The King and the Pope saluted each other, Innocent bowing with genuine humility, His Majesty deigning to incline his head to his fellow prince. The courtiers with His Majesty, the churchmen with Innocent, bowed deeply each to the other side. When they rose, Mme de Maintenon’s expression shone like the sun, with unutterable joy. In public she kept her own council; she raised her black lace fan before her face, but it betrayed her by trembling.
His Majesty could give his hand only to the Emperor, the only man in Europe whose rank equaled his own. He did not breach etiquette for the sake of Pope Innocent, as he had for his deposed ally James of England.
Though Innocent forbore to offer his ring to Louis to be kissed, he searched His Majesty’s escort, and stretched his hand toward Mme de Maintenon.
Mme de Maintenon hurried forward, her black silk skirt and petticoats rustling against the black and white marble. A powerful unacknowledged queen on a distorted chessboard, she knelt — gracefully, despite her age — before Innocent and pressed his hand, his ring, to her lips.
“Perhaps he’ll stone her,” Madame muttered, only loud enough for Lotte — and Marie-Josèphe, just behind her — to hear. Marie-Josèphe felt rather shocked, but Lotte pressed her lips together, and her shoulders shook.
“Rise, sister.” Innocent treated Mme de Maintenon with exquisite and kindly politeness, supporting the faction that believed she and the King had married.
His Majesty and Pope Innocent and Mme de Maintenon walked together across the Marble Courtyard to the chateau entrance, the Royal Family and the bishops and cardinals falling in behind, the courtiers bowing as they passed. Another cheer from the crowd rose around them and echoed from the walls, making the busts of heroes and saints shout and cry as they never had in life.
7
Marie-Josèphe accompanied Mademoiselle and Madame back to Madame’s apartments.
Put out of sorts by Mme de Maintenon’s triumph, Madame grumbled all the way.
“Innocent will take all His Majesty’s time,” she said, “Planning wars, estranging me further from my relatives... I fear His Majesty will never invite us on another hunt, or even a walk.”
“We could walk by ourselves, Mama,” Lotte said.
“It isn’t the same.”
“Oh, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, “how can His Majesty do anything ordinary today?”
“His entertainments this evening will be ordinary enough, I have no doubt. No pope will stop the gambling or the drinking, and he certainly cannot stop the boredom!”
Madame sighed, then brightened as she led the way into her dim, cold apartments. “I must finish my letter to Electress Sophie.”
“You’ll have to admit to Aunt Sophie that the Marquise de Maintenon came away unstoned.”
Madame made a sound of disgust. “The old whore! By your leave, Mlle de La Croix.”
“I beg your pardon, Madame?”
“And I beg yours! I cannot help my improper language, for I ran wild when I was young.”
“I heard no improper language,” Marie-Josèphe said.
Madame laughed, and Lotte joined in.
“So the old hag hasn’t taken you in, with her piety and her mouse turds! I knew you were a sensible young woman.”
“You give me too much credit, Madame.” Marie-Josèphe’s cheeks warmed intensely with her embarrassment. “If you spoke improperly I couldn’t tell — I don’t know what that word means.”
“Which word?” Lotte asked dryly. “Turd, hag, or whore?”
“The last,” Marie-Josèphe whispered.
“It is charming that you do not know it,” Madame said. “I must get to my letters.”
Marie-Josèphe and Lotte curtsied as Madame disappeared into her private chamber.
Lotte took Marie-Josèphe’s arm. Together they left Madame’s rooms. Odelette followed. Dusk was falling; as they passed, servants lowered the crystal chandeliers and lit masses of new candles.
In Lotte’s apartments, the ladies-in-waiting claimed Odelette to dress their hair.
Lotte drew Marie-Josèphe to a corner by the window so they could whisper together.
“You have led such a sheltered existence!” Lotte said.
“You know that I have.”
“A whore is a woman who sells herself for money.”
“In Martinique we would call her a slave. Or a bondservant, if she sold herself.”
“Not a slave, not a bondservant! A woman who sells her body.”
Marie-Josèphe shook her head, confused.
“Who sells her body to men. To any man.” Exasperated, Lotte said, “For sex!”
“Sex?” Marie-Josèphe tried to make sense of it. “Do you mean, fornication? Sex without marriage?”
“Marriage! Silly goose.”
“I —” Marie-Josèphe fell silent. It would be improper for her to defend herself against her royal mistress’ ridicule, though she felt hurt that Lotte would take such pleasure in making fun of her.
You raised yourself too high, Marie-Josèphe told herself. If Lotte slaps you down, then you deserve it.
“I don’t mean it!” Lotte said. “Marie-Josèphe, I’m sorry. You must let me teach you everything about the world — how could the nuns keep you in such ignorance?”