Several gardeners hurried to rake the wagon tracks and the hoofprints from the path, to clean away every clod of horse manure, and to vanish again, leaving potted flowers and trees in precise lines, carrying with them any wilted blooms.
The musketeers busied themselves lowering the sides of the tent, closing Marie-Josèphe off alone with the sea monster. She sat still in the silence, in the silken sunlight that poured through the top and sides of the tent. The sea monster, underwater, drifted closer.
Marie-Josèphe regarded the live fishes doubtfully. They twitched and quivered. If she did not feed them to the sea monster herself, soon, she might as well tip them into the fountain. Otherwise they would die. She rolled her embroidered velvet sleeve up above her elbow, reached into the jar, and grabbed one of the fish.
Gripping the wriggly thing tight, Marie-Josèphe knelt and swished the fish through the water.
“Come, sea monster.”
The sea monster lunged forward, but quickly turned aside. Ripples lapped around Marie-Josèphe’s wrist.
“Come here, sea monster. Come get a nice fish.”
The sea monster swam back and forth, a few armslengths from the stairs.
“Please, sea monster,” she said. “You must eat.”
The live fish writhed feebly. Marie-Josèphe opened her hand. The sea monster darted so close that her claws brushed Marie-Josèphe’s fingers. Marie-Josèphe gasped with delight. The creature snatched the fish and shoved it into her mouth.
“Good sea monster!” Enthralled, Marie-Josèphe captured another fish. “Fine sea monster!”
Frightened by her own boldness, the sea monster fled to Apollo to nestle beneath the hooves of the dawn horses.
Perhaps Apollo is driving the wrong way in order to retard time, Marie-Josèphe thought. Perhaps if he drives against the sun, time will go backwards, and we shall all live forever.
She glanced over her shoulder, toward the glow of the sun shining through the translucent tent wall.
She caught her breath. The sun was high, much higher than she expected. She flung the fish into the pond, ran up the stairs and out of the cage, slammed the door, and hurried outside.
When did Count Lucien ride away? she wondered. It was only a few minutes ago, was it not?
She tried to convince herself that she was not very late as she ran up the Green Carpet to the chateau.
She burst into Yves’ room, hoping his bed would be empty, hoping he had gone, hoping Odelette had awakened him. But he lay snoring softly in his dark room.
“Yves, dear brother, wake up, please, I’m so sorry —”
“What?” he mumbled. “What is it, what’s wrong?” He sat up, his curly dark hair sticking out at all angles. “Is it seven already?”
“It’s at least half past eight, I’m so sorry, I went to feed the sea monster, I forgot the time.”
Anger would have been easier to bear than his stricken expression, his silence.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“It was important,” Yves said.
Marie-Josèphe hung her head. Her error made her feel like an errant child, not a grown woman, and she had no excuse, no defense.
“I know,” she whispered.
The silence weighed upon her.
“Where is Odelette?”
“I sent her to attend Mademoiselle in my place,” Marie-Josèphe said. “She had no way to know you should be awakened! This is all my fault, my responsibility.”
Yves put his arm around her shoulder.
“Never mind,” he said, his voice falsely cheerful. “I’d much rather sleep, than rise at dawn to watch an old man get out of bed and use his open chair.”
Marie-Josèphe tried to laugh, but bit her lip instead to hold back her tears.
“No one will even notice that I wasn’t there,” Yves said heartily. “Did the sea monster feed?”
“It ate a few fish,” Marie-Josèphe said miserably.
“That’s wonderful!” Yves exclaimed. “And much more important to the King’s approval. I knew you’d succeed.”
“You are so good to me,” Marie-Josèphe said. “To suffer my error without anger —to make it sound like an achievement!”
“Never think another thing about it,” he said. “Now, leave me to dress, in proper modesty.”
She kissed his cheek. As she passed through the dressing chamber that joined their bedrooms, he called out, “Sister, can you find bread and chocolate? I’m famished.”
5
Marie-Josèphe trudged back down the hill to the Fountain of Apollo and the sea monster. Beyond everything else, her error had caused her to miss going to Mass with His Majesty and his court in the chateau’s small chapel. She whispered a prayer, and promised God that she would go to evening Mass, even though no one else would attend.