The Moon and the Sun

Mme de Maintenon barely glanced at the ornaments. “How beautiful—of course I cannot in good conscience wear them.” She pressed the jewels into His Holiness’ hands. “Sell them, and give the proceeds to the poor.”

“Your charity is legendary.” His Holiness handed the parure to Yves, who took it with the same reserve with which he had handled the dead fox.

Louis remained impassive. Madame was not so stoic.

“I could never part with a present from Your Majesty,” she said. “I’m far too selfish and worldly. I shall wear my bracelet to Carrousel.”

His Majesty nodded to Madame.

Even his smallest action is splendid, Marie-Josèphe thought, and dared to hope for her friend.

“I should sell it to pay my servants,” Madame whispered to Marie-Josèphe, “but I shall wear it—if Monsieur doesn’t insist on borrowing it!”

“I would have liked to see you wear my gift, if but once,” His Majesty said to Mme de Maintenon. He did not raise his voice; neither did he make any attempt to keep the conversation confidential. Monsieur suddenly turned to Lorraine and began a spirited discussion; similarly, Madame displayed the intricate clasp of her new bracelet to Marie-Josèphe. Everyone pretended to be unaware of the exchange between the King and his wife. Even His Holiness looked politely away, asking Yves about some nearby bird or leaf or insect.

The King has no private moments, Marie-Josèphe said to herself. It must make no difference to him, whether he speaks in front of a few noblemen serving at his awakening, or in front of his whole court.

“Sire, I’m a plain old woman. I’d look foolish in a young bride’s baubles.”

“You’re always beautiful to me,” His Majesty said.

“My only beauty is my good work, which I dedicate to you, who rule by the grace of God.”

Louis, called in his youth Dieudonné, God-given, shook his head. “That’s true, yet I’m still a man, who desired to give his wife a gift.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the King and Mme de Maintenon.

Monsieur’s sudden giggle interrupted it. “The sea monster?” he cried. “The sea monster told bawdy tales?”

“Indeed it did, and Mlle de la Croix translated them for us.”

Lorraine looked past Monsieur, past Yves and His Majesty, past Madame. He smiled his devastating smile at Marie-Josèphe, but he had robbed himself of its power over her.

“Do you tell your story again, Mlle de la Croix,” Lorraine said easily, “for Monsieur and for His Majesty.”

“It isn’t my story, sir.” She did not plan the rude chill in her voice, but she could not regret it. “It belongs to—”

“I forbid you to repeat it,” Yves said.

“—the sea woman.”

“It’s entirely improper, Monsieur,” Lorraine said. “About Northern raiders—and bestiality with sea monsters.”

“Would that not be rather cold—and slimy?” Monsieur shuddered theatrically. “I would prefer—but, my dear, you know what I prefer.”

“It was not about bestiality,” Count Lucien said. “It was about murder, rape—and betrayal.”

“To be sure, M. de Chrétien, it was.” To Marie-Josèphe, Lorraine said, “Your story gains in excitement—coming from your lips. Barbarians ravaging gargoyles—”

“Sir!” Mme de Maintenon’s flushed cheeks were the only color about her. “Consider in whose presence you are speaking!”

Curiosity vanished from His Holiness’ expression, replaced by offended virtue.

“Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “teach the sea monster tricks, if it amuses you, but govern this delusion about her nature. Your mother would never have invented such appalling stories.”

Silence fell. Monsieur stopped chuckling.

“Your Majesty—”

Lorraine interrupted her. “She thinks Your Royal Highness is a cannibal.”

“And govern your tongue as well.”

“I never believed any such thing, Sire,” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed, horrified. She had only wished to protect him from such an accusation. “Never!”

“Forgive my sister,” Yves said. “She has not yet recovered from her illness.”

With a persistence driven by fever, Marie-Josèphe continued. “Your Majesty, please spare her life. She’s a woman with a soul, like yours or mine. If you kill her, you’ll commit a mortal sin!”

“I would entertain His Holiness’ views on mortal sin,” the King said. “I might entertain even your brother’s. But I hardly think I need listen to yours.”

“Do you call His Majesty a murderer?” Lorraine said, his voice as soft as oiled silk.

“It is neither murder,” His Holiness said, “nor against any commandment, to kill a beast. God put beasts on Earth for the use of man. You must not task yourself with moral philosophy, Mlle de la Croix. It’s too demanding for the minds of women.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Dabble in your natural philosophy, or better yet take up cooking.”

“Natural philosophy proves the sea woman is human!” Marie-Josèphe cried.

Louis shook his head. “Dr. Fagon assured me you were cured of your hysteria.”

Count Lucien placed his hand on Marie-Josèphe’s wrist, startling her, stopping her protest.

“Your Majesty,” Count Lucien said.

Both Mme de Maintenon and Innocent pointedly ignored him, but His Majesty responded with open curiosity.