The Moon and the Sun

“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.”

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.”

“Why shouldn’t Monsieur kiss his friend? Lotte kisses me.” Lotte’s kisses had at first startled her, for affection had been forbidden in the convent. The sisters admonished the students to reserve their love for God.

She treasured Lotte’s affection. If Yves tried to forbid it, he would have to do worse than thrash her.

“Because — Men shouldn’t kiss each other. This is an unfit subject. We won’t speak of it again.”

Marie-Josèphe wished he would not say such things. When they were children, exploring the beaches and marshes and fields of Martinique, nothing was beyond their curiosity. Marie-Josèphe regretted some of the changes in her brother. But she had changed, too, from the adoring little girl willing to follow him into any mischief, to the grown woman who still adored him, but was not so willing to follow him into courtly caution.

He led her through the warmth and light and noise of Venus, and on to Abundance. She was so hungry her hands trembled.

I shouldn’t let him think I agree with everything he said, Marie-Josèphe thought, but if I argue we’ll have no chance of any supper.

His Majesty was no less generous than Plenty, whose image lounged on the ceiling fresco, cushioned by a bank of clouds, thinly veiled in a drift of silken scarves. Angels and cherubim surrounded her, helping distribute wine and a cornucopia of fruit. His Majesty’s table groaned with the weight of roast beef and fowl, fruits and pastries.

A footman appeared before Marie-Josèphe and offered her a plate of the most delicate dishes: roast squab, peaches, pears. Marie-Josèphe picked up one of the squabs and ate it in two bites. The crisp skin crackled between her teeth; the succulent flesh dissolved in her mouth. Tiny bones gave texture to the meat. The footman handed her a linen napkin. She wiped the grease from her lips.

When she had eaten three squabs and a peach, she felt steadier. She nibbled at the pear, which she had never tasted before she came to court. Pears and peaches and apples did not grow well in Martinique; and most of the fields were given over to sugar cane.

Monsieur and Lorraine strolled into the Salon, arm in arm. Lorraine guided his friend toward Marie-Josèphe and Yves. He smiled at Marie-Josèphe as if they shared a romantic secret. She curtsied to Monsieur, to Lorraine. Yves offered the smallest, stiffest of bows. Lorraine returned their salute; Monsieur smiled and nodded.

Footmen hurried to serve Monsieur and his companion, bringing Monsieur a gold plate and Lorraine a plate of silver. Knowing the tastes of their masters, the footmen brought the duke d’Orléans pastries and sweets, Lorraine a joint of rare beef. Lorraine bit into the meat. His strong white teeth tore a morsel from the bone. Red juice dripped down his fingers and onto the silver lace at his cuff.

He is very handsome, even though he is so old, Marie-Josèphe thought. The King has lost his teeth, but the chevalier has all his. I wonder if he has his hair, as well?