she knew was a scandalous one she and Fanny and the Orléans princesses had snuck away to read, thrilling over inscrutable, noble characters who met obstacle after obstacle without their love ever failing, the touch of a hand enough to sustain them for pages.
Eyes glowing in excitement, Fanny whirled over to interrupt her reverie. “The queen’s ladies looked vexed, didn’t they? They can’t bear to be going to bed. Ha! Too bad for them. Are you ready?”
This last was said in another tone altogether. Louise stood, her eyes and Fanny’s upon Madame. Henriette, surrounded by a group of admirers, suddenly gave a gasp and then made a face.
“I’ve torn my gown,” she said to one and all. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” and with Catherine at her side, she walked down the long expanse of the ballroom, Louise and Fanny behind. Once outside the ballroom, Fanny stationed herself at a statue halfway down the hall.
Louise followed Madame and the princess into a bedchamber she hadn’t even known was in this part of the palace. It was one of the more beautiful chambers in a palace with many grand rooms, created over a hundred years earlier for a king’s mistress. Just above eye level was a series of frescoes framed by magnificent and larger-than-life stucco figures of nude women. Woven in among their beautiful, shapely bodies were other smaller figures: animal heads, bunches of cascading fruit, and lolling putti, or cupids. The genius and grace of mixing fresco paintings with stucco sculpture had been a creation of the artists working in this palace, and it had taken the Renaissance world by storm and made the palace one of the wonders of its time. A hundred years hadn’t dimmed the vibrancy of the paint or the magic fluidity of the sculpture. Although branches of candles were lit and sending their light outward, the chamber was pitch-dark in its corners, and the king stepped out of one of the corners of that darkness.
“There you are,” he said.
Louise shivered at the sound of his voice, all that was in it. The romance she and the Orléans princesses had thrilled over suddenly seemed pale and timid.
“We have only a moment,” Catherine warned.
The candlelight seemed to pick out and highlight the silver in Henriette’s gown as she walked toward the king.
“Come and sit,” said Louis, and he led Henriette to a long bench at the base of the bed while Louise and the princess stood as guards at the bedchamber’s open door. Louise watched as the king reached out and took Henriette’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss, then bringing it to his jacket, to the place under which lay his heart.
“You know you fill this more and more,” he said.
In the silence, Louise heard the beating of her own heart. It was so loud she felt that the gargoyle of a princess standing just opposite her could surely hear it and would reprimand her for possessing one. Its thump was punctuation to the words the king and Madame spoke, their voices soft, their tone intense, as if everything depended on them understanding one another completely.
“Shall I end this tenderness?” the king asked.
“Can you?”
“For your sake, I would.”
“I don’t think I wish you to.”
This last was breathlessly said, and Louise watched Madame put her arms around the king’s neck, and then she looked away, feeling constrained and distant, as if she were watching from a star. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see they kissed. She felt perturbed and aware that decisions were being made that were going to impact everyone.
There was a clatter of heels running on wood.
Fanny burst into the chamber. “The Count de Guiche is coming our way. The musketeers tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He told them Monsieur had sent him to find Madame—”
“La Baume le Blanc, sit down on the bench with her, now!” Swiftly, Catherine moved from the door to kneel down before Henriette and grab a handful of fabric, bending over it
Eyes glowing in excitement, Fanny whirled over to interrupt her reverie. “The queen’s ladies looked vexed, didn’t they? They can’t bear to be going to bed. Ha! Too bad for them. Are you ready?”
This last was said in another tone altogether. Louise stood, her eyes and Fanny’s upon Madame. Henriette, surrounded by a group of admirers, suddenly gave a gasp and then made a face.
“I’ve torn my gown,” she said to one and all. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” and with Catherine at her side, she walked down the long expanse of the ballroom, Louise and Fanny behind. Once outside the ballroom, Fanny stationed herself at a statue halfway down the hall.
Louise followed Madame and the princess into a bedchamber she hadn’t even known was in this part of the palace. It was one of the more beautiful chambers in a palace with many grand rooms, created over a hundred years earlier for a king’s mistress. Just above eye level was a series of frescoes framed by magnificent and larger-than-life stucco figures of nude women. Woven in among their beautiful, shapely bodies were other smaller figures: animal heads, bunches of cascading fruit, and lolling putti, or cupids. The genius and grace of mixing fresco paintings with stucco sculpture had been a creation of the artists working in this palace, and it had taken the Renaissance world by storm and made the palace one of the wonders of its time. A hundred years hadn’t dimmed the vibrancy of the paint or the magic fluidity of the sculpture. Although branches of candles were lit and sending their light outward, the chamber was pitch-dark in its corners, and the king stepped out of one of the corners of that darkness.
“There you are,” he said.
Louise shivered at the sound of his voice, all that was in it. The romance she and the Orléans princesses had thrilled over suddenly seemed pale and timid.
“We have only a moment,” Catherine warned.
The candlelight seemed to pick out and highlight the silver in Henriette’s gown as she walked toward the king.
“Come and sit,” said Louis, and he led Henriette to a long bench at the base of the bed while Louise and the princess stood as guards at the bedchamber’s open door. Louise watched as the king reached out and took Henriette’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss, then bringing it to his jacket, to the place under which lay his heart.
“You know you fill this more and more,” he said.
In the silence, Louise heard the beating of her own heart. It was so loud she felt that the gargoyle of a princess standing just opposite her could surely hear it and would reprimand her for possessing one. Its thump was punctuation to the words the king and Madame spoke, their voices soft, their tone intense, as if everything depended on them understanding one another completely.
“Shall I end this tenderness?” the king asked.
“Can you?”
“For your sake, I would.”
“I don’t think I wish you to.”
This last was breathlessly said, and Louise watched Madame put her arms around the king’s neck, and then she looked away, feeling constrained and distant, as if she were watching from a star. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see they kissed. She felt perturbed and aware that decisions were being made that were going to impact everyone.
There was a clatter of heels running on wood.
Fanny burst into the chamber. “The Count de Guiche is coming our way. The musketeers tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He told them Monsieur had sent him to find Madame—”
“La Baume le Blanc, sit down on the bench with her, now!” Swiftly, Catherine moved from the door to kneel down before Henriette and grab a handful of fabric, bending over it
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