RS 15

Chapter 15

Miss Marguerite really knew nothing.

It’s already been more than two years, Teacher.

It was true that the impression left by a boy named Xavier Bransen had been that strong, but two years was more than enough time for the subtle feelings she had harbored toward him to disappear.

Her curiosity was occasionally satisfied simply by reading newspaper articles about the Bransen family.

News that Xavier Bransen had caused quite a stir in the music industry by winning prizes at several competitions felt as distant as news about someone she had never known.

I want to become an outstanding ballerina and be recognized by the Belovians. At least until I get married according to Father’s wishes.

Didn’t you say this to me before? That liking something means allowing that thing to change your life.

It was a proverb that truly came from the roots. She had softened it by calling it “liking,” but more accurately, it was: “To love something is to allow that something to change you.”

The genius violinist boy she had met as a child had certainly influenced her life.

However, fifteen-year-old Dolores was no longer so innocent. She had learned how to act coy.

Teacher, that doesn’t make sense. If I graduate from Quinir now and then enter Le Havre, it would take at least another year. Wouldn’t he, who entered four years ago, have graduated already?

I suppose he would.

Miss Marguerite smiled with an expression that seemed to say she knew everything.

The following year, at sixteen, Dolores finally received her admission letter from the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance after years of arduous effort.

The admission letter from the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance had been something like a symbol of her earnest wish.

But by the time that admission letter actually arrived in her hands, many things had changed. One year was enough time to change the circumstances.

She was the same, but the world had changed.

Her father’s income had once again become irregular, and he squandered all the money he had on alcohol and luxuries for the household.

Her mother’s income from mending textiles was not enough to support the family. She had overworked herself until her health gradually deteriorated, forcing her to reduce the amount of work she did instead.

Life had become unbearably tight.

Once, Dolores had overheard her mother lamenting to a neighbor in a bitter voice,

“At this rate, I might have to quit working altogether…”

Anais and Pablo were still young, so they could not contribute to the family’s livelihood. If things came to that, even Dolores would have to be sacrificed.

Her father ordered her.

“Dolores, enough with your useless nonsense. You should start looking for a job too.”

The admission letter became nothing more than a meaningless sheet of paper.

All her efforts had come to nothing.

Dolores cried for three days and three nights.

Then, one day, only a few days later, her mother said,

“Pack your things. Let’s take a trip for a few days, just you and me.”

Dolores resisted, saying she did not want to move an inch, but her mother repeated, more firmly than ever,

“Pack your things.”

It was the first time Dolores had ever seen her mother act so decisively, so she could not bring herself to disobey.

Her mother was even willing to defy her father.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I told you a few days ago.”

“I told you not to fill her head with foolish dreams!”

“What harm is there in going to see it? Honestly, you… Just go inside. And don’t forget to take care of Ana and Pablo.”

“What has gotten into you? We don’t even know when Pablo will be able to enroll!”

To be honest, Dolores was a little surprised.

In all her life, she had never once seen her mother disregard her father’s words so completely and shut the door in his face.

“What on earth is going on?” Dolores asked, feeling strangely uneasy, but her mother merely smiled.

And so, mother and daughter began a three-day journey.

Dolores barely remembered anything about the journey itself.

She only remembered holding her mother’s hand and crying aloud when, after traveling by carriage for half a day, they arrived at their destination in Ruisseron.

The carriage had stopped in front of the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance in Ruisseron.

“Why did we come here?”

“I thought we should take a look.”

“Are you making fun of me? I can’t enroll anyway.”

“…Dolores, I know you have talent. If you have to give something up because of our family, before making that decision… I want to know what it is that you are giving up. And how important it really is.”

Her mother’s eyes were already red, so Dolores could not bring herself to answer in a complaining voice.

The Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance was a magnificent building from a bygone era.

The grayish-brown bricks possessed an unmistakable dignity born from the passage of time, while every student walking through the campus seemed to sparkle with vitality, energy, and hope for the future.

As Dolores followed her mother across the campus, walking over the green lawns, she could not shake the thought that all of this only made her more depressed.

“They say this is an incredibly expensive school. I suppose they weren’t exaggerating.”

“…It has more than a hundred years of tradition. The artists’ guild considers graduates of Ruisseron and Beurge separately.”

“Wasn’t this place and Laurent supposed to be the most prestigious?”

“Beurge is for distinguishing whether someone is an elite born in the capital or not. So, for people who truly understand music and dance, what matters is whether you graduated from Ruisseron. They say ability is more important than connections or influential contacts.”

Dolores spoke with a subtle hint of pride.

“Oh my.”

Her mother suddenly began coughing lightly, as though something had gone down the wrong way.

Dolores handed her some water.

Her mother looked around the main building of Le Havre with a bright yet solemn expression that, for some reason, seemed strangely contradictory.

“…I see.”

Women studying dance ran past in neat lines, their chins raised with a haughty air, while students studying music carried instruments of all shapes and sizes.

Beneath an impressive trumpet sculpture in the center of the campus, several boys had gathered to tune their oboes and flutes.

Something warm stirred in Dolores’s chest.

“…I used to like dancing when I was young, too.”

“You did, Mother?”

“Your father doesn’t actually dislike dancing, either. Deep down, I think he likes it.”

Dolores could not quite believe that, but she thought she could understand her mother’s feelings, and so she held back her tears.

“Graduates of the Le Havre Higher Conservatory of Music and Dance always take first place in competitions. They build their reputations through their skill, winning awards as naturally as breathing. There are many famous dancers, but there are also actors and playwrights. And musicians…”

Her mother gently placed a hand on the shoulder of Dolores, who was speaking without pause, and smiled.

“I understand that it’s impressive. But more importantly, why don’t we rest for a little while?”

“All right.”

Dolores and her mother wandered around looking for shade before finally sitting beneath a large tree with a clear view of the lawn.

Her mother gazed across the campus with a thoughtful expression.

Seeing that, Dolores, who had secretly been harboring a little resentment toward her mother, soon began to feel sorry instead.

There was a commotion in the distance.

Not far away, a group of male students ran across the lawn in a line. They were tall, handsome young men.

And then, suddenly—truly, as if by fate—something caught Dolores’s eye where the young men had just passed.

A banner hung between two trees, using them as supports.

“Cry Out Upon the Strings.”

The 105th Annual Violin Campus Competition

The Seventeenth Solo Recital of Xavier Bransen, a True Artist on the Stage

A Graduation Recital Featuring the Classical Repertoire

Venue: [Pleyel Hall]

…

Xavier.

She had thought she had forgotten him.

Dolores found herself slipping into a strange, almost ridiculous mood.

After all the complaints he had made about Le Havre, it seemed he was still enrolled there after all.

By now, Xavier probably would not even remember her, yet she found herself genuinely happy, as though she were reading about the successful debut of an old friend.

“Mother, do you remember? The Bransen children Lady Rou was looking after. I… I knew that boy.”

As Dolores stared intently at the banner, her mother said,

“It says the date is today. Shall we go?”