Paris: The Novel (92 page)

She got lost only twice. She delivered the letter, and on being told that
there was no reply, she made her way back. She was nearing the dauphine’s door when out of his apartment stepped the dauphin. She stood to one side and curtseyed, but instead of striding past, he stopped, looked down and with a very pleasant smile asked her who she was.

“My wife’s new maid of honor? Well then, welcome. Tell me about yourself.” And on learning her name: “A relation of the famous Musketeer?”

“The connection is distant, monseigneur, but it exists.”

“Splendid. I shall look forward to learning more of you another day.”

After this very pleasant conversation with the future king himself, Amélie felt quite elated, and passed the rest of the day sitting on a chair in the half darkness quite pleasantly.

The dauphine had informed her that, owing to the peculiar regime she kept, she would not normally require her presence in the evenings, and so it was agreed that a little before dusk each day, Madame de Saint-Loubert would walk in a certain part of the gardens so that Amélie could find her there if she needed any help or advice. Thinking that her mentor would be pleased to learn of this pleasant interview, she met her there that evening.

Madame de Saint-Loubert did not smile, but received the news thoughtfully. Then she gave Amélie a strange look.

“The dauphin is a handsome, vigorous man, wouldn’t you say?”

“Certainly.”

“He started an affair with his wife’s last maid of honor.”

“Oh.”

“Of course, it was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

“Why?”

“The king and Madame de Maintenon didn’t approve. So the girl was immediately found a husband from one of the greatest aristocratic houses of France.” She paused. “I suppose the same thing could happen to you.”

“Certainly not,” cried Amélie. “My parents would be appalled.”

For a moment or two, Madame de Saint-Loubert was silent. Then she spoke quietly but firmly.

“My child, your parents were entirely aware of the business with the dauphin before they sent you to Versailles.”

“Dear God, is this how one gets married?”

“It’s one way.”

She did not see the dauphin for another week. Most days he went out hunting early and did not return until late.

Keeping the dauphine company was not quite as bad as she might have thought. Her children appeared from time to time. The baby was with a wet nurse, the elder two cared for by others, but their occasional visits provided a change. Madame, the Duchesse d’Orléans, would come to see her. The two ladies liked to talk and Amélie was usually sent out of the room at these times. But since the dauphine would talk to her later, she often picked up, indirectly, the court gossip that madame had brought.

She learned that the king had been in a bad temper ever since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, how the youngbloods of the court had been allowed to go off to fight against the Turks, who were troubling Eastern Europe, and how this man or that had pleased the king with his deeds of valor, or angered him by something that he had written in a letter.

“The king’s servants read everyone’s letters,” the dauphine remarked to her one day. “So be careful what you write, because the king will soon know of it.”

After a few days, Amélie began to feel that, though she still had much to learn, she was unlikely to see anything that would surprise her. She was wrong.

It was an afternoon. She was passing near the king’s apartments. Ahead of her, another lady-in-waiting of about her age was standing in a hallway when the king suddenly appeared. He did not see Amélie, but he did see the other girl.

It happened so fast that Amélie could scarcely believe her eyes. The king put his arm around the young woman, signaled by a nod that she was to raise her skirts, and after some brief but practiced fumblings, had her pressed against the wall with her legs around his body while he pressed home his advantage.

Terrified, Amélie managed to shrink behind a pillar. She wanted to run away, but did not dare, for fear of being seen. She did not have to wait very long. She heard a door open and close, peeped out to see the girl rearranging herself, and fled. When she got back, the dauphine glanced up and remarked that she looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She assured the dauphine that she hadn’t.

“Well, you are not to do so,” said the dauphine tartly, “because I don’t like them.”

That evening, however, she confided what she’d seen to Madame de Saint-Loubert. But if she imagined that her mentor would be shocked, she was quite wrong.

“Really?” that lady said. “How interesting. He used to do that when the dear queen was still alive. But since he’s been with Madame de Maintenon he’s renounced the sins of the flesh, more or less.” She thought for a moment. “He visits Madame de Maintenon twice a day, which is more than she wants really, though she does her duty, as she would say. Perhaps he’s going to stray a little.”

“But madame, what about the young lady?”

“What about her?”

“I mean, to be used like that …”

“He’s the king. He can do what he wants.”

“It’s disgraceful.”

“Power is an aphrodisiac, both for the man who has it, and for the women who are attracted to him. It has been so since the days of Babylon. I dare say it will always be so. Women come here to be close to power, and to profit by it.”

“But … a man who just takes whatever he wants … It’s childish, contemptible.”

“Powerful men become like children, because they can do what they want. But it’s no good despising them. This is how things are. It’s more intelligent to work with it.” She stared at Amélie severely. “Don’t look for purity in palaces, my child. You won’t find it.”

“But it could have been me,” Amélie protested. Her mentor did not reply.

In the days that followed, it might have been foolish, but she couldn’t get the memory of the incident out of her mind. Nor had Madame de Saint-Loubert offered her much comfort, beyond saying that it was probably a small aberration and she doubted that the king would return to his former ways.

As she walked down the marble halls, past the rich, dark tapestries and sumptuous pictures of the royal family dressed as classical gods, Amélie felt more and more that she had entered a huge, echoing world in which,
though the cross of Our Lord was carried before the king like a trophy, it was the pitiless pagan sun god, in league with the solemn ruler of the underworld, who reigned at Versailles.

If only she could find a way to escape.

She had gone out into the huge formal gardens one evening, to the place where she usually met Madame de Saint-Loubert. But her friend was not there that day. She waited in the hope that she might still appear, but she did not. Still unwilling to return to the château, Amélie began to walk down a long alley.

She was quite alone. The light was fading. The yellowed leaves that had fallen from the trees were turning to gray. It was a quiet, ghostly time. The alley was empty.

And then, a hundred yards ahead of her, a single figure turned into the alley. It was a large, powerful man, also alone. And even in the fading light, she recognized him at once.

It was the dauphin.

She stopped. Hoping he would not see her, she was about to press herself against a tree at the side of the alley. But before she could, he caught sight of her.

And then Amélie did a foolish thing. She panicked. She panicked, and began to run.

She couldn’t help it. The memory of what she had seen the king do was too fresh in her mind. She was alone and quite defenseless. What if the dauphin behaved as his father did? What would she do? Plead her virginity? Scream? She had no idea. She ran away up the alley.

But glancing back, she saw that he had started running too. He was large and powerful. She thought she heard him laugh. What did that mean? A laugh of amusement or of triumph? He was a large man. He was bounding along.

She tried to increase her pace. She came to another alley on her left, rushed into it.

And saw, facing her, not thirty feet ahead, another figure. And this one was horrifying. For if the body was that of a man, the face seemed distorted like a classical grotesque, with a split nose. In her terrified state, she screamed. Trapped between the two threats, she looked for escape, saw a curving path between hedgerows to her right, fled into it. And found herself a moment later in a dead end.

She was panting, trembling and trying to make no sound at the same
time, as she heard, only a few yards away, the dauphin’s heavy footfall arrive and suddenly stop.

“Monsieur de Cygne. It’s you.”

“It is, monseigneur, at your service.”

“Did you see a young lady just now?”

“Certainly. But before I had the chance to introduce myself, she ran past me toward the palace.”

“Ah. I think she thought I was chasing her.”

“If that is the case, monseigneur, I assume that she will allow herself to be caught if you continue toward the palace.”

“Thank you. Good night, de Cygne.”

After this, she heard the sound of the dauphin walking swiftly away. Then silence. It seemed that the grotesque was saving her for himself. She prepared to scream. But nothing happened until, after a long pause, the voice she’d heard before spoke.

“Forgive me for addressing you without an introduction, young lady, but I know that you must be close by, since there is no exit from the little hedgerow into which you have run.” The voice was kindly. “I am Roland de Cygne, a poor widower who was wounded long ago in the wars, which is why, though my wounds were honorable, I think it more pleasant for others that I should take my walks at dusk. I can tell you that the dauphin has departed toward the palace. I doubt that he meant you any harm, for that is not his reputation. I shall now continue on my way, but if you wish me to conduct you safely back to your quarters, I shall be happy to do so.”

She heard him move on. She waited, then, emerging cautiously from her hiding place, she looked to see if the coast was clear. It was getting quite dark. Who knew if the dauphin was lurking out there? She looked into the long alley and saw the back of Monsieur de Cygne, already fifty yards away.

“Monsieur,” she called softly. “Monsieur, if you please.”