“Mlle de la Croix!” Madame said smiling. “There you are, my dear. Did you see my fox?”
The hunt might have taken place a year ago, for all she recalled of it. She had forgotten the fox. Free of Chartres and Lorraine, relatively safe in the company of Madame and His Majesty, she felt weary and feverish.
“Yes, Madame, of course, your fox.”
“I’ll present him to His Majesty.” A servant in Madame’s livery ran toward the caleche carrying the limp scrap of red fur. “But His Majesty will return him to me. His pelt will make a lovely tippet. I dispatched him with a single shot, so the fur will hardly be damaged at all.”
The servant handed the fox to a huntsman, who presented it to Yves, who offered it to His Majesty. Pope Innocent drew back from the bloody carcass. His Majesty touched the dead fox; his reply returned by a route as circuitous as the fox’s arrival.
Madame’s servant dodged between horses and stopped at Marie-Josèphe’s side.
“His Majesty asks Madame to attend him.”
“Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, “His Majesty —”
As Marie-Josèphe spoke, Madame advanced like a cavalry officer. Marie-Josèphe followed in her substantial wake. Count Lucien surrendered his place in respect of the Princess Palatine; only Madame separated Marie-Josèphe from the King.
Lorraine, Chartres, and Berwick rode their lathered horses out of the forest. They rejoined the hunting party, riding up next to Monsieur.
Lorraine tipped his hat to Marie-Josèphe. She ignored him. Between Madame and Count Lucien, she did feel safe. Monsieur brushed his fingertips across Lorraine’s hand, a possessive gesture that Marie-Josèphe now understood, as she understood Pope Innocent’s frown. She felt sorry to have caused Monsieur concern and jealousy.
I suppose, she thought, I cannot tell him he has nothing to fear from me. It would be kind, but it would be the height of arrogance.
“Good afternoon, Madame,” His Majesty said. “You shot excellently well.”
“Your Majesty, it’s my greatest joy to ride with you.” Madame’s voice and words grew tender, much different from her usual bluff comments, when she spoke to the King.
“You’ve won the prize.” His Majesty unfastened a collar from the dead fox’ throat, bringing away a handful of light, a wide bracelet of gold and diamonds. He fastened the bracelet around Madame’s wrist.
“Your Majesty,” Madame said, breathless. “I am overwhelmed.” She admired the sparking rainbow facets and showed the bracelet to Marie-Josèphe.
“It’s beautiful, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said sincerely. “The most beautiful bracelet I’ve ever seen.”
Madame glowed in His Majesty’s attention; she even nodded to Mme de Maintenon with a smile very different from her usual exquisitely polite coolness. Taken aback, Mme de Maintenon hesitated, then nodded in return.
“I have a prize for you, as well,” the King said to Mme de Maintenon. “Close your eyes and put out your hands.”
“Oh, Sire —”
“Come, come, come!” He bullied her cheerfully.
Mme de Maintenon obeyed her husband. The King opened a black velvet bag and poured out a magnificent parure of diamonds and sapphires: earrings, brooch, and bracelet. The jewelry gleaming in her palms, Mme de Maintenon sat obstinately motionless, her eyes tightly closed.
His Majesty’s cheer faded. “You may open your eyes.”
Mme de Maintenon barely glanced at the ornaments. “How beautiful — of course I cannot in good conscience wear them.” She pressed the jewels into His Holiness’ hands. “Sell them, and give the proceeds to the poor.”
“Your charity is legendary.” His Holiness handed the parure to Yves, who took it with the same reserve with which he had handled the dead fox.
Louis remained impassive. Madame was not so stoic.
“I could never part with a present from Your Majesty,” she said. “I’m far too selfish and worldly. I shall wear my bracelet to Carrousel.”
His Majesty nodded to Madame.
Even his smallest action is splendid, Marie-Josèphe thought, and dared to hope for her friend.
“I should sell it to pay my servants,” Madame whispered to Marie-Josèphe, “but I shall wear it — if Monsieur doesn’t insist on borrowing it!”
“I would have liked to see you wear my gift, if but once,” His Majesty said to Mme de Maintenon. He did not raise his voice; neither did he make any attempt to keep the conversation confidential. Monsieur suddenly turned to Lorraine and began a spirited discussion; similarly, Madame displayed the intricate clasp of her new bracelet to Marie-Josèphe. Everyone pretended to be unaware of the exchange between the King and his wife. Even His Holiness looked politely away, asking Yves about some nearby bird or leaf or insect.
The King has no private moments, Marie-Josèphe said to herself. It must make no difference to him, whether he speaks in front of a few noblemen serving at his awakening, or in front of his whole court.
“Sire, I’m a plain old woman. I’d look foolish in a young bride’s baubles.”
“You’re always beautiful to me,” His Majesty said.
“My only beauty is my good work, which I dedicate to you, who rule by the grace of God.”
Louis, called in his youth Dieudonné, God-given, shook his head. “That’s true, yet I’m still a man, who desired to give his wife a gift.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between the King and Mme de Maintenon.
Monsieur’s sudden giggle interrupted it. “The sea monster?” he cried. “The sea monster told bawdy tales?”
“Indeed it did, and Mlle de la Croix translated them for us.”
Lorraine looked past Monsieur, past Yves and His Majesty, past Madame. He smiled his devastating smile at Marie-Josèphe, but he had robbed himself of its power over her.
“Do you tell your story again, Mlle de la Croix,” Lorraine said easily, “for Monsieur and for His Majesty.”
“It isn’t my story, sir.” She did not plan the rude chill in her voice, but she could not regret it. “It belongs to —”
“I forbid you to repeat it,” Yves said.
“— the sea woman.”
“It’s entirely improper, Monsieur,” Lorraine said. “About Northern raiders — and bestiality with sea monsters.”