Scrapbooking

       In utter distress, Georgette pushed her piano stool down to fall on the Persian carpet and followed it herself, plunking down in a heap of muslin and lace by the piano leg. Oh Lord, look where her artful play—both musical and flirting—brought her! Oh, she loved dearly to play Chopin in the salons and dart fleeting glances to make suitors swarm around her, admire duly the whiteness of her skin, gloves, and dress, and compare her beauty to that of ancient Greek statues… And yesterday, yet another admirer paid her a visit to ask for her hand. All dressed in black he had been, of sombre aspect, a pure Devil. Georgette guessed at once who he was: Black Jean! There were so many rumours about him among young ladies... If Black Jean came to ask for a damsel’s hand, she’d better flee to a convent at once and take a veil, for if she agreed, he’d tear her hand off and be gone in coils of sulphurous smoke. And if the hapless lady refused him, no one would ever again propose to her, and she would be hit with a lifelong spell of bad luck. Georgette didn’t wish to become a nun. She liked playing the black-and-white keys and heartstrings of the audience, especially men. And then, an idea graced her pretty, now tousled, head. What if she gave him her hand but not the one growing out of her shoulder? Something from her stock. Let that stock be useful for once. Suitors offering their hearts and hands had been visiting Georgette on a regular basis, and she had always accepted their offerings with grace. They had no right to call her a heartstealer after that! The hearts were given away to her out of free will, and it was not her fault that she took those organs out very literally. Hearts, when cooked by her maid in cream sauce with thyme, were delicious. And hands were coarse, full of bones and sinews, good for nothing; Georgette was stacking them all over her house, into wardrobes, chests, and even inside her piano… Yes, she’d better take a spare hand from the piano; the ones stored there were recent and still fresh. White Georgette sobbed once more, got out from under the piano, and called her maid to fix her ruined hairdo.