“No — but look, perhaps that’s him now.”
The guard drew aside the white silk at the entryway.
Monseigneur the Grand Dauphin, heir to the throne, Chartres’ cousin, entered the tent. The Dauphine had died some years before; Monseigneur was said to keep a mistress, Mlle Choin, in private apartments; she never came to court.
His Majesty’s young grandsons, Monseigneur’s sons, the dukes of Bourgogne, Anjou, and Berri, marched along behind their father the Grand Dauphin, playing at dignity while elbowing each other and craning their necks for a glimpse of the sea monster.
Madame and Lotte entered; Maine strolled in. Madame froze him with politeness. His Majesty might legitimize Louis Auguste and his brother Louis Alexandre and his half-sisters all he liked; Madame would never consider any of them, even her daughter-in-law, anything but bastards.
If Madame’s opinion distressed them, which Marie-Josèphe doubted, they hid their concern. Maine was particularly handsome today, in a fine new red coat with gold embroidery and silver lace. His hat spilled out a snowdrift of egret plumes. The coat disguised his uneven shoulders. He walked carefully, so his limp hardly showed.
More courtiers poured into the tent, and visitors, too, His Majesty’s subjects from Paris and the countryside, far more people than Marie-Josèphe expected to come to the dissection. The courtiers milled about, seeking vantage points behind the royal family’s seats. The visitors stood behind the aristocrats, along the wall of the tent.
Several people strolled over to the cage and peered through the bars. One even lifted the latch, but a musketeer stopped him.
“You may not enter, sir,” the musketeer said. “Much too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous for me, not too dangerous for her?” The visitor pointed toward Marie-Josèphe, then laughed. “Or perhaps she’s the sacrifice to Poseidon’s sea monster?”
“Keep a respectful tongue in your head, if you please,” the musketeer said.
“His Majesty’s invitation —”
“— is for the public dissection.”
The townsman opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He bowed and took a step back.
“You are correct, officer,” he said. “His Majesty’s invitation is for the dissection. His Majesty will show us his living sea monster when he chooses.”
“Perhaps when it’s tamed,” the musketeer said.
Marie-Josèphe threw a fish into the pool. The sea monster plunged toward it, splashing and snarling. Its teeth snapped together. Marie-Josèphe felt a little sorry for the fish. Watching in vain for Yves, she climbed the stairs with Chartres and left the sea monster’s cage, locking it behind her.
She curtsied to the royal family, then kissed Madame’s hem and embraced Lotte, who stooped to kiss her lips and her cheek. Lotte moved carefully so as not to dislodge her fontanges. Its ruffles rose over her beautifully-dressed hair; its ribbons and lace spilled down her back.
“Good morning, my dear,” Madame said. “We missed you at Mass.”
“Perhaps she was with M. de Chrétien instead,” Lotte said with a delighted laugh.
“Hush, daughter,” Madame said.
“Please forgive me, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, wondering what Lotte found so amusing.
“Forgive you for missing that wretched priest’s most boring sermon in weeks? Child! I envy you.”
Madame’s complaints about the churchmen of Versailles always distressed Marie-Josèphe. She knew God would understand that Madame meant nothing blasphemous or heretical. Marie-Josèphe was not so sure the other members of court understood, especially Mme de Maintenon, especially since Madame used to be a Protestant. But, then, Mme de Maintenon used to be a Protestant, too.
“Do you like my hair? Your Odelette is a wonder!” Lotte said. “An octavon, is she? Why have we not seen her before?”
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, she’s a Turk — she recently followed me to France, from Martinique.”
“She dressed my hair so beautifully — and with a touch of her hand she renewed this old fontanges.”
“I cannot afford to buy you a new one every time the fashion changes,” Madame said dryly. “Nor even every day.”
Monsieur and Lorraine joined them. Marie-Josèphe curtsied, her heart beating faster when Lorraine took her hand between his, raised it to his lips, kissed it, and restrained her hand for a moment before letting her go. When she drew away, startled and shocked and excited by his provocative touch, he smiled, his eyes half-closed. He had the most beautiful long dark eyelashes.
Monsieur bowed coolly to Marie-Josèphe. He led his family and Lorraine away to their places. Monsieur took his seat, carefully arranging his coat-skirts. Chartres threw himself onto a chair beside his sister.
“Mlle de la Croix,” he asked, “is it true that the sea monsters eat people?”
“Oh, yes,” Marie-Josèphe said in as serious a tone as she could find. “I’m sure it is true.”
“And people,” Lorraine said, “return the favor.”
The fountain machinery creaked to life, clanking and groaning. In the distance, water gushed and flowed.
“Ah,” Madame said. “His Majesty is coming.”
In a panic, Marie-Josèphe thought, Where is Yves? If His Majesty is here, the dissection must proceed... unless His Majesty is furious, and has come to banish me —
Stop it, she said to herself. Who are you to think the King himself would punish you? At most he would send Count Lucien. More likely he would send a footman.
“Pardon me, please, Madame, Mademoiselle.” She curtsied quickly. Holding up the velvet skirts of her riding habit, she ran across the tent to the entrance.
A horrible possibility occurred to her. What if Yves expected her to remind him of the time of the dissection? What if she had failed him again, twice in a single day? She should have gone back to the chateau an hour ago. If she left now, His Majesty would be kept waiting, which was inconceivable. She could not begin the dissection herself — she was capable of performing it, but she would be horribly outside her place to do so.
She thought, I’ll ask one of the musketeers —
She nearly ran into Count Lucien. She stopped long enough to curtsy to him.
“Take your place, please, Mlle de la Croix,” he said. He glanced around the tent, his casual gaze taking in everything, approving everything, seeking any sights improper for His Majesty to see.