light to make the creature sleep. Marie-Josèphe supposed it was worth a try. Heavy canvas could not be brought from the town of Versailles in under an hour, from Paris in less than a day.
The sea monster’s cries faded. Everyone — except the King — glanced toward the cage with surprise.
Random whistles dissolved to quiet; a murmur of relief passed across the crowd.
Count Lucien gestured; the servants returned to their places. The count bowed in Marie-Josèphe’s direction. She smiled uncertainly. It must be chance, not her suggestion, that the sea monster had chosen this moment to sink into silence. The answering roars of the menagerie animals tapered off, ending with the hoarse coughing roar of a tiger.
The quartet played more softly. Count Lucien returned to his place; Yves returned to his lecture; Marie-Josèphe returned to her drawing. The King watched the dissection of chest and shoulder muscles with great interest.
The line of sketches stretched across the frame. Half a dozen, a dozen: the sea monster’s body, its leg, its webbed, clawed foot. Marie-Josèphe’s hand cramped.
“I will next expose the internal organs —”
His Majesty spoke a word to Count Lucien, who motioned for the King’s deaf-mutes to take their places.. The seated courtiers leaped to their feet. The rush and rustle of silk and satin filled the tent.
“— which should resemble —” Caught in his work, Yves picked up a new, sharp dissection knife.
“Father de la Croix,” Count Lucien said.
Yves straightened, looked blankly at Count Lucien, and recalled where he was, and in whose presence.
“Most intriguing,” His Majesty said. “Immeasurably interesting.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Yves said.
“M. de Chrétien,” the King said.
Count Lucien came forward. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Order the Academy of Sciences to publish Father de la Croix’s notes and sketches.
Commission a medal.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty.”
“Father de la Croix, M. de Chrétien will inform you when I shall be free to observe again. Perhaps your Holy Father will wish to attend as well.”
Marie-Josèphe’s heart sank: another delay. If the King did not free Yves to do his work, the sea monster might never be properly described.
Yves bowed. Marie-Josèphe curtsied. Charcoal dust from her hand smeared the skirt of her riding habit.
“At Your Majesty’s convenience,” Yves said.
When His Majesty had left the tent, when the musicians had followed him, still playing, and his court had accompanied him, when his servants and guards and the visitors had departed, Marie-Josèphe was left all alone with Yves and Count Lucien.
Marie-Josèphe sank onto a chair. Not His Majesty’s, of course; for her to sit in it would be ill-mannered. She sat in the seat that was still warm from the presence of the Chevalier de Lorraine.
The new shoes Marie-Josèphe had been so pleased with pinched her feet intolerably.
“When may I expect to continue, Count Lucien?”
Without replying, Count Lucien looked thoughtfully at the display of Marie-Josèphe’s drawings.
“Mlle de la Croix, can you draw life as well as death?”
“Oh, yes, M. de Chrétien, life is much easier.”
“You may submit a drawing of the sea monster — a live sea monster, if you please
— for His Majesty’s medal. I don’t promise your drawing will be chosen.”
“But when may my brother continue his work?”
“Sister,” Yves said, “Count Lucien has offered us a singular honor. Be so kind as to offer him some gratitude.”
“I do!” she said. “Of course I do, I’m flattered, sir, and I thank you. But drawings and medals don’t decay. The sea monster, the dissection —”
“His Majesty dictates the progress of the dissection,” Yves said. He plucked a long shard of glass from the lab table and flung it into the garbage bucket. It shattered with a sound like bells. Yves folded the canvas over the dead sea monster’s flayed body.
PRIVATE
“You
The sea monster’s cries faded. Everyone — except the King — glanced toward the cage with surprise.
Random whistles dissolved to quiet; a murmur of relief passed across the crowd.
Count Lucien gestured; the servants returned to their places. The count bowed in Marie-Josèphe’s direction. She smiled uncertainly. It must be chance, not her suggestion, that the sea monster had chosen this moment to sink into silence. The answering roars of the menagerie animals tapered off, ending with the hoarse coughing roar of a tiger.
The quartet played more softly. Count Lucien returned to his place; Yves returned to his lecture; Marie-Josèphe returned to her drawing. The King watched the dissection of chest and shoulder muscles with great interest.
The line of sketches stretched across the frame. Half a dozen, a dozen: the sea monster’s body, its leg, its webbed, clawed foot. Marie-Josèphe’s hand cramped.
“I will next expose the internal organs —”
His Majesty spoke a word to Count Lucien, who motioned for the King’s deaf-mutes to take their places.. The seated courtiers leaped to their feet. The rush and rustle of silk and satin filled the tent.
“— which should resemble —” Caught in his work, Yves picked up a new, sharp dissection knife.
“Father de la Croix,” Count Lucien said.
Yves straightened, looked blankly at Count Lucien, and recalled where he was, and in whose presence.
“Most intriguing,” His Majesty said. “Immeasurably interesting.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Yves said.
“M. de Chrétien,” the King said.
Count Lucien came forward. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Order the Academy of Sciences to publish Father de la Croix’s notes and sketches.
Commission a medal.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty.”
“Father de la Croix, M. de Chrétien will inform you when I shall be free to observe again. Perhaps your Holy Father will wish to attend as well.”
Marie-Josèphe’s heart sank: another delay. If the King did not free Yves to do his work, the sea monster might never be properly described.
Yves bowed. Marie-Josèphe curtsied. Charcoal dust from her hand smeared the skirt of her riding habit.
“At Your Majesty’s convenience,” Yves said.
When His Majesty had left the tent, when the musicians had followed him, still playing, and his court had accompanied him, when his servants and guards and the visitors had departed, Marie-Josèphe was left all alone with Yves and Count Lucien.
Marie-Josèphe sank onto a chair. Not His Majesty’s, of course; for her to sit in it would be ill-mannered. She sat in the seat that was still warm from the presence of the Chevalier de Lorraine.
The new shoes Marie-Josèphe had been so pleased with pinched her feet intolerably.
“When may I expect to continue, Count Lucien?”
Without replying, Count Lucien looked thoughtfully at the display of Marie-Josèphe’s drawings.
“Mlle de la Croix, can you draw life as well as death?”
“Oh, yes, M. de Chrétien, life is much easier.”
“You may submit a drawing of the sea monster — a live sea monster, if you please
— for His Majesty’s medal. I don’t promise your drawing will be chosen.”
“But when may my brother continue his work?”
“Sister,” Yves said, “Count Lucien has offered us a singular honor. Be so kind as to offer him some gratitude.”
“I do!” she said. “Of course I do, I’m flattered, sir, and I thank you. But drawings and medals don’t decay. The sea monster, the dissection —”
“His Majesty dictates the progress of the dissection,” Yves said. He plucked a long shard of glass from the lab table and flung it into the garbage bucket. It shattered with a sound like bells. Yves folded the canvas over the dead sea monster’s flayed body.
PRIVATE
“You
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