Elderflower trotted toward her, snuffling; Youngerflower followed, yapping. They sniffed at the hem of her petticoat. Scenting Sherzad, they barked hysterically.
“Stop it!” Lotte toed the dogs away.
Madame ignored the musketeers while her ladies dressed her in a cloth-of-gold grand habit.
“You may retire,” she said to them.
“But, Madame —”
“Do as I say.”
They glanced at each other; they backed out of the dressing room. No doubt they waited in the vestibule, for even Madame’s robust presence could not counter His Majesty’s orders.
Madame pressed her cheek against Marie-Josèphe’s.
“Oh, my dear,” she said. “This is worthy of a tragic ballad. The King is furious, and he commands you to attend his banquet.”
“Madame, what am I to do?”
“Obey the King. Sweet child, that’s all any of us can do.”
oOo
Marie-Josèphe helped Haleed dress Madame’s hair, holding hairpins and the few jewels and bits of lace that Madame would allow. She could take no comfort in the ordinary actions. Her hands trembled. The other ladies in waiting whispered about her disobedience and about her bedraggled appearance.
Sherzad is alive, Marie-Josèphe thought. As long as she is alive...
But she knew her friend would not long survive in the prison of the fountain.
Madame held out her arm. Marie-Josèphe fastened the King’s diamond bracelet around her wrist. The tears in her eyes redoubled the brightness of the facets.
“And now,” Madame said, “what are we to do with you?” She looked Marie-Josèphe up and down, sternly. “You cannot dine in the King’s presence, wearing a muddy dress.”
“Don’t tease her, mama,” Lotte said. She led Marie-Josèphe to a wardrobe and flung open the doors.
The gown inside was the most beautiful Marie-Josèphe had ever seen, gleaming silver satin and silver lace, a bodice paved with moonstones.
“Mademoiselle, I cannot —”
“M. de Chrétien sends it, with his compliments.”
I have destroyed him, Marie-Josèphe thought, and still he treats me with kindness.
Lotte hugged her and kissed her and gave her hands a hopeful squeeze, then left her alone with Haleed. Lotte and Madame and their retinue departed, leaving behind the rustle of petticoats, the fragrance of rare perfumes, the echoes of their whispers.
Haleed pressed a scrap of paper into Marie-Josèphe’s hand. Marie-Josèphe unfolded it. She caught her breath when she recognized Lucien’s writing.
We will see each other soon. I love you. L.
“Do not cry, Mlle Marie,” Haleed said. “Your eyes are red enough already. Sit down, I must comb the rats nests from your hair.”
“Mlle Haleed, I must send a reply. Do I dare — is it possible?”
“It might be managed,” Haleed said. “Count Lucien has many agents.”
I love you, Marie-Josèphe wrote. I love you without boundaries, without limits.
Haleed whispered to a page boy and sent the note away, then turned her attention to helping Marie-Josèphe into the moonstone gown. The mirror reflected her image, engulfed in silver-grey light.
“It’s no more than you deserve,” Haleed said with satisfaction.
Marie-Josèphe tucked Lucien’s note into her bodice.
“Sister,” Haleed said, “will you let me dress your hair properly?”
She picked up one of Mademoiselle’s several headdresses and held it out to Marie-Josèphe. Marie-Josèphe tried to restrain herself, but at the idea of balancing the tangle of wires and ribbons and lace all evening, she burst out laughing.
“Don’t you approve of my creations?” Haleed asked sternly.
“I’m sorry!” She pressed her hands against her mouth, stifling her laughter. “Mlle Haleed, I don’t mean —”
And then Haleed was laughing, too, at the absurd edifices she had designed, at the fashionable ladies who wore them.
Haleed put down the fontanges. She arranged Marie-Josèphe’s hair in a simple style.
“You must wear these.”
Haleed looped a long string of jewels into Marie-Josèphe’s hair.
“Your pearls — !”
“I must have them back,” Haleed said, “for they will buy my passage home.”
The source of any gift from Mary of Modena was in truth His Majesty.
Marie-Josèphe took some comfort in knowing that if Louis would not free Sherzad, he would contribute to Haleed’s liberty.
oOo
The afternoon sun poured through the windows of the Hall of Mirrors, reflecting from the expanse of mirrors with blinding brightness. Rainbow spectra sparkled from crystal chandeliers. The sigil of the King, the golden sunburst, gleamed from every wall. Gods and heroes frolicked and made war on the ceiling.
Long banquet tables crowded the floor; the aristocracy of France and all its allies crowded the tables. The clothes, the food, and particularly the seating at His Majesty’s banquet would occupy court gossips for months afterwards, as it no doubt had occupied the Introducer of Ambassadors and his assistants for months beforehand.