The Moon and the Sun

“Mlle de la Croix,” Madame said softly, “forgive me if I intrude, but I’m somewhat responsible for your place at court…”

“I’m very grateful for your protection, Madame.”

“I believed you were fond of M. de Lorraine.”

“I believed so, too, Madame.”

“It would be a good match.”

“It will never be a match.”

“Have you quarrelled?”

“No, Madame.”

“And yet—”

“He revealed his true nature to me, Madame—”

“He told you—?” Madame’s voice rose.

“I asked him—I begged him—not to let Dr. Fagon bleed me. Yet he held me for the lancet—and he smiled when I cried.”

“Oh, my dear…”

“Count Lucien would never have behaved in such a base way.” Marie-Josèphe blinked back tears, not wanting to cry in front of Madame, not wanting to spoil the beautiful day with tears and horrible memories. “Lorraine pretended to be my friend, Madame, but… he is pitiless.”

Madame squeezed Marie-Josèphe’s hand. “I hoped, with His Majesty’s influence, your goodness, he might—ah, never mind. I am sorry for myself, but glad for you.”

Marie-Josèphe kissed Madame’s hand. Madame smiled, but tears filled her eyes. She glanced toward her husband and Lorraine.

“I wish he would love someone worthy of him,” she said softly.

“Lorraine?” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed, shocked that Madame would insult her so bluntly.

“Not Lorraine!” Madame said. “Lorraine is a fool not to honor your regard.” She sighed. “Not Lorraine. Monsieur. My husband.”

“But, Madame! You’re worthy of him—you’re worthy of anyone.”

“Dear child,” Madame said. “Dear child. You’re as sweet as your mother was, no wonder the King loves you.”

“Does he, Madame?” Marie-Josèphe asked, neither expecting nor receiving a reply.

* * *

Lucien rode easily beside His Majesty’s hunting caleche. The exquisite day banished troubles as the sun and the breeze banished Versailles’ usual miasmatic damp. Zelis pranced, showing off the fine arch of her dappled neck, the banner of her black tail. The exercise of riding eased the pain in Lucien’s back. He had, necessarily, spent too much time of late on sedentary court functions, and too little time making love. Mlle Future—Lucien was well aware of the nicknames his lovers had at court—showed a reluctance to become Mlle Present that was unfamiliar in Lucien’s experience.

And yet you have not pressed your suit, Lucien said to himself.

Lucien found, to his astonishment, that his interest in Mlle d’Armagnac had waned before it ever waxed to fullness. She was beautiful, but her conversation carried no hint of originality. She flirted, which was enjoyable. She had already bragged of being his mistress, which was impertinent, not least to Juliette, as well as being untrue. Lucien was faithful after his own fashion, to one woman at a time.

His Majesty’s caleche passed between the rows of saluting courtiers. Today’s hunt was larger than usual, joined as it was by guests. His Majesty wished to entertain his guests with a unique hunt, and to provide his kitchens with enough game to feed all his court and his company.

The postillions urged the caleche horses into a trot; they stepped out along the wide grassy path toward the forest of Versailles. Drumming rumbled In the distance. A horn blared, commanding the attention of the hounds. A gyrfalcon shrieked; its wings pounded the air with a soft and powerful rhythm. It settled onto the falconer’s glove, its talons scratching the thick leather.

The caleche passed Monsieur’s household. Monsieur bared his head in respect for his brother, and his friend Lorraine bowed with every appearance of goodwill. Ignoring Mme de Maintenon utterly, Madame gazed upon the King with wistful joy. As Lucien tipped his hat to Mlle de la Croix, Chartres pinched Mlle de la Croix’ bottom, and grinned mischievously.

Chartres could shock even Lucien, who cultivated the image of being unshockable. His Majesty did not see what had happened, which was fortunate. Mlle de la Croix, though she flinched with surprise, kept her presence and her place. Instead of bolting into His Majesty’s path, she slapped Chartres soundly. Chartres snatched back his hand.

You are fortunate she has no claws, foolish prince, Lucien thought, or you’d count only to nine on your fingers.

Monsieur’s family fell in behind His Majesty’s caleche, and the rest of Louis’ court followed. All the princes, the grandsons of His Majesty, his nephew, and his illegitimate sons and daughters galloped in a pack, jostling for position, never forgetting their rivalries for a moment.

The caleche entered the forest; the hunting party moved from the pleasant warmth of the sun to the pleasant coolness of the shade. The horses stepped silently on the new-laid sod. Drums echoed through the gold-green light.

The caleche horses cantered along the forest road. Zelis flicked one ear. The mare wished to gallop, to run. Lucien held her in gently, for they must not outrun the King’s conveyance.