leaving Manon and me deep in another curtsy, my eyes on the ground, my cheeks burning with shame. My head pounds, and my nails bite into the palm of my hand. I curse my loud mouth.
I will prove that man wrong, and I will have that money for Algernon and me if it is the last thing I do.
• • •
The Petit Trianon is a solid block of a palace with large windows and columns. A broad portico surrounds the chateau. There were so many people walking the garden paths, and here, even more sit on benches.
“How many people
live
here?” I ask, my head spinning.
“The king’s family, of course, and all their servants,” Manon says. “And thousands of courtiers live nearby. They come daily so that they may gain favor with the king.”
“Thousands?” I echo. It is one thing to think that the king ignores the plight of the poor, but I cannot comprehend how thousands of people can do the same. Have they not seen what is happening beyond these walls?
Manon nods. “That book you spent so much time memorizing was written to keep these courtiers’ minds from plotting against the king while they are here.”
“That’s clever,” I say bitterly, thinking of the king spending his time writing decrees to keep his throne safe from the hands of those who would wrest it from him, rather than concentrating on matters of state.
“Mmm,” Manon says. “Do you think so? If everyone is so busy worrying about following these rules, then when is there time to do the work of the country?”
I pause. I had not considered that even the king’s men are not working on the problems of France. “Is that why so many people are starving?”
“Perhaps,” Manon says. “Or perhaps it was just a poor harvest?”
“Well, which is it?” I ask, irritated by Manon’s evasiveness.
Manon smiles slightly. “You must decide that yourself, Celie.”
I frown. What does she
think
? Is she for the king, or against him?
But Manon is already far ahead of me on the path, and I have to hurry to catch up, hoping I do not trip over my wide skirts as I run lightly along. We approach a small door hidden around a corner of the
Petit Trianon
. A servant stands at attention by it. He bows when he sees Manon and opens the door for us.
We enter a windowless corridor fitted with rounded ceilings, crowded with servants rushing here and there. I sigh. Unfortunately,
this
feels more like where we belong. The place smells of hot breath and bodies packed too closely together.
I follow Manon up four flights of stairs. My corset digs into my sides, making me stop several times to catch my breath, and I have to keep turning to get my wide
pannier
hoopskirt up the stairs. I almost laugh as I imagine trying to live on the streets in these contraptions. Every criminal would be caught easily, as they could never run away.
At last, we reach the very top. Manon walks down another narrow corridor until we are in front of an open door. We enter a room with a single bed and dresser.
“You are here,” Manon says. “I am right across the hall.”
“Should I go back down and get our things?” I ask, though I am dreading climbing up all those stairs again.
“
Non
,” Manon says. “Someone will bring our bags along shortly. I will go to Madame Élisabeth first, and then come back for you if she gives me permission to present you to her today.”
I walk into my new bedroom. It isn’t half as nice as the room I have at Manon’s. There is a looking glass and a wardrobe for my dresses, but the bed is narrow and the blankets thin. And there is only a very small fireplace, and a tiny window. Still, it is far better than the alley at the Palais-Royal.
I wonder what Algernon is doing now. Is he moving exhibits in the museum? Is he running errands for l’Oncle? Is he thinking of me now as I am thinking of him? Does he regret kissing me the way he did? Does he regret kissing me at all? I take a deep breath and firmly put thoughts of Algernon aside. I have work to do
I will prove that man wrong, and I will have that money for Algernon and me if it is the last thing I do.
• • •
The Petit Trianon is a solid block of a palace with large windows and columns. A broad portico surrounds the chateau. There were so many people walking the garden paths, and here, even more sit on benches.
“How many people
live
here?” I ask, my head spinning.
“The king’s family, of course, and all their servants,” Manon says. “And thousands of courtiers live nearby. They come daily so that they may gain favor with the king.”
“Thousands?” I echo. It is one thing to think that the king ignores the plight of the poor, but I cannot comprehend how thousands of people can do the same. Have they not seen what is happening beyond these walls?
Manon nods. “That book you spent so much time memorizing was written to keep these courtiers’ minds from plotting against the king while they are here.”
“That’s clever,” I say bitterly, thinking of the king spending his time writing decrees to keep his throne safe from the hands of those who would wrest it from him, rather than concentrating on matters of state.
“Mmm,” Manon says. “Do you think so? If everyone is so busy worrying about following these rules, then when is there time to do the work of the country?”
I pause. I had not considered that even the king’s men are not working on the problems of France. “Is that why so many people are starving?”
“Perhaps,” Manon says. “Or perhaps it was just a poor harvest?”
“Well, which is it?” I ask, irritated by Manon’s evasiveness.
Manon smiles slightly. “You must decide that yourself, Celie.”
I frown. What does she
think
? Is she for the king, or against him?
But Manon is already far ahead of me on the path, and I have to hurry to catch up, hoping I do not trip over my wide skirts as I run lightly along. We approach a small door hidden around a corner of the
Petit Trianon
. A servant stands at attention by it. He bows when he sees Manon and opens the door for us.
We enter a windowless corridor fitted with rounded ceilings, crowded with servants rushing here and there. I sigh. Unfortunately,
this
feels more like where we belong. The place smells of hot breath and bodies packed too closely together.
I follow Manon up four flights of stairs. My corset digs into my sides, making me stop several times to catch my breath, and I have to keep turning to get my wide
pannier
hoopskirt up the stairs. I almost laugh as I imagine trying to live on the streets in these contraptions. Every criminal would be caught easily, as they could never run away.
At last, we reach the very top. Manon walks down another narrow corridor until we are in front of an open door. We enter a room with a single bed and dresser.
“You are here,” Manon says. “I am right across the hall.”
“Should I go back down and get our things?” I ask, though I am dreading climbing up all those stairs again.
“
Non
,” Manon says. “Someone will bring our bags along shortly. I will go to Madame Élisabeth first, and then come back for you if she gives me permission to present you to her today.”
I walk into my new bedroom. It isn’t half as nice as the room I have at Manon’s. There is a looking glass and a wardrobe for my dresses, but the bed is narrow and the blankets thin. And there is only a very small fireplace, and a tiny window. Still, it is far better than the alley at the Palais-Royal.
I wonder what Algernon is doing now. Is he moving exhibits in the museum? Is he running errands for l’Oncle? Is he thinking of me now as I am thinking of him? Does he regret kissing me the way he did? Does he regret kissing me at all? I take a deep breath and firmly put thoughts of Algernon aside. I have work to do
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