His Majesty said. “I agree, I commend you on the choice of your robes.”
Monsieur pulled aside the lapels of successive layers. “This one is embroidered with gold. This one is a weave of silver threads. And this one, true Oriental silk, the technique requires a year for each color.” Minuscule twisted spots of color formed a complex pattern on the silk of the under-robe. “The artisans who create them commit ritual suicide after completing one, for their eyes will no longer bear the task.”
“Indeed, is that true?”
“Why, sir, I have it on the best authority of my silk importer,” Monsieur said.
The wigmaker brought a mirror and held it for him. Monsieur turned this way and that, inspecting the lacquered wig. The armorer brought a long, recurved bow and an ivory quiver of wicked hunting arrows.
“This mirror is too small,” Monsieur said.
Servants carried in a full-length mirror.
“You are the very image of a Japanese warrior, dear brother,” His Majesty said.
“It misses something, sir,” Monsieur said. “I shall have no hat — are you certain the Japanese warriors wear no hat? — and my hair will be naked. It wants ornament, such as the golden pins.”
“Those are ladies’ ornaments,” His Majesty said.
His expression quizzical, Monsieur waited for an answer that applied to him.
“I have given them to my daughter. Your daughter-in-law.”
“She’s borrowed my jewels often enough,” Monsieur said. “And as often as not never returned them.”
“The hair ornaments are Chinese. You must not adulterate your costume.” His Majesty considered. “Japanese warriors are said to wear helmets. You shall have a helmet, of plumes and golden scales.”
“Thank you, sir,” Monsieur said, somewhat mollified.
Smiling, His Majesty turned to Lucien. “M. de Chrétien! Is your costume finished?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I trust you did not skimp. It must be magnificent — though not more magnificent than mine.”
“I hope it will please you, Sire.”
“It is finished very quickly.”
“It took less time to create, Sire — being smaller.”
His Majesty laughed, then nodded at the roll of papers in Lucien’s hand. “What do you have for me?”
Lucien presented Mlle de la Croix’s drawings to the King. Louis’ likeness would grace the medal’s face. In the old fashion, but appropriate for Carrousel, he appeared as a mounted youth in Roman armor, gazing into the farthest distance. A sea monster cavorted on the reverse drawing. Its grotesque face expressed joy; its tails whipped spume from the waves.
“I had expected the hunt — the captured creature,” His Majesty said. “But this is quite extraordinary. Chrétien, have it struck. Deliver one, with my compliments, to —”
Under the eye of governors and nursemaid, Bourgogne, Anjou, and Berri marched in, wearing versions of His Majesty’s costume. The little boys lined up before the King and saluted, fists to their chests.
“My Roman legions!” His Majesty exclaimed. “I am most pleased.”
Berri brandished his Roman sword.
“Our fencing lesson, M. de Chrétien, if you please!”
Lucien bowed. “Certainly, Your Highness.”
“You may have M. de Chrétien later,” His Majesty said. “Now he is advising me.”
He dismissed his heirs. “What was I saying?”
“Your Majesty wished me to reserve a medal — for Mlle de la Croix, perhaps?”
“For my sister-in-law, for her collection. You suggest that Mlle de la Croix should have one as well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. For her, and her brother, too, of course.”
“Have they a medal collection?”
“I doubt it sincerely, Your Majesty. The family is penniless.”
“That will change.”
“In that case,” Lucien said, understanding His Majesty’s intentions, “a medal from Your Majesty, commemorating the brother’s capture of the monster and the sister’s depiction of it — a mark of Your Majesty’s favor — will begin the repair of their fortunes.”
Louis looked again at his own likeness.
“Unlike Bernini, Mlle de la Croix understands how a rider sits a horse. Does she wish to join the hunt?”
“She is pleased to accept, Your Majesty.”
“And does she flatter you, as she flatters me?”
“Why, Your Majesty — she flatters neither of us.”
“Chrétien, you fancy her, I do believe!” He laughed. “But what of Mme de la Fère?”
“Mme de la Fère tired of widowhood. She has accepted an offer of marriage.”
“Without your counter-offer?”
“I don’t intend to marry, as Mme de la Fère understands.”
“You tell your lovers, but I wonder how many of them hope to change your mind?”
“They cannot, Sire, but I hope that’s the only way in which I might disappoint them.
I honor Mme de la Fère. We part as friends.”
“And Mlle de la Croix?” His Majesty said, ignoring Lucien’s diversion.
“She is devoted to your service, Your Majesty, and to advancing her brother’s work.