for you to star in.”
I looked from the playwright to my mother, not believing what Monsieur Pierre had just said. Zounds! If only Father could be here now.
“Monsieur Pierre!” someone called out, and he disappeared before we could even respond. Well, I sighed. What a day.
There was a peremptory rap on the door. Before we could say “Come in,” a big, extravagantly ruffled man made a rude entrance.
“I wish to speak to Monsieur la Roque,” he said with a frown. “Where might I find him?”
The Duc de Mortemart! I dropped into a respectful reverence.
Fortunately, the great man showed no sign of displeasure. Quite the contrary! “Madame des Oeillets,” he said, addressing my mother, “His Majesty was entertained by your performance.”
“I am honored,” Mother said, pulling her wig back on. I slipped a fur cape on over her dressing gown for the sake of warmth (and modesty).
A young woman appeared behind the Duke: his daughter. “Monseigneur,” she said, her voice soft, “His Majesty is speaking to Monsieur Corneille about it now.”
“Is Monsieur la Roque with him?” the Duc de Mortemart demanded.
“The director?” she asked.
“Oui, he was,” said a nobleman beside her. Tall and exactly proportioned, he was the young man who had been sitting with her in the loge. He was wearing bright silks, a lace collar, and high boots with the studied nonchalance of the young.
“He’s to show us the machinery,” the Duke said impatiently.
Appearing suddenly in the door was the brutish young Louvois. “His Majesty, I’m sure, would enjoy a private viewing. I will inform His Majesty now.”
I was alarmed to see Louvois, knowing his nasty reputation. My princess gave her beau a mocking look, rolling her big eyes.
“It’s Monsieur la Roque we await, Monsieur Louvois.” The Duke regarded the florid-faced young man with impatience. “But he’s in attendance on the King, who, you should know, showed no interest in the machinery when it was discussed.”
“But—” Louvois’s little eyes blinked. “If—”
“Leave it be, young man! Unless, of course, you wish to annoy His Majesty. Has your father not taught you anything?”
The princess turned her head away and smiled.
I wasn’t sure what was going on; it appeared that young Louvois wished to court the King’s favor, but was being held in check by his superior.
“No need for La Roque, Messieurs,” Mother offered brightly. (As Medea, she’d become brazen!) “I’d be delighted to show you our secrets myself. The door to the understage is close by.”
“Pathetic,” I heard my princess say under her breath, watching as Louvois waddled after my mother and the two men. I wondered if she’d heard the stories I had; stories that portrayed Louvois not so much pathetic, as dangerous.
“You do not wish to join them, Mademoiselle? The machines are rather interesting,” I added, folding Mother’s shawl and placing it on the trunk, my hands trembling. “If grimy and forbidding,” I prattled on, talking without purpose.
“Some other day, perhaps—when Monsieur Louvois is not of the party,” she added with a smirk. She stepped into the room, pressing a scent ball to her nose. “For some reason I seem to know you.”
“I am Claude des Oeillets. I played Cupid tonight.”
“I loved that. No, from before, but I can’t recall.”
“We met … a very long time ago,” I admitted with a curtsy. How was it possible to have such a perfect face? It was in the blood, surely, in the refinement and breeding of the noble race. “Mademoiselle,” I added. I wasn’t sure how I should address her; the Mortemarts were such high nobility. She was Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, I recalled—but might she be titled now? “Near Poitiers—my family was camped by a cave.”
“Ah! The magical cave in the fearsome wilds. I remember thinking it a fantastical adventure, like something out of a storybook.” She laughed, a musical note that came
I looked from the playwright to my mother, not believing what Monsieur Pierre had just said. Zounds! If only Father could be here now.
“Monsieur Pierre!” someone called out, and he disappeared before we could even respond. Well, I sighed. What a day.
There was a peremptory rap on the door. Before we could say “Come in,” a big, extravagantly ruffled man made a rude entrance.
“I wish to speak to Monsieur la Roque,” he said with a frown. “Where might I find him?”
The Duc de Mortemart! I dropped into a respectful reverence.
Fortunately, the great man showed no sign of displeasure. Quite the contrary! “Madame des Oeillets,” he said, addressing my mother, “His Majesty was entertained by your performance.”
“I am honored,” Mother said, pulling her wig back on. I slipped a fur cape on over her dressing gown for the sake of warmth (and modesty).
A young woman appeared behind the Duke: his daughter. “Monseigneur,” she said, her voice soft, “His Majesty is speaking to Monsieur Corneille about it now.”
“Is Monsieur la Roque with him?” the Duc de Mortemart demanded.
“The director?” she asked.
“Oui, he was,” said a nobleman beside her. Tall and exactly proportioned, he was the young man who had been sitting with her in the loge. He was wearing bright silks, a lace collar, and high boots with the studied nonchalance of the young.
“He’s to show us the machinery,” the Duke said impatiently.
Appearing suddenly in the door was the brutish young Louvois. “His Majesty, I’m sure, would enjoy a private viewing. I will inform His Majesty now.”
I was alarmed to see Louvois, knowing his nasty reputation. My princess gave her beau a mocking look, rolling her big eyes.
“It’s Monsieur la Roque we await, Monsieur Louvois.” The Duke regarded the florid-faced young man with impatience. “But he’s in attendance on the King, who, you should know, showed no interest in the machinery when it was discussed.”
“But—” Louvois’s little eyes blinked. “If—”
“Leave it be, young man! Unless, of course, you wish to annoy His Majesty. Has your father not taught you anything?”
The princess turned her head away and smiled.
I wasn’t sure what was going on; it appeared that young Louvois wished to court the King’s favor, but was being held in check by his superior.
“No need for La Roque, Messieurs,” Mother offered brightly. (As Medea, she’d become brazen!) “I’d be delighted to show you our secrets myself. The door to the understage is close by.”
“Pathetic,” I heard my princess say under her breath, watching as Louvois waddled after my mother and the two men. I wondered if she’d heard the stories I had; stories that portrayed Louvois not so much pathetic, as dangerous.
“You do not wish to join them, Mademoiselle? The machines are rather interesting,” I added, folding Mother’s shawl and placing it on the trunk, my hands trembling. “If grimy and forbidding,” I prattled on, talking without purpose.
“Some other day, perhaps—when Monsieur Louvois is not of the party,” she added with a smirk. She stepped into the room, pressing a scent ball to her nose. “For some reason I seem to know you.”
“I am Claude des Oeillets. I played Cupid tonight.”
“I loved that. No, from before, but I can’t recall.”
“We met … a very long time ago,” I admitted with a curtsy. How was it possible to have such a perfect face? It was in the blood, surely, in the refinement and breeding of the noble race. “Mademoiselle,” I added. I wasn’t sure how I should address her; the Mortemarts were such high nobility. She was Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, I recalled—but might she be titled now? “Near Poitiers—my family was camped by a cave.”
“Ah! The magical cave in the fearsome wilds. I remember thinking it a fantastical adventure, like something out of a storybook.” She laughed, a musical note that came
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