knocked down by one shock-headed little boy. He was running away from a thick girl, who was shouting something rude at his back.

“Excuse me, Your Honour,” the boy smiled, intending to sneak. I stopped him, wanting to ask him about the boy-assistant of the clowns, but after seeing is a birthmark in the form of a comma on the right forearm, I got speechless. It was that little boy, whom we had been searching for ten years.

“Is your name Charles?” I whispered.

“No, my name is Benosh,” he replied proudly, released, and ran away.

“My dear boy, my dear Charles, I am sorry that I did not tell you everything, that I did not take you with us. I got confused. Yes, yes, confused. For the first time, I did not know what to do, how to be. I went to look for you among the colourful circus trailers. I was stopped by a good-natured fat man, who asked me what I was looking there and grinned.”

“It is easier to catch the wind than our Benosh.”

I turned and walked to the carriage, waiting for me at the exit.

“Simone, you were right,” I said, sitting down opposite her. “This is the boy, whom we must save.”

Schwartz looked at Charles and smiled.

“Do you remember this gentleman?”

Charles nodded. The picture of the past emerged so clearly in his memory as if it all happened a few moments ago. A tall gentleman is looking at him with kind eyes and is smiling. But he, Charles, almost knocked him off his feet, running away from Matilda, the daughter of the Director. The gentleman, for some reason, is talking to him in a whisper. It amuses Charles. He shows his tongue and rushes away. He is passionate about the game, he does not care about the gentleman, walking in the backyard of the circus. Let the adults worry and be concerned. And he, Charles, has nothing to be afraid of. He has not been on the tramp for a long time. He has found protection in the face of Lele and Bebe. Now, he is a clown, the redhaired clown Benosh.

Charles smiled: “I remember this gentleman.”

“Wonderful,” Schwartz said and continued reading letters.

“Mom, mom, we have found the boy, who should be saved!” Simone shouted rushing into the house. Eugenia looked at me frightenedly.

“Yes, my dear, Charles is found,” I smiled.

“Where, where is he” she exclaimed.

“He works in the circus as the red-haired clown,” I replied. Eugenia pressed her hands to her lips, whispered:

“Thank God, the son of Natalie and Edward is alive!”

“Yes, Charles, you are not our son…” Schwartz paused.

“What?” Simone asked.

“What?” Charles straightened his back.

“You are not our son, Charles,” the banker repeated once more. “You are a son of a woman, whom I hopelessly loved. As hopelessly as Schwartz Schtanzer loves Aspasia La Rouge… I saw Natalie for the first time at the ball and lost my mind. I went to her across the room, having forgotten etiquette, having forgotten everything else. I thought she was an ephemeral creature. I was afraid that she would disappear, that I would not be able to talk to her. I do not know why but I wanted to say a few words to her. I did not even think that I could discredit her, that my gesture could be misinterpreted.”