“When you go, I’ll miss you as my sister,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Nevertheless, I’ll do everything I can to speed your independence.”
Self-possessed again, Odelette gave an elegant bow of her head. She sat at the breakfast table. Marie-Josèphe joined her, sitting in the window-seat. Marie-Josèphe poured chocolate for them both. Hercules followed, miaowing; Marie-Josèphe gave him a saucer of warm milk.
“Do I smell chocolate?” Yves strolled in. He ran his hands through his hair. It fell into curls as graceful as any perruke. He glanced at Odelette. “Where am I to sit?”
“You may bring yourself a chair,” Odelette said, perfectly composed. “You’re strong and fit.”
He frowned. “Enough — I’m hungry. Let me have my place, Odelette.”
“My name is not Odelette. My name is Haleed.”
Yves laughed. “Haleed! Next you’ll tell me you’ve become a Mahometan!”
“Indeed I have.”
“I’ve given Mlle Haleed her freedom, and adopted her as our sister.”
“What!”
“I freed her.”
“On a whim? She’s our only possession of value.”
“She belonged to me — I’ll free her if I wish.”
“In five years, when you’re of age, you may free her.”
“I gave her my word. She is free. She is our sister.”
He shrugged. “I’ll sign no papers to that effect.” To Haleed he said, “Never fear there’s a question of my selling you — but we cannot live at court without a servant.”
Odelette — Haleed — rose from table so quickly that the chair crashed over. She fled to Marie-Josèphe’s bedroom.
“Yves, how could you!”
He righted the chair, sat down, and poured the chocolate.
“I? I’m guilty only of protecting our station.”
He dipped his bread into his chocolate and ate the sweet and soggy mass, wiping his chin with his hand.
“It isn’t right to own another human being.” Or to keep one imprisoned in a cage, she thought.
“Nonsense. Who have you been talking to? What other dangerous ideas have you adopted?”
She did not dare to speak of the sea woman now. She took Yves’ hand. “Don’t be angry — You have the King’s favor. He’s promised me a dowry — a husband! You can afford to be magnanimous. Our sister —”
Yves flung down his soggy bread. “A dowry? A dowry! The King never mentioned your marriage to me.”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” she said.
“I don’t like these changes in you,” he said. “You say your greatest wish is to assist me in my work, but —”
“How can I assist you, locked away in a convent —”
“You must live somewhere while I travel —
“— forbidden to study, accused of —”
“— and Versailles is no place for a maiden.”
“If I were married, I wouldn’t be a maiden.”
“Perhaps,” Yves said, “if you returned to Saint-Cyr...”
Marie-Josèphe struggled to remain calm. If she showed her brother how terrified she was of his suggestion, he would think she had gone mad. Perhaps he would be right.
“Mme de Maintenon ordered all the instructresses to take holy orders. That’s why I had to leave.”
“Go back. Give yourself to God.”
“I’ll never take the veil!”
The heavy clash and clink of gold interrupted them. Magnificent in outrage, Haleed flung down a handful of louis d’or. The coins rolled and bounced across the carpet, clattered onto the planks, rattled to a stop in the corner.
“I shall buy myself. If that isn’t enough, I can get more.”
Haughty as any court lady, Haleed wore a new grand habit of midnight-blue silk. A long rope of lustrous pearls twined through her blue-black hair.
“Where did this come from?” Yves asked. “Where did you get that dress, that jewelry?”
“From Mademoiselle — from Mlle d’Armagnac — from Mme du Maine — and from Queen Mary!”
Yves gathered up the coins. “I’ll consider your plea... after you correct your errors of religion.”
Marie-Josèphe snatched the coins and pressed them into Haleed’s hands. “Your prizes are yours, and your freedom.”
“I mean what I say!” Yves stormed from the apartment.
“Yves never meant it,” Marie-Josèphe said. “He —”
“He was affected by that devil, who believes all Turks should be slaves. That Christian devil, the Pope.”
oOo
Lucien toiled up the Queen’s staircase. His back hurt. He would rather be out riding, but he must listen to the marquis de Dangeau read his journal of the King’s activities, and record His Majesty’s approval.
The musketeer bowed to him and opened the door to Mme de Maintenon’s apartment.
His Majesty sat quietly speaking to his wife, who nodded to him as she bent over a tapestry. Lucien avoided looking at the tapestry; he did not care to see more heretics burning.
“M. de Chrétien,” His Majesty said. “Good day to you. Quentin, a glass of wine for M. de Chrétien.”
Lucien bowed to the King, grateful for the courtesy his sovereign showed him.
“And set out a goblet for M. de —”