“But you approve of Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said. “She’s a member of your household, after all.”
“My wife’s household! I cannot blame Mlle de la Croix — she’s an innocent in this! You planned it! You threw them together, to steal Lorraine’s affections from me!”
“I gave him to you,” Louis said, his expression dark. “I will take him back if I wish. I will give him to another, if it pleases me.”
“He’ll never leave me — he’ll defy you — I’ll —”
“Philippe!” Louis leapt to his feet and shook his brother by the shoulders.
Monsieur gaped, astonished. Lucien had never heard His Majesty address his brother by his given name; perhaps Monsieur never had, either.
“I thought only of your protection, dear brother. I love you. If Lorraine marries —”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Do you not?”
“And Lorraine doesn’t need a wife!”
“She will shield him — and you — from accusations —”
“He has any mistress he likes. I don’t mind!”
No one contradicted him, though everyone in the room had witnessed Lorraine’s taunting him, paying public attention to each new mistress; everyone in the room had witnessed Monsieur’s spells of bitter jealousy and despair.
“Do not force a wife on him. He’s the only one who loves me.”
Mme de Maintenon rose. “Love!” she cried. “How can you call that love? Your behavior — disgraceful, sinful! His Majesty protects you continually. If you weren’t Monsieur, you would have been burned, and your paramour with you!”
Monsieur flung up his arms, pushing his brother away. He glared at Mme de Maintenon with hatred and despair.
“And you!” Monsieur cried. “You want to give her my lover so she won’t take yours!”
Mme de Maintenon collapsed. Taken aback, Louis turned to her. “Madame, it isn’t true!”
“Don’t deny you’re tempted, sir,” Monsieur said. “By her beauty, her intelligence, her innocence. Do you believe she can replenish your youth?”
“Go away, brother,” Louis said.
“Willingly! Give me back my cavalry. Lorraine and I will fight your war, like Alexander and Hephaestion. Perhaps I’ll be killed, like Patroklos —”
“Have the dignity to compare yourself to Achilleus!”
“— and you’ll be rid of me —”
“No. It’s impossible.”
“You give me nothing to do, you block my son from any share of glory, and now —”
“Get out!” His Majesty shouted.
Monsieur bolted. He flung open the door himself, moaning with despair.
“How can he accuse me of treachery?” His Majesty cried. “How can I save him? How can I help him?”
He wept. His tears splashed on the intricate parquet. He caught his breath; he fought for control. His keening grew louder; it filled the room with grief.
“Come to me, my dear,” his wife whispered. “Come to me.”
The King fell to his knees and buried his head in Mme de Maintenon’s bosom. She held him, crooning. She glared at Lucien.
Without waiting for His Majesty’s leave, Lucien bowed, backed away, and fled.
Marie-Josèphe rode Zachi past the marble statues overlooking the Green Carpet. Grateful for a moment’s peace, she looked into each serene stone face, wishing for their calmness.
The orators would never hesitate to speak of the sea woman, she thought, and no one would hesitate to believe them. Roman gods and orators would never feel guilty about skipping Mass; they would set out on adventures, they would win righteous battles, and never think twice about arguing with their brothers or failing to attend Mademoiselle.
Haleed will arrange Lotte’s hair, Marie-Josèphe said to herself, and Duke Charles will compliment her, and she will never notice my absence.
At the bottom of the garden, a line of visitors snaked onto the Green Carpet, filing into the tent, crowding around the Fountain of Apollo, applauding the sea woman.
She shouldn’t be on display, like an animal in the Menagerie! Marie-Josèphe thought. It’s beneath her dignity! And I’m responsible — I taught her the foolish tricks.
Marie-Josèphe had no authority to close the tent.
Zachi tossed her head and pranced, asking to gallop, asking to run until her mane flew in the wind and Lorraine’s cloak swept back like wings.
“No, my charger,” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “We must keep to a stately pace. We might trample someone, if we swooped down to steal the sea woman away.”
She wondered if the sea woman could ride, if perhaps she rode great whales through the ocean. If she could...
Marie-Josèphe dismissed the wild idea. She would never get the sea woman past the guards. Double-burdened, Zachi could not outrace even a cold-blooded horse. She might try, and break her heart.
“It would be to no avail,” Marie-Josèphe said, “for the rescue could not succeed. Yves would never forgive me, for the sake of his work. Count Lucien would never forgive me, for the sake of His Majesty. And I’d never forgive myself, for the sake of you.”
“What time to return, mamselle?” Jacques held the stairs and helped her dismount.
“I cannot say.” She patted Zachi’s sleek neck and her soft muzzle; she breathed into her flaring nostrils. “I’ll send for her.”
“You’re a wonder, mademoiselle,” said one musketeer, “training the sea monster to entertain the visitors.”
“Shame it’s for such a short time,” said the other.
Marie-Josèphe hurried to the cage. The sea woman swam back and forth, around and around, tantalizing the spectators.
The sea woman vanished. The pool stilled.
The surface roiled. The sea woman burst from the water in a rush of spray. Her naked body gleamed. She leaped completely over Triton, flipping her tails — her webbed feet — at the top of her arch. She arrowed down, vanishing without a splash or ripple.
The spectators applauded. “Throw it a fish!”
“Make it leap again!”
Marie-Josèphe ignored the demands.
I will not ask the sea woman to perform like a trick dog, she thought. She sang the sea woman’s name; the sea woman trilled, creating curtains of light and sound that glowed and hissed like the northern lights. Marie-Josèphe walked between them. All oblivious to the coruscating shimmer, the visitors waited for their entertainment.