The Moon and the Sun

“I do not know you,” Chartres said coldly to Marie-Josèphe, glaring dark and wild from beneath the horned half-mask. His skewed gaze was as perverse as any goat’s.

“But, M. de Ch —”

“You have mistaken me for someone else.” He grinned and raised his mask. “Unless, Mlle de la Croix, you’d care to accompany us?”

“No!” she exclaimed, horrified.

“What a shame. Good evening.” He lowered the mask over his blind erratic eye, reclaiming the visage of a satyr. He bent to kiss and nip Mlle d’Armagnac’s breast, baring it again. She stroked his long curled hair and pulled him closer, tighter, gazing at Marie-Josèphe all the while. When he rose, the beauty patch stuck to his chin.

They both laughed and ran up the stairs, squeezing past Marie-Josèphe on the landing, ignoring her curtsy and her embarrassment. Mlle d’Armagnac’s door opened. Silk rustled, then tore, a high harsh rip; the door slammed.

The staircase, the hallway, the whole of the chateau lay silent and dark.

Marie-Josèphe fled. She plunged into her room and pressed the door shut. Odelette sat up in bed, blinking sleepily in the light of a single candle.

“Mlle Marie, what’s happened?” Odelette slid from beneath the featherbed and hurried to her.

“Nothing — I saw —”

“Didn’t you know?” Odelette said, when Marie-Josèphe described what she had seen. “Didn’t you notice? They pair off in the eaves — like sparrows fucking.”

“Don’t speak so coarsely, dear Odelette.”

“Should I say, making love? Do they love each other? I see that they fuck. I don’t see that they love.”

“Say — say, fornicating.”

Odelette laughed. “Mlle Marie, the common word is less ugly. Come along, let me put you to bed.”

Marie-Josèphe allowed Odelette to help her out of her court habit and undress her hair.

“Did you find a prince tonight, Mlle Marie?”

“Yes.”

“Did he find you?”

“Perhaps he did,” Marie-Josèphe said. “But... he has no ambassador, so I wonder if you can approve him?”

“The ambassador always finds the stolen princess,” Odelette whispered. Marie-Josèphe hugged her, wishing Odelette’s fairy tale could possibly come true.

In her shift, Marie-Josèphe gazed across the garden, toward the sea monster’s tent, listening for the sea monster’s song. But the gardens lay quiet in the night.

“Come to bed, Mlle Marie, before it gets cold again.”

“I couldn’t possibly sleep,” Marie-Josèphe said. “And I must feed the sea monster. Help me into my riding habit, and keep the bed warm till I return.”

“Tell me of your prince.” Odelette shook out the riding habit.

“Is my brother in his room?”

“In his room, asleep, and both doors are closed. He’ll never hear what you tell me.”

“You saw my prince,” Marie-Josèphe said. “The handsome man in Madame’s apartment.”

“There were no handsome men in Madame’s apartment.” Odelette buttoned the tiny jet buttons.

“Chartres is handsome —”

“He’s as misshapen as a snake.”

“He isn’t! And Monsieur is...”

“Pretty.”

“I suppose you’re right. Pretty.”

“As I said. No handsome men.”

“I couldn’t aspire so high — a member of the royal family? I meant the Chevalier de Lorraine.”

“Monsieur’s friend.”

“Yes.” She prepared to defend Lorraine against the charge of being too old. Uncharacteristically, Odelette kept her silence.

“He is handsome, is he not?”

“He is handsome, Mlle Marie.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He is handsome.”

“What does it matter?” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed. “I have no dowry, he’d never think of me.” She hesitated. “But... he kissed me — on the hand, I mean, quite properly. Almost properly. He made no improper advances — nothing very improper, not like... like Chartres.” She plunged on. “Chartres bared Mlle d’Armagnac’s breasts — on the stairway! And she... she placed her hands very near M. de Chartres’...” She sought the proper term. “His organ of generation.”

“She seized his cock.”

Marie-Josèphe tried to be offended. Instead, she giggled. “On the stairway. How do you know these words, Odelette? You never knew them in Martinique.”

“From the convent, of course.” Odelette jumped into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “From Mother Superior.”

10

The sea monster’s eerie plaintive song filled the moonlit gardens. Marie-Josèphe hurried along the Green Carpet. She hugged Lorraine’s cloak close against the chill and damp. The wolf fur warmed her, and it smelled of Lorraine’s musky scent, the scent Monsieur had also offered her.

She wished she were a great lady who could order a coach to take her here and there, or a rich one who could afford to keep a horse. She liked to walk in the gardens, but the hour was late and the night was chilly, and she still had so much to do.

She laughed aloud in wonder that she was living at the center of the world.

And I’ve begun to train the sea monster, she thought. If I have a few days, I might be able to train it to keep silent when His Majesty next sees it. But if His Majesty delays the dissection for those few days, the male sea monster will decompose, and all the training will be for nothing.

Marie-Josèphe’s lantern swung. A wild shadow dance sprang from her feet. She skipped. The shadow leaped, its cape flying in the beautiful night.

I shall have to work on the sketches later, Marie-Josèphe thought. A few hours —

But the moon, almost three-quarters full, had fallen halfway to the horizon. The night was half over.

Before her the tent glowed faintly; across the garden, near the Fountain of Neptune, torches flickered as gardeners set out potted flowers in great drifts, keeping the gardens beautiful for His Majesty.

A dark-lantern flashed open, blinding her with its light. Marie-Josèphe jumped, startled and frightened.

“Who goes there?”

“Mlle de la Croix,” she said, amused by her fear of the sea monster’s guards. “Come to feed the sea monster.” She held up her lantern, beaming its light, in turn, into the musketeer’s eyes.