“Come, Phillippe. We must join my brother.”
Lorraine bowed, gave Marie-Josèphe to Yves, and strolled away with Monsieur.
Ravenous, Marie-Josèphe tried to follow, but Yves held her back. All the courtiers streamed after His Majesty. Beyond them, M. Coupillet stared at Marie-Josèphe with an expression of poisonous jealousy. He turned his back and set the chamber orchestra to playing one of his own cantatas, a pretty piece without a single daring note.
“What were you thinking of?” Yves demanded.
Shocked by M. Coupillet’s behavior, distressed by His Holiness’ disapproval, Marie-Josèphe replied defensively to Yves. “Of pleasing you. Of pleasing His Majesty.”
“You should have known —”
“What should I know? How could I know? It was just a little song, little Domenico heard me play it and played it for his papa, M. Coupillet heard it, he admired it —” He surely does not admire it anymore, she said to herself.
“Before, you wanted to help me,” Yves said. “You said you wanted to help me with my work — nothing else was more important to you! — now you’ve succumbed to frivolity —”
“I haven’t! I do want to help you. How could I refuse the King?”
“He should not have asked you. When His Holiness objected, he should have submitted himself —”
“He’s the King! He has a right to anything he wants. He’s offered our family another honor — it doesn’t compare to yours, but allow me something of my own. In honor of Papa!”
“Father de la Croix. Mlle de la Croix.”
Count Lucien stood in the doorway.
“I am concerned,” he said, “that His Majesty may be disturbed by your argument.
Father de la Croix, one of his... observers... may report your comments to him.”
“A — a family disagreement, no more,” Marie-Josèphe said.
He must have heard what Yves said, Marie-Josèphe thought. Is it treason, to say the King must submit himself to the Pope? Or would it only anger His Majesty, which amounts to the same thing?
“Resolve your disagreement elsewhere, if you please.”
“Thank you for your advice, Count Lucien.” With relief, Marie-Josèphe thought, he’s not warning us that he will report our indiscreet words to the King. He’s warning us of the others who report to the King in secret.
He bowed sharply and disappeared. Marie-Josèphe, faint with hunger, wanted only to abandon the argument with Yves and join the other courtiers at midnight supper. But her brother led her deeper into the State Apartments. The Salon of Mercury was only dimly-lit, and deserted. Marie-Josèphe wondered if they should be here, all alone except for Mercury. The messenger of the gods raced across the ceiling; wavering candlelight ruffled the feathers of the roosters drawing his chariot.
“The Academy must have the sea monster drawings,” Yves said. “As soon as I finish the dissection. How will you do both?”
“It’s only a little song. A few minutes of music.”
“The drawings are more important.”
“They’ll be ready,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I won’t fail you. You trusted me when we were children. Can’t you forgive me a single error? Don’t you trust me anymore?”
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“So have you.”
“His Holiness disapproves.”
“But His Majesty commands.”
oOo
Together, in silence. Marie-Josèphe and Yves crossed the Salon of Mercury.
Marie-Josèphe thought, My drawings will be perfect, and erase the constraints between us.
In the Salon of Mars, M. Coupillet conducted a saraband. A single couple, all alone, danced to the measured music. Surely that was Lorraine, there was no mistaking his tall and elegant figure. He and his partner came together, pivoted, and parted to the form of the dance.
Indifferent to the notice of the orchestra and careless of the attention of Marie-Josèphe and Yves, Lorraine and Monsieur danced. Monsieur gazed up at his friend; Lorraine bent to kiss him. The heavy dark wings of his wig shadowed Monsieur’s face. When Lorraine glided into the next step of the saraband, his gaze caught Marie-Josèphe’s.
He smiled at her, and continued to dance.
Yves lengthened his stride and hurried Marie-Josèphe from the music room. He pressed his lips together in an angry line. He walked her all the way past the billiards tables in the Salon of Diana, and only stopped as they were about to enter the crowded Salon of Venus, where the King’s guests ate hungrily. The exquisite smells from the Salon of Abundance beyond made Marie-Josèphe’s mouth water.
Yves faced her, his eyes blue-black in anger.
“You shouldn’t have been exposed to such a sight,” he said. “His Majesty’s brother takes advantage — !”
“Of what? Monsieur is the kindest man imaginable. What’s made you so angry?”
“The kiss —” Yves stopped. “You don’t know why I’m angry? Good.”