Happy Bastille Day!

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“Doctor, we are going to be stopping at the island of St. Martin soon, and there’s something I want you to do there.”
Alcott looked at him sharply. “That is a French island, is it not?”
“It was. French and Dutch. At one time a friendly port for Americans. Now, well, it’s still friendly, we just have to be more careful because the Royal Navy has a presence there as well.”
“Is there someone on the island who’s ill?”
“No, not that I know of.” He took a deep breath. This was more difficult than he expected it would be.
“There is a lady there I want you to visit. A Mrs. Cornelia Olifiers. You will like her,” he added quickly. “She’s friendly, and outgoing, and…friendly.”
Alcott was watching him with a strange expression on his face.
“And I am visiting Mrs. Olifiers because…?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. Or in this case, a fee to be paid in good American dollars.
“Madame Cornelia operates an establishment where a young man like you can meet ladies and spend the evening with them.”
Dr. Alcott was young, but he was not stupid. “You are taking me to a brothel?”
“Not so loud, or they’ll all want to go!”

 --Sea Change

Ah, the French! Friends to America and providing rest and relaxation to Americans abroad for a long, long time. Vive la France!


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