A/N: No Raoul in this one but another French count who is Argentile’s foil. Virdoisier is rich and handsome for the record though, so you shall like him as I introduce his own set of character quarks and all.

Opera in Azure

I. The Wolf with Blue Eyes

Léontin, The Count de le Virdoisier, first heard of the Wieliczka Opera as a curiosity circulated in Parisian salons. He knew many among his acquaintances who were regular subscribers to the Italiens, and he himself was assured of a private box in the grand tier of the Garnier. The Wieliczka house, however, had a more stringent admission policy since attendance could only be obtained by a letter of recommendation from the Polish ambassador forwarded to Warsaw where an agent of the Count Labienski reviewed the contents and determined acceptance or rejection, at which point the young count, owner of the opera, received a subscriber list for the season. Virdoisier was fortunate enough to be able to winter in southern Poland after a close friend in the French foreign service secured for him direct access to Labienski 's agent.

At present Léontin departed Krakow in a sled pulled by a team of domesticated lynxes whose amber-green eyes shone in the night. He would lodge with the count as an honored guest in his immense mansion from where he could descend down the shafts to the salt mine and arrive at the subterraneous opera theater past the Chapel of Saint Kinga. As the lynxes softly ran through the snow, he saw the supercilious tufts of the cats' ears suddenly stiffen, and the sled gradually slowed down. In the distance, he could make out Labienski Castle, its Gothic turrets and slender finials gleaming in the moonlight. Before cracking the whip to spur on the cats, he chanced a glance to the right of him where there was a dense forest fragrant with pine and spruce. There, in the shadowy foliage, he discerned a pair of elegant azure eyes whose inky pupils stared fixedly at him.

He heard the snow crunch beyond his sled but saw nothing but those vibrant orbs that were bluer than the sky blink once and then resume their intense gaze. The lynx became edgy and twisted about in their harnesses. Stowing the whip away, Léontin quietly extracted a rifle which he carried on the advice of the Krakow locals who warned him of Wieliczka's wolves. He did not know if the cerulean eyes belonged to such a canine, but he carefully aimed between them and fired. Then, he seized the reins and impelled the cats to continue onwards, the sulfuric smell of gun powder behind them along with a hint of azure in the dark green wood that followed the sled's approach to the stone fountain in the castle courtyard.

The switch was poised in one hand, and the rifle was in easy reach of the other, but a vague apprehension shared between Léontin and the lynxes prevented the use of any further inducements for speed. With great celerity, the Count de le Virdoisier was in the shadow of the castle's imposing façade.

"Are you all right, Monsieur?" an equerry inquired, descending the marble steps from the castle vestibule. "We heard gun shots and became anxious for your safety. We hope you didn't meet with some of our less hospitable wildlife."

"I am quite well, merci," Léontin answered. "But Monsieur Labienski's lynxes may have been a bit frightened."

"Labienski has other things to worry about besides fearful felines," a groom returned, accepting the reins with a smile. "You're welcome to enter, Monsieur. Your luggage has already arrived from Warsaw, and I think le comte awaits you."

"Very well," Léontin returned, nodding in ascent. A butler held the heavy massy door open, and the French count walked into a warm interior lit by a central chandelier where he parted with his sable before being conducted to a grand drawing room.

Veigé Alexeyevich, or the Count Labienski in Wieliczka, the son of a Russian father and Polish mother, was a frivolous young man with violet eyes, jet-black hair, and Caucasian skin perpetually scented by ylang-ylang. When his servant and guest entered, he flippantly dismissed the former and, after skimming the latter's Warsaw credentials, tossed the papers aside and said, "Monsieur le Comte de le Virdoisier, welcome. I, Labienski, am at your service. Is there anything you may require? A light supper perhaps, or do you wish to sleep after your journey? I know the capital is a disagreeably fatiguing distance from my residence for which I am sorry. But I cannot help where the salt mine on which my château lies is located."

Léontin smiled at the spirited youth. "Oui, perhaps a collation, but do not trouble your cooks."

"Nonsense, nonsense! I shall have them prepare a fine repast for you. Truffles, egg paté, blueberry nalivka, and caviar! Nothing but the Beluga which my brother so kindly sends me from Moscow. I would gladly offer you sterlet if the Czar did not like to eat gold on gold so often at his table. But Monsieur," Veigé said, suddenly acknowledging Léontin's stance, "how remiss of me. Please, I beg of you, be seated and excuse my tardy etiquette." And, to illustrate his invitation, he sank into the chaise behind him, offering the Frenchman a sheepish grin.

"Now that you are more comfortably situated," Veigé declared, noting with approval Léontin's relaxed posture in an armchair, "you must tell me of your travel to this Wieliczka of mine. Has Poland, if I may wish, pleased you at all?"

"It has," Léontin answered with a gracious laugh. "The land is so silent and sparkling to Paris' noise and metropolitan filth, and your wolves have the loveliest eyes."

Veigé's own purple orbs glittered in the firelight. "Ah, Monsieur, if you have seen the wolf with blue eyes, then you have looked on the pet of Vasili Savanovich."

"Who?" Léontin asked, intrigued.

Veigé smirked mischievously. "Ah, you will allow me to tell an old family story which I have not had the pleasure of narrating in a long while."

"My attention is yours," Léontin responded.

"Merci, Monsieur. The tradition maintains that la Comtesse Labienska, an ancestress of mine two centuries ago, once took a lover, a certain Prince Vasili Savanovich, inspiring le Comte, another ancestor of mine since the Labienski only marry second cousins, with an intense jealousy. For as long as they could, la comtesse and her prince conducted their liaison in the greenroom of the subterraneous opera till Madame's husband discovered the affair. Upon learning of another one of their assignations, he descended into the salt mines five minutes after his wife had arrived in the trysting chamber and ten minutes before le prince was expected. Guided by passion and a little madness I suspect, le comte surprised Madame and slit her throat once he had kissed her goodbye. Moments later, Savanovich had the unpleasant vision of his dead mistress in her husband's arms, and so the two men exchanged decorous insults and dueled to a point at which le comte could kick Savanovich's lifeless body into the lake and weep over his wife's grave during a lavish funeral afterwards."

"Mon dieu, Monsieur!" Léontin exclaimed.

"And ever since then," Veigé concluded, "Savanovich has sent the wolf, or himself, to search for his comtesse. A charming love story with an ambiguous hero, non?"

"If wolves can be charming, Léontin qualified.