 
FROM THE REVIEWS OF

### Ward of the Sun King

"A romantic daydream for girls who would enjoy visiting glamorous, exciting court life. . . . The story, accurate in historical detail . . . may encourage readers to plunge further into the era.

— _Library Journal_

"Adrienne soon has more adventure than she wanted. This historical novel will appeal to girls, aged 12 up." — _Best Sellers_

### Ward of the Sun King

by

### Mildred Allen Butler

Copyright © 1970 by Mildred Allen Butler

All rights reserved. For information contact sle@sylviaengdahl.com.

Funk & Wagnalls edition (hardcover) published in 1970

Ad Stellae Books edition (ebook) published in 2012

This edition distributed by Smashwords

Illustrated with 17th / 18th / 19th century artworks

Cover: Detail from Iris by Jean Antoine Watteau, 1719

### CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Author's Note

About the Author

List of Illustrations

Illus: King Louis XIV

Illus: Madame de Maintenon

Illus. Two Demoiselles of Saint-Cyr

Illus: Performance of the play Esther

Illus. The School at Saint-Cyr

Illus: Palace of Versailles

King Louis XIV and His Courtiers

King Louis XIV of France

Painting by Hyacinthe Rigaud (1701)

### Chapter 1

The first exciting event of my life happened at the Palace of Versailles, for it was there that I found myself making a deep curtsy to our King, His Gracious Majesty, Louis XIV. This was a great honor for me, and I had been coached for hours in the proper deportment by a lady-in-waiting. My feet must be placed just so—the right, forward and pointed out; the left, turned slightly and the leg bent with the weight on my left foot so that I should not fall or make myself ridiculous by wobbling; my back straight so that I could sink nearly to the floor and then incline my head gracefully. My long, full gown was of gold silk brocade with a cream-colored, gathered overskirt trimmed with lace; my slippers were of gold satin to match; and my dark hair was dressed and hung in curls on my shoulders. That was eight years ago, when I was twelve, but I still remember that beautiful gown.

The great moment was most unexpected, for I really had no right to be presented at the Palace of Versailles at all, my father not having been a courtier. I owed it all to Madame de Maintenon. When in 1685 it was announced in all parishes that Madame had opened a school for young ladies and was accepting only girls of noble birth whose families were, nevertheless, poor, my mother was most anxious that I be admitted. The pupils of this school were to be wards of the King, and he would provide generous dowries for them when they married.

I had not realized that we were poor until my mother explained to me that when my father was killed in battle we had come to live at the Château de Ronne on the charity of my grandfather, for my father's lands had been sold to pay his debts. Though we were very welcome and lived comfortably, there would be no dowry for me when I was of an age to marry. My father, Etienne Lavelle, Marquis de Chacun, was slain in the service of the King and so I was eligible for admittance to Madame's school. The convent schools, of which there were so many, gave little education except in religion, and my mother wanted more for me than that. Besides, the convents demanded a fee, as much as—often more than—a family could afford, else the girls became drudges, serving the nuns. Madame had narrowly escaped such a fate and had never forgotten it. She was once herself a poor _demoiselle_ and opening this school was the way her kind heart prompted her to act for the good of others like herself. Such a one was I.

For some reason—she said it was the pretty manners my mother had taught me—Madame de Maintenon took a fancy to me and summoned me one day, during my first week at the school, to go with her to Versailles. I was in awe of her, for as everyone knew she had recently been married to the King, though because she was not of royal blood, the marriage had never been officially announced.

As I made my curtsy, I heard Madame say: "Here is an example, sire, of the girls I am educating at Noisy [pronounced Nwa-zée] to be gracious hostesses and good wives to the gentlemen of France. Your Majesty, may I present Adrienne Lavelle? She is new to the school, is pretty and refined, and it is for her and those like her that I am asking you to erect a larger building." Turning to me, she added, "You may rise, child. You have done well."

The King said: "She is very thin."

Madame answered: "She is only twelve. She will fill out."

I recovered my balance and stood before His Majesty, not daring to look up.

Then he spoke to me: "Come here, my dear, and let me see one of Madame's pets."

nt forward, trembling, and he put a finger under my chin, lifting it so that I had to look at him. His appearance was dazzling, and I could see why people called him the "Sun King." My eyes passed over his elaborate clothes, which looked to me like a blur of gold and amber, and rested on his proud, imperious face surrounded by an enormous black, curled wig which fell to his shoulders. His gaze was keen but not unkind, and I stopped trembling.

"If you can collect more like this _demoiselle,_ Madame," he said, "I will build you the new school."

Then and there was born in me a great desire to be a part of this splendid Court. I glanced down the long hall thronged by gentlemen and ladies in costly dress—reds and purples, blues and greens—the whole assemblage doubled by the marvelous mirrors that lined one side of the huge gallery. Doubled, too, were the rows of crystal chandeliers and the windows with their glimpses of trees and hedges, making the space seem very wide as well as very long.

I should have kept on looking forever had not Madame spoken to the lady-in-waiting who brought me and told her to escort me back to the school. As we walked backwards, making our three obeisances, I looked longingly at the scene of fairyland until the door opened and we were ushered out. It was my first sight of the Court of Versailles at the time of its greatest splendor, and the last I was to have for many a day.

I have never forgotten the kindness of Madame de Maintenon in selecting me to be presented to the King. I am sorry that my daring escapade later on caused her so much anxiety. She is a very warmhearted person, though strict.

I had already heard a lot about the size and magnificence of the Palace of Versailles from my cousin Pierre, who had just become a page there in the entourage of Madame de Maintenon. It was not on his account, though, that she made so much of me when I arrived; she could hardly have known of his existence since she had three or four hundred persons, both those of rank and servants, to attend her.

Pierre, who is two years older than I, is only distantly related to me. He is a third cousin—our grandfathers are first cousins—but I have known him ever since I can remember because our families have always been very close, and we often visited his home, the Chateau de Charlefont. When Pierre's father died, his grandfather, the Comte de Charlefont, whom I call Cousin Armand, took charge of Pierre, his older brother Raimond, two sisters who married soon after, and his mother who died when Pierre was ten years old. Though he is not heir to the estate, Pierre has always been his grandfather's favorite and it was through the Comte's influence that he was given a place at Court.

The Comte, Armand de Lys, performed some service for our King's father, Louis XIII, and a letter from the dying monarch recommended preferment for all the family of de Lys whenever possible. Pierre's uncle, for whom he was named, did not take advantage of this opportunity. He became a Huguenot and thus forfeited his right to attention at Court, for the Protestant religion was very unpopular throughout France even before it became unlawful. This uncle spent most of his time in La Rochelle, and returned home only when he became ill. He died of lung fever the year before I entered Madame's school.

I had often heard the story of the strong friendship between the Comte de Charlefont and my own grandfather, and of how the Comte married _grandpère's_ adopted sister Madeleine. They named their eldest son Raoul after my grandfather, who named his eldest son Armand after the Comte. _Grandpère_ had studied for the priesthood but gave it up when his brother Henri was killed in the wars and he became heir to the Chateau de Ronne.

After that he married; besides his son, who died young, he had two daughters, of whom my mother was the elder.

All this is, of course, ancient history, but I have taken an interest in all I could learn of my family and Pierre's because of the course in blazonry which was given at school. We were taught this so that when we made our debut into society, we would know the origin and alliances of every illustrious family in the realm and understand the exact rules of precedence, so necessary in entertaining.

From the time we were young children, Pierre and I got along well together. As a child he loved horses, as did I, and later he owned a great many. He was generally cheerful and lively, yet sometimes thoughtful and silent for long periods. At these times he was probably thinking of his whittling, for he could carve wood into wonderful shapes. He would fashion sticks in such a way that they could be put together to form tiny chalets, or farms and wagons—things such as that. He could do anything with his hands.

One day—I was about nine, I think—he gave me something he had carved especially for me out of a piece of chestnut wood from a tree on the estate. It was a little horse no more than four inches long. Brown and polished, it stood on its four delicately carved legs, absolutely perfect. But he disparaged it.

"I wish I could have done better," he said. "I was trying to make it look like your mare, Belle, but it turned out to look more like a race horse."

"It is beautiful, Pierre," I assured him. "It does look like Belle. Anyway, you know I'm mad about horses."

"I wanted to give you something worth keeping, Rienne," he said. "Someday you'll be married, I suppose, and I'll be going off to the wars and—well, I just wanted to give you something, that's all."

"I love it, Pierre," I told him, "and I'll keep it always."

I have it still.

*

In order to make application for admission to Madame de Maintenon's school, my mother and I made the two-day journey from our home at the Château de Ronne to meet the great lady, and she received us graciously. The school at that time was at Noisy, near Versailles, but later the new one, which the King had promised, was built very close to the Palace grounds. It is very famous and is called Saint-Cyr.

A girl must have a line of at least five noble ancestors to be considered for the school, but that was no problem for me since my lineage was well established. A few weeks after our meeting with Madame, we received word that I had been accepted as one of a hundred new pupils, and that I was now a ward of the King under the guardianship of Madame de Maintenon.

Soon after this, and before I entered the school, we were visiting the Château de Charlefont one day when my mother asked Cousin Armand to tell us all he knew about that lady. The Comte was obliged to be at Court often, since it was the custom, though he preferred to live on the beautiful estate given to him by King Louis XIII. Court gossip flows freely, but my mother knew that he was clever enough to distinguish the false from what was probably true.

"Is it a fact," she asked him, "that Madame de Maintenon was once married to a notorious Parisian whose body was so deformed that he was said to resemble the letter Z?"

"Yes, that is so," answered Cousin Armand. "When she came to live at Versailles she was known as Madame Scarron, but by then her husband had been dead for several years. She became Madame de Maintenon later, when she purchased the estate of that name."

"Tell us what you know about her," I begged.

He drew me to him and I leaned against his chair and smoothed his thick gray hair affectionately—he wore a curled wig only at Court—as he told his story.

"You must realize, Rienne, that her life is no secret to those of us who have been around her for a long time, but to you it will seem quite like a fairy tale."

I was eager to hear about this grand lady who was the King's wife, though not the Queen, and in whose presence I had been shy and almost speechless at our first meeting.

"Madame Scarron first became known to the Court as governess to King Louis' three children by his favorite, Madame de Montespan. The name Madame Scarron was born with was Françoise d'Aubigny, and she was born in a prison; her father had been convicted of coining money illegally. Later he was released and took his family to the West Indies, but there they lived in poverty and were glad to get back to France. Her childhood, spent partly with relatives who were Huguenots, was miserable. She felt herself to be a Protestant and it was with great difficulty that she was converted to the Catholic faith in a convent. She detested the convent, and by great good fortune escaped being an unwilling resident for life."

Cousin Armand went on to tell me all that happened to her after that. It was very interesting but I shall only put down the main events here. She had no dowry, but because she was very pretty, some relative arranged a marriage for her with Paul Scarron, quite an old man, well-known in scandalous society, clever and witty, but deformed and thoroughly bad. He was, however, very good to Françoise (it seems strange for me to use her first name), and she was grateful. When he died, she was without support for some time until she was engaged to take care of the King's first child by Madame de Montespan. She and the child were housed secretly in Paris. In a few years there were three children. The King had them and their governess brought to Versailles, and it was not long before he pronounced these children legitimate, though they could never inherit the throne. The eldest is the young man we know as the Duc de Maine, who was to have an influence on both Pierre's life and mine.

Madame's rise from being prison-born to the highest position in the land was indeed like a fairy tale. I was glad to know of it and I think that after I entered the school I appreciated her kindness more and forgave her the more easily when sometimes she seemed too strict. But I kept her story to myself and did not tell it to the other girls. I could not bear to have her misfortunes joked about as they probably would have been if everyone had known about her career. The girls at school knew nothing about Court scandals, as I soon found out.

On that same visit to Charlefont, Pierre told me what the Palace was like. He first described the outside to me, for I had never seen it then.

"It is huge," he said, "with two sets of enormous wings jutting out from the long main building. Between the first two wings is a courtyard paved with squares of black and white marble leading into the vast main courtyard, which is hundreds of feet across. In front there is a high wrought-iron fence ornamented on top, and in the middle, the great gates of golden bars surmounted with the Sun King's crest. These open wide enough to admit the King's coach, which is, of course, the largest in the world, and therefore any lesser coach can easily enter. The gates are opened nearly every day to admit people from the country around and from Paris who come to watch the King eat his dinner."

He told me about the Palace of stone and brick, two stories high, with sculptured windows topped all around by an ornamental balustrade of stone and above that a sloping blue-tiled roof with little windows in it. Up there under the roof are many little cubicles occupied by some pages and lackeys and also, most unwillingly, by nobles of the realm when it pleases the King to have them near him. I found it hard to believe that any palace could be so large, but Pierre assured me that there were usually five thousand people living there, a thousand of them royalty and nobles, and four thousand attendants and servants. He ought to know, for he carried messages from one apartment to another and he declared that they were leagues apart!

Then he tried to describe the gardens at the back, with lawns, flowers, and statuary, and an artificial lake on which several large sailing vessels could ride. But he said I should have to see it to believe it. Later I did see it and knew that he was right.

He told me about the sculptured decorations of the interior, the marvelous tapestries on the walls, the gold chairs and divans upholstered in velvet and needlepoint. There were not many of these, he said, because only a few people were allowed to sit down, and the ladies who were not of royal blood had to sit on stools without backs. But his greatest praise was for the magnificent Hall of Mirrors, the silks and satins worn by the courtiers, the perfumed wigs of the gentlemen and elaborate coiffures of the ladies. It was no wonder that I thought I could never be happy until I had seen it with my own eyes!

So it was that when I did have my first glimpse of the Palace on the occasion of my presentation to His Majesty, my imagination was fired by the glamour that briefly surrounded me, and I determined to bend every effort toward obtaining the honor, as soon as I became sixteen, of being lady-in-waiting to one of the duchesses living at Court. This would be difficult. I could not depend on Madame de Maintenon, for it was agreed when I was admitted to the school at the age of twelve that I would stay there until I was twenty. It would take that long, thought our benefactor, to train her _demoiselles_ in all they should know before going out into the world. When we were twenty, suitable husbands would be found for us and dowries would be provided; but until then we were wards of the King. All the girls consented to abide by these rules and considered themselves very fortunate indeed. Since we were poor, it was either that or the cloister. But none of us knew how coming events would tempt us, and to me, even at the beginning, it seemed a very long time to be shut up in a school.

As it happened, the years passed swiftly and were filled with adventure—for me, at least. I am twenty now, and as I gaze over the wide, fast-flowing Saint Lawrence River toward the silent, fir-forested wilderness of Quebec in New France, I like to look back and remember all that has happened to me since I was first admitted as a schoolgirl to the institution that became known as Saint-Cyr.

Madame de Maintenon

Painting by Pierre Mignard (17th century)

### Chapter 2

Before I could set forth to Madame de Maintenon's school, there were preparations to be made. My wardrobe had to be gone over carefully, for we had no money for new clothes. I had a warm cloak with fur and a light one for summer. As for dresses, I had several which would do well enough, for Madame had said that as soon as the school was moved into the new building which she hoped the King would erect, she would provide uniforms for all the pupils. My three dresses with fitted bodices, lace-edged at neck and sleeves, and full skirts sweeping the floor were all made of fine fabric. Though we never had any money— _maman_ and I—material for dresses was always to be found laid away in the Château, and good cloth never wears out. I was overjoyed to be taking with me the beautiful brocaded gold silk gown that had been my mother's. She was small in stature, too, so it fit me except that it had to be taken in a little. At home there had never been an occasion to wear it, but when I was presented to His Majesty I was glad to be able to display the treasure.

I was sorry to leave the Château de Ronne, and somehow it seemed a final parting. Though Madame had said in the interview that the pupils could go home occasionally, she made it clear that she wanted us nearly always under her eye, and the days between the present and the time when I should be twenty stretched out endlessly.

It was with that feeling in my heart that I bade farewell to all my well-loved places in the Château. Its furniture and furnishings were very old, but I loved them all the more for that, and they were beautiful. There were the kitchens, which had always interested me, where so many good things were cooked; there was the long hall lined with family portraits; and there was the library which had been started with some of Cousin Armand's books when he lived here. But my favorite room was a small sitting room between my mother's bedroom and mine, which contained most of the objects that I held dear. We two had spent many a winter day there ever since I could remember. I was an only child, you see, which is quite unusual. But my mother, though still young, had loved my father so much that when he died she did not want to marry again. Except for my cousin Pierre, she was the only companion I had.

There was, of course, my grandfather, whom we both loved. He taught me to ride and play games when I was very little. He also taught me to read and write—some Latin as well as French —and he gave me the privilege of reading his books whenever I liked. Having once studied for the priesthood, he had more learning than most men. But he was gray-haired now and I thought he would not be a very lively companion for my mother when I was at school.

"Will you miss me, _grandpère?"_ I asked, knowing he would but wanting to hear him say it.

"Of course I'll miss you, my child. Your mother and I will be all alone."

"But don't forget," said _maman,_ "that we can visit Charlefont often and entertain friends at home."

I hugged her and wished that it were not settled that I must go. "You are sure that you want me to enter Madame's school?" I asked for the twentieth time.

"Very sure, darling," she answered, though I knew she hated for us to be separated. "We must think of your future."

The day before I left, I visited the farm animals, the flower garden, the moat where I used to sail boats—it was clear water kept fresh by springs—and even the vineyard. Then I went to the stables to see my sleek brown mare, Belle. I rubbed her soft nose and whispered loving words in her ear, and she seemed to understand. I cautioned the stableman to take good care of her, and he promised to bring her treats every day as I always did.

I felt even more sorrowful when I took leave of Princesse. My yellow and white cat with green eyes was my dearest pet. She was ten years old—even older than Belle. As I smoothed her fur, my heart ached at the thought that when I came home to visit she might not be there to purr in my ear.

When the time came for parting, _maman_ put on such a cheerful face that I could do no less. It was some consolation to realize that I should be near Pierre in the Palace when I was at Noisy, though I might never see him. I bade farewell to the servants and wished them well—we did not keep many servants since the revenues of the land had fallen so low—and kissed my mother quickly, so that I should not start crying. Then I mounted into the old coach and rode off with my grandfather, who would see me safely to Noisy.

*

The chateau that housed the school was quite magnificent, though no more beautiful than Charlefont. The rooms were spacious and there was a charming garden laid out by the famous landscape artist Le Nôtre, and a chapel for which the Pope himself had sent relics. Originally the school had been a charity school for poor girls and was located at Rueil. I was one of the first _demoiselles_ of noble blood that Madame de Maintenon was gathering together at Noisy for her educational project. Others arrived in the months that followed until there were one hundred and twenty-four of us. The girls who had been at Rueil said that place was a barn compared to the handsome Château at Noisy.

The headmistress was Madame de Brinon, a lady so formal in her manner that I was at first terrified of her. Her face was rather pretty but she seemed proud and overdressed. Later, when I came to know her better and she displayed her interest in dramatics, in which she was very good at directing us, I had great admiration for her. Madame de Maintenon came from the Palace nearly every day to visit us. She often came as early as six o'clock in the morning to superintend the dressing and hair-combing of the little ones. It was due to her supervision, we were told, that the kitchens, laundries, workrooms, and schoolrooms were kept so clean and that the food was plentiful and good. She sometimes arrived in a coach filled with butter, jam, and other treats, and when that happened, all the school rushed out to meet her at the first rumble of wheels.

The greatest lack at Noisy was water. All our water had to be brought to us in carts, for there were no wells on the property. As to the instruction, that too was lacking as far as I was concerned, for I had already received more training in the realm of letters than most of the girls. Only the promise that it would be different when the new school was built kept me from being terribly disappointed.

As it was, I helped the school mistresses, of whom there were several, by teaching the little ones their catechism and simple reading. I was myself a pupil when it came to learning to spin and weave and make lace, for these skills had never been taught me. We also learned to embroider, and we worked on some beautiful vestments for the priests who officiated in our chapel.

My particular friend was Toinette, a girl of about my own age who entered the school soon after I did. Her full name was Antoinette de Grieux and she had blond hair and a delicate, graceful figure. We liked each other at our first meeting and became firm friends, though such attachments were not encouraged— we were supposed to like all the girls equally. This we found at the outset was impossible and we did not try too hard, I am afraid. Toinette, like me, was the daughter of a King's officer who had died in battle. Indeed, such was the case with all the new girls and it was strange, when I thought of it, to realize that none of them had a living father. It made me feel less lonely and I appreciated more the privilege of being a ward of the King.

The work of construction at Saint-Cyr went on all that summer, and sometimes we were allowed to go in a group to watch the handsome building take shape. I was also allowed to go home twice, once at Easter time and once in the summer. I need not have sorrowed so over parting from my loved ones after all!

When I think of Saint-Cyr, I think, naturally, of the way things were after we moved into the fine new building. It was even nearer to the Palace than was Noisy—actually on the grounds—and that in itself made it thrilling. It was built of stone with forward-jutting wings, a wrought-iron fence across the courtyard, and central, ornamented gates—like the Palace on a small scale. There were gardens and an orchard at the back, surrounded and protected by a high brick wall. When it was being planned, one of the mistresses heard Madame de Maintenon say, "The King will give me a palace of exquisite external symmetry, lacking in every single convenience of a school." Perhaps that is the way it seemed to her, but it was magnificent, and all the girls were impressed. We did notice, when we were conducted to our new home, that there were many ponds around it and even standing water in the fields. We did not know it then, but it was perhaps because of all this water that many of the girls and mistresses came down with fevers in the years that followed. At any rate, some people said the fevers were due to the dampness.

The move from Noisy to Saint-Cyr was such a tremendous undertaking that it required five days. There were the one hundred and twenty-four _demoiselles_ to be transported, at least thirty teachers and a hundred servants, and, in addition, all the household goods and classroom equipment—books, paper, spinning wheels, tapestry frames, and much, much more. It began on July twenty-eighth, and we were not really all together again until August second.

There was the greatest bustle and confusion that can be imagined. "I do hope we will not be separated!" Toinette said to me as the royal coaches began to draw up in the entrance court at Noisy. We were each carrying a draw-string bag with our small personal belongings, and we shoved and pushed our way through the throng so that we could get into a coach together. It was a short migration but exciting, for people were gathered all along our way to watch and cheer. As we rode through the streets in the coach with its crimson satin upholstery and crimson cushions, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a _princesse_ and used to such luxury.

Toinette and I were in the second coach, so we entered our new home right behind a group of teachers who had occupied the first coach. Madame de Maintenon was standing in the formal portico to welcome us, and we heard her say: "These walls are my retreat and my tomb; may this establishment live as long as France, and France as long as the world!"

"That sounds as if she were going to die!" whispered Toinette.

"I don't think she meant it that way," I said. "She meant that the school would be dear to her all the days of her life."

In spite of what seemed like confusion, the moving was well organized. Madame de Maintenon knew every girl in that vast group and she had planned dormitories for us all. At Saint-Cyr there were many beds in each of the large chambers, with a girl's name on every bed. As we flitted about from room to room examining everything, I discovered our names.

"Oh, see!" I cried out to Toinette. "Your bed is next to mine!"

It seemed to us a wonderful coincidence, but I have no doubt, now, that it was planned. In spite of her precepts, Madame was always kind to me. That is why I feel so sad that I disappointed her.

On the first evening that we were all together in the great hall of Saint-Cyr, Madame de Maintenon gave us a most inspiring talk. She said that this school for girls, of which we were all members, was something new in the world. It was not to be a convent, but a place of education for the future wives of some of the finest gentlemen of France. There would be rules that we must obey, but we would not take vows, as do the nuns. We would be taught the Christian ideals of _noblesse,_ how to behave in society, and how to manage a house or estate with dignity. We must apply ourselves to learning everything that had been prepared for us so that we could pass on the lessons of nobility of character to our husbands and children, and they, in turn, could teach the servants and peasants in their employ, until gradually all France would reflect the atmosphere of Saint-Cyr, and honesty and kindness would prevail. It was such a beautiful speech that some of the girls cried.

She next described the dresses that we were to wear, all details of which had been thought out by herself and the King; it was His Majesty, she told us smiling, who had insisted on the more frivolous touches. We were all to be dressed alike, except that each class would have ribbons of a different color. The dresses were of lightweight brown wool—striped cotton for summer— with a white collar and a white cap, each edged with lace and decorated with ribbons. There was an apron to match, also with ribbons. The color of my ribbons was green, and I remember it well.

The children from seven to eleven were the Reds; those between eleven and fourteen were the Greens (Toinette and I, of course); those between fourteen and seventeen were Yellows; and those between seventeen and twenty were Blues. The Ladies, our teachers, wore black gowns with a white linen collar and a black hood.

Each group of girls had a particular classroom, though mixed sessions were held in many other places, and these classrooms were painted in the group's color, having pictures and maps attached to the walls with ribbons of that special color. I liked my color—green (then, later, yellow)—but I suppose the little ones were happy with bright red.

Everything in the Château was kept spotless, which, I heard, was more than could be said of some of the convents. We had a certain luxury in the dining room that Madame said the King insisted upon—silver forks, spoons, and goblets. He said that since we were to go out into a world of elegance, we must acquire habits of refinement. We were urged, on this account, to take good care of our complexions and to dress our hair in a becoming style, so that even though we wore uniforms, each of us would have some individuality.

The studies were well organized at Saint-Cyr—better than at Noisy. The children in the Red Class learned to read and write and figure sums; they also learned some grammar, sacred history, and the catechism. The Green Class continued these lessons for those who had not progressed far enough, but added classes in music, French history, geography, and mythology. Because I had become well versed in the last three in my grandfather's library, I was promoted to many of the advanced classes before I became fourteen. I was sorry to be separated from Toinette, but we had our music class together and I still wore the green ribbons.

The Yellow Class was taught French literature (I was advanced in that, too), music (I had two classes in music), and theology. We also had classes in etiquette and dancing, and those were really fun. It was in these classes that we began to act out little plays that Madame de Brinon had written. Each was an exercise in deportment and usually included some dancing.

We were allowed to read many books—very proper ones, of course—and were encouraged to write letters, because letter writing was an accomplishment of polite society. We also had to practice conversation to improve our French diction. To help us, Madame de Brinon had made up little dialogues—different ones for each age group—but I liked it best when we expressed our own thoughts. And the activity I enjoyed the very most was memorizing and reciting poetry.

As I look back, I wonder that I did not rebel at the exact schedule we were obliged to follow, but a lot of it was so much fun that I didn't—not until the pleasant part was taken away from us. We all had to rise at six o'clock; we heard Mass at eight, were kept very busy till six in the evening, and went to bed at nine. This was not so different from the way I was reared, but we were seldom free to do as we pleased, and now, being grown up, I think that would be very unpleasant.

We spent a part of every day in the common room in winter (for that was the only place where it was really warm) or in the gardens in summer, where we sewed and embroidered while one of the mistresses read to us. At these times certain pupils in each class would recite poetry or the proverbs that Madame de Brinon had written for our instruction in what is worthy and what is unworthy. I was always happiest when it was my turn to recite. Toinette was not like me. She dreaded the ordeal and would beg me to take her place.

"But I can't do that, Toinette. Not only would you then never get over your shyness, but the teachers would not allow it."

It was on her account, however, that almost two years later I got into trouble with the mistresses. Toinette was supposed to recite a poem one afternoon and she was cold with fear. I had helped her to learn it, and I must admit that she forgot some of it every time. There was one spot in particular that bothered her.

"I know I won't be able to get through it!" she said at last. "Won't you please help me, Adrienne? You need only hold the paper in the folds of your dress, and if I forget, you can make the word with your mouth without sound and I will see you and be able to go on."

It seemed a little thing to do for my friend and so I agreed, though I felt sure our teacher would not approve. When the time came, Toinette came to that fateful word and stopped. As she stared at me in desperation, I formed the word with my lips. After clearing her throat, she went on—but finished miserably.

Everyone had seen and noticed her distress, and though I did not know it, Madame de Brinon had seen me prompt her. I was called into the headmistress' apartment that very evening—not Toinette, but me.

"You know, Adrienne," began the Lady, "every girl must learn her lessons herself in this school. Do you think you were helping Antoinette by trying to make it seem that she had learned her poem?"

"But Madame," I cried, "I did help her all the week to learn the lines. She tried very hard, but she is very shy and there was one place where she always forgot. That is why I helped her."

"But you were helping her to deceive us. I saw you prompt her, so we were not deceived. But you were at fault."

I started to reply indignantly, but caught myself. If there was one thing we were taught at Saint-Cyr, it was to keep perfect control of ourselves.

"I have been looking up your age, Adrienne," she said, "and I find that in two weeks you will be fourteen. Is that not true?"

I nodded, dumbly.

"You should therefore be with the Yellows. From now on you will be in a different class from Antoinette and must sleep in a different room. If you are separated, perhaps she will learn to rely on herself."

I left Madame de Brinon, feeling deeply wronged, and told Toinette, and we cried together. It did not end our friendship, but after that it was more difficult to see and confide in each other.

*

It turned out to be a good thing for me that I was now a member of the Yellows, for it was from that group that Madame de Brinon selected girls to take part in the little plays she wrote. Though they were not very good plays in comparison with those we became acquainted with later, they were easy to learn and great fun to act out. We gave one every month that winter and spring, not only for the girls but often for a much more distinguished audience.

I should explain that from the time the school moved to Saint-Cyr we had visitors nearly every afternoon—the great ladies and gentlemen of the Court, always with a train of followers, and more important still, the King himself. The Court wanted to see the school out of curiosity, or to flatter Madame de Maintenon for her accomplishment, or just because it had become the fashion. But His Majesty was truly interested in everything that went on. He had helped to plan it, was supporting it, and intended to give us all dowries when we married. We girls were very much in awe of him and for the most part we looked on while he played with the little ones, petted them, and took them on his knee. He never seemed too busy to listen to their stories or help comfort their hurts. You could see that he was more sincere than the courtiers and their ladies and, indeed, he was interested in all his wards.

When we began to give little plays, there were visitors from the Palace to watch us, even such distinguished ones as the King's former favorite, Madame de Montespan, and his cousin, Mademoiselle de Montpensier. They were very pleasant and applauded a lot and of course this made us feel very important. I am afraid we got rather spoiled and wanted to act all the time and not spend our days in studying and embroidering vestments and altar cloths.

In one of our performances, I took the part of the Queen of a mythical country. It was a really good part, in which I had to show joy and then sorrow and weeping. I had enjoyed the rehearsals immensely and was not sorry to see that quite a large audience had gathered to watch our performance, many of them from the Court. I did not know that Pierre was there with Madame de Maintenon's entourage until after it was all over. He came forward in the hall and slipped behind our homemade curtain to congratulate me. I was wearing the gold gown with a purple velvet cloak over it, and I was glad that he could see me so elegantly dressed. I was overjoyed to see him, for it had been many months since I had been on vacation. At that time he had managed to get one day off from his duties and we had spent that whole day riding and picnicking at Charlefont. Now he bravely approached Madame de Maintenon and asked her permission to take a few days' holiday, for his grandfather had promised to come after him at this time on his way back from Paris. He also asked her permission to take me to Charlefont with him. He explained our relationship and I think it was the first time she knew about it or, for that matter, had noticed Pierre as one of her many pages. She considered a moment and then very graciously consented.

"Run along, my child," she said to me. "You have done very well today and we are proud of you. Report to your mistress first and change your clothes, and then you may go to the Palace with your cousin in my coach."

I did not need a second bidding, and only a few minutes later I rejoined Pierre in the courtyard and traveled to the Palace in a coach full of attendants. It was my second view of the Palace of Versailles, but I hardly had time to take in its magnificent appearance, for Cousin Armand was waiting in his coach in front of the portico. Since I could not enter the Palace, as I longed to do, I gave myself over to the pleasure of seeing the Comte again and being taken so unexpectedly to Charlefont.

"You look blooming," he told me. "The school agrees with you."

"You should have seen her in her beautiful gown as the Queen in the play," said Pierre, and I was pleased by his admiration.

After supper that evening, Pierre took me on a short tour of the estate. From earliest childhood we had run and played about the gardens, the farm buildings, the stables, and the river. Now we walked quite sedately, for we were both almost grown up. The moonlight lay white over everything and threw a path across the river from the little summerhouse which had a view of it. We stood there a moment, and then Pierre showed me a little object he took from the pocket of his doublet. It was a fleur-de-lys carved out of wood, exquisitely done—Pierre's best work, even lovelier than the little horse he had carved for me years before.

"This is for you, Adrienne," he said. "I knew it was for you when I made it, but I did not know what it would signify. See—it is the lily of France, and my name, 'de Lys,' too."

Then, to my surprise, he told me that he loved me and wanted to marry me! "I did not realize it until today," he said, "when I saw you in that gold gown. But now I know I have always hoped that we would marry someday. The household thinks of us as the children we have been and allows us to go about unchaperoned. Because I must not take advantage of that fact, I cannot yet talk to you of love as I wish." He kissed my hand as he had seen it done at Court and I felt very grown up. "If you are willing, Adrienne, I should like this fleur-de-lys to be a private symbol of our betrothal. Do you feel as I do? Will you take it?"

He was shy and a bit awkward, but he pressed the little carving into my hands and for a moment covered them with his own. What could I do but agree? Except for my mother, Pierre had been all the world to me ever since I could remember.

All thoughts of the reason why maman had wanted me to go to Saint-Cyr—to give me not only an education but a dowry for my future husband—left my mind at that moment. The far-off, shadowy figure of the nobleman I should someday marry faded instantly. How had it escaped the notice of the family that Pierre and I belonged together? Because they thought of us as children still, I supposed. It never entered my head that I would need a dowry to marry Pierre. But I was to find that family pride enters into any question of marriage—an arrangement which two young people are not supposed to settle by themselves.

Two Demoiselles of Saint-Cyr

gravure by Nicolas Bonnard between 1686 and 1715.

### Chapter 3

When I went back to school, I put the delicate, carved fleur-de-lys into my drawer—each girl had one to keep her private treasures in, along with scarves and ribbons. The little horse was already there, and I looked at them both with especial interest. I wondered if I was in love, since I had agreed to be betrothed, though no one knew it but Pierre and me. I understood very little then about love except what my mother had told me. She had said that it is something thrilling and beautiful that lasts forever, but that quite often it doesn't exist between married people since, for financial reasons, a girl is generally given in marriage by her parents to someone whom she knows slightly, if at all. The feeling I had for Pierre was warm and comforting, and it was nice to know that my future was settled. That was about all. I did not miss what I did not know about, nor did I have a hint, yet, of any obstacles in our path.

I confided to Toinette that I was secretly betrothed but made her promise not to tell anyone else.

Soon I was caught up in the excitement of a new theatrical production. Madame de Brinon's little plays were to be followed by something much more important and difficult. Madame de Maintenon said, "If the girls are to waste their time by learning poetry, at least let it be something good." She did not spare the headmistress' feelings but decreed that our next play should be by a real playwright, and settled on _Andromaque_ by one of the most famous poets of the time, Jean Racine. The play was written, as were , in what we were taught in school to call "alexandrine couplets"—that is, poetic lines of twelve syllables, each two rhyming. These were not hard to learn, but saying them in a dramatic manner was more difficult. And after I had read the play, I knew much about love that I had never known before. It was not always a good, comfortable feeling, I discovered; it could be upsetting and frantic and even lead to suicide.

Those of the Yellows who liked to act practiced a small scene over and over, and then the great day came when Madame de Brinon was to select those who were to play the roles. There were two good female parts—Andromaque and Hermione—but the latter was the more dramatic, and I was eager to play it, to throw myself into the passionate role and see if I could feel as Hermione was supposed to feel. All the girls wanted that part it seemed, because it was more showy than the other. Hermione was really wicked, a much more interesting character to portray than the noble Andromaque. It was with fear and trembling that we awaited the decision, so imagine my surprise and joy when I was chosen to play Hermione! I think some of the girls hated me for a while after that, but, with the exception of Mademoiselle de Blois, they got over their envy eventually.

Mademoiselle de Blois was the only royal personage among us; she was a _princesse,_ the daughter of Madame de Montespan (though not one of those brought up by Madame de Maintenon ). I tried to remember that she was the King's daughter, too, and that I should show her respect, but it was hard to do. We had been told to treat her as one of ourselves, though she was always called Mademoiselle de Blois and not by her Christian name, Françoise; we tried to, but she was a spoiled child when she arrived two years before, and I could not see that she fitted in any better now. She wanted the part of Hermione, and what

38

she wanted she usually got. But not this time! I tried to keep out of her way after rehearsals began, for she often acted in a spiteful way. I should not have been surprised to find my ribbons cut up or my precious things destroyed, so I hid everything I could, and my friends promised to keep an eye on my quarters when I was busy elsewhere. Actually, she did not try to take anything away from me—until later.

A very talented girl was chosen for the part of Andromaque, and two others who had quite deep voices for the roles of Pyrrhus and Orestes. It was fortunate that I was only an inch over five feet—a fact I had always deplored—because that made the taller girls seem more suited to the men's parts. You might think that Madame de Brinon would have given Mademoiselle de Blois some part in the play because she was of the royal family. However, she would not take any but a leading part. The truth was, she could not act at all, and Madame cared a great deal for the success of her plays.

All the girls were familiar with Greek mythology and tales of the Trojan War, so the story of the play was not new to us, though to make for greater drama, Monsieur Racine had altered the facts as we knew them.

It is the story of how Andromaque, widow of the Trojan Hector, pleaded for the life of her son after the fall of Troy, when Achilles' son Pyrrhus planned to murder the child. It is also the story of Hermione, daughter of Helen and Menelaus, who was loved by the Greek envoy, Orestes, but who loved and was betrothed to Pyrrhus. Because Pyrrhus loved Andromaque and wanted to spare her son, he decided to cancel his betrothal to Hermione and marry Andromaque, though she did not love him. When she found this out, Hermione, in a jealous rage, persuaded Orestes to kill Pyrrhus at the marriage altar, but when he had accomplished this she turned on him and berated him for the death of her beloved. Crazed with grief, she stabbed herself and fell dead over the body of Pyrrhus as it was placed on a bier for burial.

This was the story, but the murder and the suicide took place

39

off stage. All the girls thought it would have been much more dramatic if we had been able to act out those scenes instead of merely talk about them on the stage. We also thought the speeches very long, but that was good for our elocution.

The parts were well cast (I say this in all modesty) and our rehearsals, which went on for six weeks, were tiring but absorbing. This play was not like our little scenes of manners and propriety. It was full of mature emotions, feelings we did not know much about but tried to imagine. I learned about something totally new to me—jealousy. I had to, because it was jealousy that made Hermione order the murder of Pyrrhus, and I had many long speeches that showed that emotion. I suppose our studies suffered somewhat from the time spent in rehearsal, but our French diction improved. We were never allowed to skip anything like chapel or prayers, and the altar cloths got embroidered and the sewing got done somehow. Of course not all the girls in our class were involved in the production, but most of them were. There were several minor parts in the play, and some girls were needed to work on our costumes and prepare little things we used in the performance. And all were required to memorize scenes from the play as an exercise.

During the summer of 1688 we had three days' rest before polishing the production of A _ndromaque,_ and I was given leave to go home. Since the time was so short, my mother made the journey to Charlefont to be with me there; it was much nearer to Versailles than Ronne. We all had a wonderful time and I remember it particularly because it was a "last" time, though I did not know it then. I told the family all about the play we were rehearsing, and Cousin Armand told us about acting with the Théâtre du Marais when he was a boy and later, after his escape from the Château de Nantes (a story I was already familiar with), about traveling for a time with a company of Italian players in _commedia dell' arte._ He gave us an example of the swashbuckling Captain he had portrayed, and we all laughed and applauded. Although he was over sixty years old—a great age it seemed to me—Cousin Armand always appeared young, for he was, and still is, strong and vigorous.

When we were alone in the orchard, Pierre and I talked about the young fruit on the trees, the ripening grain, the horses in the stables—about everything, it seemed, except our secret betrothal. Finally he asked me, shyly, if I had kept the fleur-de-lys. As if I would ever have parted with it!

"Then we are still betrothed, Rienne?" he asked.

"Of course, silly. I never agree to anything unless I mean it."

"That's all right, then. I just wanted to make sure." He took my hand and we walked down to the River Cher. It meandered along between green banks, and the leaves on the trees were fluttering in a light breeze. I looked at Pierre. He was now seventeen and I realized that he was very handsome. I thought of the tremendous emotion shown in the speeches of the legendary Greeks we were portraying in our play, and I tried to picture Pierre as Pyrrhus. But I couldn't do it, and though his hand clasped mine tightly, I didn't feel anything special.

My two days' visit with my mother—one day was spent in traveling—was an unusually happy one. I talked more to her about the school than to anyone else. She seemed this time to be most reluctant to have me depart. It was arranged that the Comte and my mother would be in the audience when we gave _Andromaque._

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said the Comte. "Your mother shall stay here until the great day so that we may travel together."

When I returned to Saint-Cyr, we had less than a week before the performance. It was an exciting time and flew by all too swiftly. We worked hard, for we wanted to make a very good impression. All the Court would be there and that was important; but I thought more of the effect my acting would have on my mother, Cousin Armand, and Pierre.

The day of the performance was a lovely one, but I hardly noticed that. Whereas our previous plays had been given in the daylight from the windows, now the draperies were pulled and the great hall had a stage at one end, lighted with candles and hidden by a curtain. This added to the thrills we were feeling, and I must admit to great apprehension as the moment approached when the curtains would be drawn and the play begin.

We could hear the audience gathering, and I peeked out to be sure that my family was there. I saw Cousin Armand bow my mother to a seat, but I couldn't see Pierre for some time afterward. Finally I saw him with several other pages from the Palace, and what was my surprise to see Mademoiselle de Blois talking to him in a coquettish manner and then holding possessively to his arm as they seated themselves. Of course I knew that she spent much time at the Palace, being freer than the rest of us, but it had never occurred to me that she had noticed Pierre. I felt indignant that this should be so, and this feeling lent more emotion to my lines than I would have believed possible.

The next two hours were a tremendous effort, but satisfying. There were five acts and after each one, and especially at the end, there was much applause. We could tell that the ladies and gentlemen were not merely being polite. They approved of us. They called for the principal characters to come before the curtain (Madame had told us this might happen and had coached us on how to bow) not only as a group but each of us separately—several times! I was blushing and exhilarated when it was over, and I was happy to see that the first person to reach me was Pierre.

"You were wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I never dreamed you were so good an actress. This was real drama—a tragedy, and you handled it like a veteran! You seem really grown up, Rienne."

His praise made me very happy. My mother and Cousin Armand came to us and kissed me and told me over and over again that I had given a convincing performance of a difficult role.

"I had expected to see a halting, schoolgirlish affair—such very young ladies in a classic tragedy," said the Comte. "But this was superb!"

A reception had been planned and refreshments were now being served. I was about to lead Pierre and my mother and Cousin Armand to a table at one side when an imperious voice spoke from behind us. There stood Mademoiselle de Blois, ravishingly dressed, her blond curls in an elaborate coiffure.

"You must join our party, Pierre," she said. "I have promised Madame de Scudery to bring you with me. We cannot do without the handsomest page at Court."

Pierre gave me a helpless look; then, having asked my mother to excuse him, he offered his arm to Mademoiselle and went away from us to the other side of the hall. Over her shoulder she threw me a triumphant glance. I was furious, but a request from a member of the royal family was a command, and there was nothing either he or I could do about it.

_Maman_ noticed my confusion. "Do not be upset, my child," she said. "He will return to us presently."

But she did not know the whole story. This was how Mademoiselle was getting back at me for playing the role she had wanted for herself. I wasn't really worried but, still throbbing with the dramatic role I had played, I understood for the first time the meaning of jealousy.

Because I had always had Pierre to myself whenever I saw him, which was usually at the Château de Charlefont but sometimes at my home, I did not think of him as having a life apart—a life at Court. Though he was only a page, he was of noble birth and could therefore be at ease in any society. There were many ladies at the Palace—some very young, but many older than he—who might find his company desirable. I had just seen how Mademoiselle de Blois treated him, and she had mentioned Madame de Scudery—a lady as old as Madame de Maintenon. Was he praised and petted, and would it turn his head? Of course it was he who had proposed that we should be betrothed, but he might change his mind. And anyway it would not be definite until it was approved and announced by my mother and grandfather.

I was not very talkative for a while, as Cousin Armand remarked, and after we had partaken of refreshments, we saw that the company was drifting outdoors to walk in the paths that bordered the low-edged flower beds. As we followed, I finally noticed that it was a beautiful day. I tried to put the unpleasant business of Mademoiselle de Blois out of my mind and pay attention to my companions, but I could not help looking around to see if Pierre was in sight.

At last he came to me, having broken away from the Court party. "I did not want to go with her," he said, "but you know I could not refuse."

"She is very pretty," I said. "Is she entertaining?"

"She is a great bore," he replied. "I would rather have been with you."

My mother and Cousin Armand smiled at this, and _maman_ said, "Why don't you two run along to the end of the garden? The Comte and I will rest here on this bench and enjoy watching the company. And I must thank Madame de Brinon for directing the fine performance you and the others gave us."

So Pierre and I wandered to the farthest reach of the grounds where, in the orchard, there was some seclusion. He seemed to sense that I was upset and realized the cause.

"Do you think I find the courtiers and their attendants pleasant company?" he asked. "They make much of me, but it is my duty to wait on them and that places me in an inferior position. I have to be polite, but I do not necessarily enjoy it."

This made me feel better, but I could not hide a little doubt. "Perhaps you won't always feel that way."

"Oh, but I will," he protested, "else why should I have given _you_ the fleur-de-lys? Do believe me, Rienne."

He put his arm around me and for the first time I felt a strange tingling sensation and the desire to be close to him. It was different from the feeling of comradeship I had always had for him and rather pleasant. When he took his arm away, I was sorry. We walked, hand in hand, back to the school, and I wished that Mademoiselle could see us. But she and her party had departed.

Pierre had to go, too, for Cousin Armand was going to take him as far as the Palace in his coach. I waved good-by and went in to change from my costume. It had been an exciting day and I suddenly felt very tired.

### *

I thought about Pierre a lot in the weeks that followed. Though he had chosen to be betrothed to me, he had not suggested going to my grandfather about it. I envisioned the years that stretched ahead before I should be finished with the school at Saint-Cyr, for I was only fourteen and the time seemed endless. Pierre could change in that time, surrounded as he was by young ladies at Court. Doubtless I would appear gauche beside them—schoolgirlish in comparison. He had plenty of chances to meet some suitable girl, perhaps wealthy and with a position at Court, while I could see no one but my family. I felt sure, however, that I did not want to meet any other young men. I could not imagine being without Pierre and, saying Hermione's lines over to myself, I felt that if he married another, my life would be tragic!

The school was still talking about the play weeks after it was over. I was a sort of heroine to some of my schoolmates and I noticed that most of the girls, whether they had taken part in _Andromaque_ or not, were going about with a dramatic air of pretended importance. I suppose I did the same. We formed little groups to perform plays of our own invention and spent less time on our studies, skipping every task that we dared to. Many of the girls talked about being wed to some nobleman at Court, but I did not join them in this. I think few had one particular young man in mind, as I had.

Some of the pages and young nobles from the Palace had been impressed with the charms of the young ladies at Saint-Cyr and paid them visits—properly chaperoned, of course. I had visits from one or two young gallants, and though I was flattered, I thought them too overdressed and perfumed for my taste. But there were secret visits, too. Sometimes the young men from the Palace scaled the walls of Saint-Cyr at night and met their favorite _demoiselles_ for a rendezvous in the orchard. Neither I nor most of the other girls would think of meeting a young man in that way, but we would not tell on those who did. This highly improper conduct was thus kept secret from the mistresses, or so it was thought, but someone must have told them.

The general attitude of the school was taken public notice of in time, and we were reprimanded by Madame de Maintenon. She called a meeting of the school and lectured us about our romancing and our excessive interest in acting. Those of us who had played roles in _Andromaque_ had done very well, she said.

"Very well indeed, _mes enfants._ Too well. And you are being carried away by your success. All the school is imitating you. You are forgetting why you are here. You are not to become actresses—heaven forbid!—but capable, sensible gentlewomen, educated to take your place with your future husbands as ornaments to society. But not now! Remember that this will not happen until you are twenty, and that will be several years from now for most of you. In the meantime we will have no more dramas of the type of _Andromaque._ I cannot have my school which means so much to me—and to you—ruined by the silliness of your present conduct."

I was as disappointed as the rest, but an event of disastrous importance happened at this time which took my mind off school entirely. I was summoned by the Directress one afternoon to hear that my mother was seriously ill and that my grandfather had sent a messenger ahead to notify me of the arrival of his coach to take me home. I was stunned and the journey to Ronne seemed endless. Our coachman, Jean, told me that _maman's_ illness was very sudden, that she had a high fever, and that he had been ordered to drive for me with all haste. We did not stop for rest during the night, but changed horses and went on without pause. I was exhausted, but eager to reach home without delay. I could have ridden faster if he had brought a riding horse instead of the coach, I told him; but he said his master did not think I could ride all day and all night without a stop, whereas in the coach I could sleep a little.

It had never entered my head that I could lose my adored young mother. When I rushed into the Château to find that, in spite of our haste, I was too late, I was overcome with shock, and when _grandpère_ led me into the still chamber to look at her beautiful face, lifeless on the pillow, I fainted for the first time in my life.

When I was revived and fully realized my loss, I wept for three days. I thought of our last happy time together at Charlefont and wondered if she had had a premonition that those were the last days—she had been so loath to part with me. But she had visited the school after that quite cheerfully. Her illness was certainly unexpected and I knew I must not entertain such morbid thoughts.

The funeral was conducted in our village church, and of course the Comte and Pierre were there, as well as many other relatives. Pierre held my hand and tried to comfort me, but this was something not even he could do. I had to work it out alone.

I spared time from my grief to think of my grandfather. He had lost a son years ago and now his favorite daughter. Since his other daughter, my Aunt Felice, was in England, married to an English lord, he was alone except for the servants. And he was not young—he was over sixty. I was glad when his brother Charles announced that he and his wife would be glad to keep him company in the Château. This great-uncle of mine had been a soldier but had retired some years ago and had been living in Paris. He said that he had not cared to live with his married children, but that he would be happy to give up Paris, with its bustle, its crowded streets, and its filth, for life in the country on the estate where he had grown up. He and Great-Aunt Celeste arrived the next week to stay, and _grandpère_ was pleased to have their companionship. I felt relieved that I could now go back to school with a clear conscience, for much as I hated to think of over five more years there, I did enjoy studying, and I could not have stayed at Ronne aching with loneliness for my mother.

After all that I had suffered, it seemed almost too much when, a day later, my darling cat, Princesse, sickened and died. Perhaps she missed my mother, but actually I think she died from some disease. We buried her in the orchard, and immediately afterwards I begged _grandpère_ to order the coach and let me go back to Saint-Cyr.

Dramatist Jean Racine directs a repeat performance of his play _Esther_ by the students of Saint-Cyr for King Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon Painting by an unknown artist, (1830)

### Chapter 4

If my presentation to the Sun King when I was twelve years old was the first exciting thing that happened to me, my first sorrow was certainly the death of my mother. I returned to school in a sad mood that none of my friends could bring me out of. I buried myself in lessons, trying to forget my grief, and my fifteenth birthday in October passed without notice. I presented such a doleful face to my schoolmates and teachers that one of the younger Ladies, Madame Boulette, took me aside one day and tried to comfort me. She was a mistress whom I liked particularly and I was grateful for her sympathy. She told me that she, too, had lost her parents and that only time would heal the feeling of being motherless. She did not try to make me cheer up immediately, for which I thanked her, but talked to me quietly in such a way that I really felt better when I left her. I knew I had one understanding friend.

The girls were still twittering about _Andromaque,_ now some months past, and the Court gallants who visited them. I could not join in their excited whisperings and only Toinette, whom I managed to see more often, seemed really companionable. She had never acted in a play and, being so shy, did not aspire to, like the other girls. She did not ask me more about my betrothal and I did not mention it. We talked about our lessons, about embroidery, at which she was very clever, and about the teachers and their ways.

I was soon given a short holiday, for the mistresses reported to Madame de Maintenon that I seemed actually pining away, and they thought I should see my relatives. I sent word to _grandpère,_ and to Pierre as well, that I was going to Charlefont. Pierre obtained release from his duties for a few days and we spent them together. I watched him carving, I wandered in the gardens by myself, and I had long talks with Cousin Armand. He told me about his marriage and about his grief when his wife, Madeleine, died. I felt comforted to know that someone else had been through the experience I was now suffering. I could accept my loss more readily after hearing him talk. He said the grief would wear away in time, leaving only a memory of the happy days.

Pierre and I took long rides, too. At home when I had ridden my mare, Belle, I rode astride in some old gathered breeches, quite out of style, that I found in the Château. They must have belonged to my grandfather or his brothers when they were children. But when I rode with Pierre, I rode side-saddle as becomes a lady, in a long green riding habit. He told me I handled horses very well, and it is true that I could ride any horse in the stable.

We talked about the time when my term at Saint-Cyr would be up and we could be married. He still acted like an older brother to me and told me that he was waiting until he had obtained a position higher than that of a page to speak to my grandfather of our betrothal. Cousin Armand knew that we were fond of each other but apparently noticed nothing closer than a cousinly relationship. And indeed, there was nothing to notice.

While I was away, an event of some importance had occurred at school—Madame de Brinon, the headmistress, had been dismissed. There was no warning. All in a day she packed up and left without a word to any of the pupils. The teachers must have heard something for there were many rumors going around. It was said that for some time Madame de Maintenon had not approved of her giving so much importance to dramatics. But the reason given for her dismissal by those who claimed to know was that being the head of a large, fashionable school had turned her head and she thought herself to be of higher station than she was. Someone said that on a recent vacation she had actually ordered the towns through which she passed to render her honor as to royalty, and that when Madame de Maintenon remonstrated with her, she refused to change either her manners or her program at the school. Madame had to appeal to the King, who then had her dismissed instantly. I do not know if these rumors were true or not. Madame merely made an announcement that Père Fenelon was now titular headmaster and that the teachers would continue classes as usual.

I had returned to school in a better frame of mind and the mistresses took notice of it and were pleased. It was then that mention was made of the presentation of another play. It was first a rumor, and then Madame de Maintenon made an announcement. She called us all together one day to tell us of her plan.

"I know how fond of acting some of you are, and how talented," she began. "It has been suggested by many of the courtiers who saw _Andromaque_ that I prepare another dramatic offering. Now even the King requests it. Because I was alarmed by the passionate way you threw yourselves into the first drama, I was determined that no other play with romantic roles should be performed here, and I commissioned Monsieur Racine to write one especially for the young ladies of Saint-Cyr. I am glad to say that he has done so and has chosen a Biblical subject which I find quite acceptable. The play will be ready for us to read in a few weeks and you will hear more about it then."

This announcement caused a lot of excited anticipation. We were told that the drama was to be the story of Esther as related in the Old Testament, and we begged our teachers to tell it to us over again, for childhood memories of the Bible stories had faded for most of us. Not many of the _demoiselles_ could have read about Esther for themselves in the Latin Vulgate; I thought perhaps I could, because of my grandfather's teaching. But I did not have a chance to try, since no copy was available to us. The character of Esther appealed to me as a dramatic role. She was proud and resourceful and dared the King's wrath in order to save the Jews. I always like people who show courage and determination when faced with a problem, and I chose the role of Hermione for that reason. Yet, up to then, I had never done anything rebellious in my life. Perhaps it was because I had never had a problem.

I have wondered sometimes whether, if the girls of Saint-Cyr had known what was going to result from their acting of _Esther,_ they would have restrained themselves. I do not think so. We "poor" girls of Madame's school were being offered not only an unusual education, but were being given a rare opportunity to become proficient in an art which, though a part of the cultural life of France, was looked down upon as degrading if entered into as a profession—especially for women. At Saint-Cyr we could be seen and applauded for such dramatic talent as we possessed, and that chance would never come our way again.

In spite of my interest, when the play by Monsieur Racine was at last read to us and auditions arranged for, I did not try for a part. I thought of my success in _Andromaque,_ of my mother's joy and approval, and I could not bear to appear in a play again with her not there to see me. It made my heart ache to think of it. Not that I was so sure I would be given a part. For one thing, the school had now more than double the number of pupils it started with—about three hundred, some of them very talented. Then, too, Madame de Maintenon's niece, Madame de Caylus, was attending some of the school sessions and it was whispered that she had great acting ability. Madame was letting the older girls take dramatic training, and probably someone seventeen or eighteen years old would get the part of Esther.

I did help with the production, though, finding myself unable to keep away when something so dramatic was going on. I helped make costumes and then offered to attend rehearsals and prompt the girls when they forgot their lines. In this way I became familiar with the parts and almost wished that I had competed for one and been chosen. However, just as I had anticipated, an older girl was selected to play Esther—Mademoiselle de la Maisonfort—and I thought she was very good in the part. Being present at all the rehearsals and having a good memory, I could not help learning the lines, though I did not do so consciously. Madame de Caylus was chosen to understudy the part of Esther, and in addition, she was to speak the Prologue, a great honor.

As 1688 passed into 1689, and the January day approached when the play was to be presented, excitement reigned over the usually quiet halls of Saint-Cyr. The play had music, and in one of the halls a group of Court musicians was practicing the overture and entr'acts as well as the music the school choir was to sing. In the sewing room final touches were being given to the elaborate costumes—gorgeous Persian gowns and robes which the King himself had ordered to be made. These were stiff with embroidery and covered with jewels from the King's own Opera wardrobe. Because he was so much interested in the production, His Majesty attended many rehearsals, giving advice here and there, though Madame de Maintenon drilled the girls in their parts and Monsieur Racine and another Court poet, Monsieur Boileau, directed the entire production, including the music. And in a large vestibule on the second floor, carpenters were erecting a stage, hanging an elaborate curtain, and even going so far as to decorate the proscenium as well as the richly colored settings for the palace of Ahasuerus.

Finally the great day came. All the Princes and Princesses of the Blood, all the dignitaries of the Church, and the most highly favored among the courtiers had received invitations. Of course they would bring their retinues, so Pierre, in the service of Madame de Maintenon, was sure to be among those present. Since the preparations had been much more costly than for _Andromaque,_ everyone realized the importance of the occasion and the _demoiselles_ were keyed up to give the best performance they were capable of. Some, for fear of failure, fell on their knees before the curtains were drawn and said their prayers. They wanted so much to please the King and Madame! And if Madame de Maintenon thought a Biblical subject would give the girls less chance for a display of their talents, she was wrong. Afterwards, everyone said the acting was remarkably good. But nervousness, while it spurred the girls to act well, also made them very touchy.

I was behind the scenes, standing beside Monsieur Racine and holding the prompt book, when Mademoiselle de la Maisonfort faltered slightly over one speech. It was scarcely noticeable, but when she made her exit, Monsieur Racine said to her, "Ah, Mademoiselle, what have you done? The play is ruined!" She burst into tears, and then he was sorry for his impulsive words and comforted her, wiping her eyes with his own handkerchief. She pulled herself together and was able to finish the play without further mishap.

After the success of this first performance and the praise and admiration heaped upon the actors by the courtiers, there was very little work done at Saint-Cyr. We were told that there would be other performances and so there were a few rehearsals to keep the lines fresh in the minds of those who had taken part. We did do some sewing but the chatter that accompanied it was all about the play and the visitors the _demoiselles_ had had since. Pierre had come to seek me out after the candles had been extinguished that first afternoon and said to me, "You could have done just as well, Rienne. I missed watching you on the stage." But I had not seen him since that day.

A few days before the next performance, which was to be given on February third, Madame de Maintenon decided to let her niece play the part of Esther. It was not hard for her, for she had been the understudy for it all along. The change, though, was rather hard on Mademoiselle de la Maisonfort, but I do not think Madame considered that. She did want someone new for the Prologue, however, and I saw her look over at me as I sat holding the prompt book.

"You were so successful in _Andromaque,_ Adrienne," she said. "Could you memorize the Prologue in three days?"

"Oh, Madame," I answered, "I know the lines by heart already."

This seemed to surprise her. She asked me to recite them, which I did, and she was pleased.

So it was that in the second presentation of _Esther_ I declaimed the Prologue. It was long, as most prologues are, telling about the characters and what was going to happen, but it was in such beautiful verse that I felt inspired as I spoke the words. Everyone said that I did it well and I continued to be the one who appeared between the curtains before the play began at all the other performances. Because of that honor I could not help being thrilled in spite of my sorrow.

Pierre attended that second performance of course. He stayed, as many of the courtiers did, for the supper afterward, and I was happy to be with him, still dressed in my glamorous costume. Madame de Maintenon noticed us and spoke to us pleasantly. "You have a very handsome cousin, Adrienne," she said. "I am sure he admires you, as we all do, for your lovely voice and the poise with which you delivered the Prologue." I was embarrassed but flattered. I looked at Pierre and realized that he was, indeed, handsome and debonair. Tall and well-built, he wore his velvet livery with ease. His brown hair, darker than mine, framed a face of fine features, especially his dark eyes, often serious, often merry. He smiled now at the compliment, and we were about to turn away when Madame said, "The King wishes to praise you for your performance." Pierre dropped my arm and stood aside as Madame led me to a corner where His Majesty was seated. I made a deep curtsy.

"This is Mademoiselle Lavelle, the _demoiselle_ I brought to you at Versailles three years ago—do you remember?"

"Ah, yes," he answered. "She has filled out a bit, hasn't she? And how beautifully you spoke the Prologue, my dear, I congratulate you."

His Majesty was so kind that I blushed and turned back to Pierre, feeling suddenly shy, and we backed away, bowing respectfully. I enjoyed that moment more than the applause of the audience. I felt then that through the graciousness of the King I would surely attain my fervent desire to become a lady-in-waiting at the Palace by the time I was sixteen. He would surely decide that I was an ornament to the Court and need not stay at Saint-Cyr till I was twenty.

There were several performances during the first three weeks of February. Once His Majesty brought with him the Queen of England and King James II, who had very recently sought refuge at Versailles because of the revolution in England which had compelled his abdication. This was an added thrill for the whole school, but particularly for those of us who were acting. Two Kings, a Queen, and their followers in one audience! They were so generous with their applause that I am afraid we became a little conceited. Madame de Caylus, as Esther, was wearing real diamonds lent to her by the King, and that made us feel that we were really young ladies of rank. One of the girls declared that no one less than a duke or a marquis would satisfy her as a husband!

This pride was our downfall, and though I only aspired to be wed to a simple page—yet one of noble birth—I suppose I acted with vanity and pride like the others. At any rate, Madame scolded us, not too severely, for what she called our silly airs, and bade us forget theatricals and get back to the lessons and work that were supposed to be all-absorbing to us. This was hard to do, and during the whole summer of 1689 we took our lessons lightly, but ourselves and the acknowledged importance of Saint-Cyr very seriously.

was able to go home and also to visit Pierre at Charlefont twice in the summer and once at Christmas time. Many of the other girls—and this included not only those who had taken part in the play but those who had been in the audience and had therefore been seen by the courtiers—were receiving love letters, and there were again surreptitious meetings in the orchard by moonlight. Some of the pupils even refused to sing in the choir, saying flippantly that psalms and Latin would spoil their voices for the more delightful songs they might sing in future theatrical performances! But the meetings were discovered and the letters were intercepted, and the upshot of it all was that the Bishop of Chartres, our chaplain, declared that there would be no more theatrical performances of any sort. We should henceforth devote ourselves only to our studies and pious activities.

Madame de Maintenon had said the same thing after our performance of _Andromaque,_ but this time she had to follow the Bishop's injunction. And even though, in late summer, the King insisted on her allowing the girls to act out the play _Athalie,_ which Monsieur Racine had written to succeed _Esther,_ she presented it without costumes or scenery and, besides the _demoiselles_ of Saint-Cyr and their mistresses, only the King, the Dauphin, and the King and Queen of England were present.

It was at about this time that a rumor spread, originated by one of the teachers, that the reason Madame had not scolded us more severely after the production of _Esther_ was that the play was a compliment to her. All the courtiers believed that Monsieur Racine intended to suggest that Esther represented Madame de Maintenon; Ahasuerus, the King; Haaman, the King's minister, Louvois, who was universally hated; and Vashti, the King's former favorite, Madame de Montespan, who had for several years been neglected. This accounted for the many departures from the original story that I had noted. It was, of course, very flattering to Madame de Maintenon and the King; quite the reverse to the other two—but I never heard that either of them attended any performances of the play.

One day Madame called us all together and said that there had been criticism of the school from as far away as Holland and that all religious groups blamed her for allowing young ladies to act in public and create such a stir in Court circles; girls who were wards of the King should not be encouraged in vanity. She said that from now on the _demoiselles_ should "never again under any pretext act before men, neither rich nor poor, old or young, priest or layman, not even before a saint, if such a thing exists on the earth!"

We were stunned by Madame's pronouncement. It was the beginning of a reign of terror at Saint-Cyr. Everything that we had been encouraged to do before was now forbidden. First of all we were required to rip from our dresses and aprons the ribbons that distinguished the classes and made the brown uniforms gay, and to fasten them higher at the neck—so high that they were uncomfortable. Any jewelry that had been given us must be relinquished. As punishment for certain faults a girl might be obliged to wear a stained and ragged uniform furnished for the purpose, to lower her pride. The Ladies were given strict orders not to spare us, but to punish us severely for any infraction of the new rules.

We were forbidden to speak of any of the plays that had been given at the school, or to mention acting or anything related to it. More than that, we were forbidden to talk to each other at all except at certain times. It is true that we still had our hours of polite conversation presided over by a teacher, but the subjects discussed were almost entirely religious. We were required to sweep, dust, and clean—tasks formerly the work of the maids. There were now four mistresses for each class, of which two were on duty day and night. We girls were never allowed to be entirely alone together, and everything we did was taken note of. A headmistress was appointed who supervised the new regulations and administered punishment and, although we knew the change-over had been ordered by Madame de Maintenon, I think our dislike was directed toward the headmistress rather than the benefactress we had all revered.

One of the new regulations that I decided I would never follow was that any girl observing another disobeying a rule was to report her discovery to the headmistress. She would be rewarded for this, and any girl reported on who resented the informer was to be severely punished. Toinette and I discussed this in one of our free talking periods.

"It isn't fair!" I whispered to her in desperation. "Surely Madame de Maintenon cannot have made such a rule!"

"I fear she wants us to have no pride at all," said Toinette. "But to tell on someone—that is to lose your self-respect!"

"I hate a tattle-tale," I said, "and I, for one, will never tell on anybody!"

School was fast becoming a prison. How could Madame, whom I so admired, have gone to such an extreme as to check the pride and high spirits which she had applauded in the production of _Esther?_ It was hard to break the habits we had acquired. By the time my sixteenth birthday came in October I had spent three happy years at Saint-Cyr. Now all was changed. Except for a short period in our fifteen-hour day, I must not speak unless spoken to, must keep my eyes lowered modestly most of the time, do my appointed tasks, and keep my thoughts to myself. I might as well be in a convent!

One of the most distressing new regulations was that no girl was allowed to go home unless for such a reason as death in the family. Nor could she receive a visit from a relative unless it was for an urgent matter, at which time a Lady must sit in the reception room during the visit. We were virtual prisoners.

After being reprimanded three times in one day, once for speaking too loudly in answering a teacher's question, once for whispering to a classmate during our conversation period, once for singing—softly—in the hall, I wrote to my grandfather a well-phrased, proper letter as I had been taught, but what I was really saying was:

"Dearest _grandpère:_ I am unhappy at Saint-Cyr. I am homesick. I want to see you. I want to see Belle. I want to see the Château. Please let me come home."

I knew that our mail was read at the school office, and I doubted if my letter would ever get through. But I had a reply.

"Dear Rienne: I know that whatever is troubling you will pass. Try to be patient. I am sure your mother would wish you to stay since she was so anxious for you to be admitted to the school. In any case, you know you have a contract to remain there till you are twenty. It is one I cannot break."

I had forgotten the contract! But I had entered a school which was supposed to train young ladies to take their places in the world of society, and now it seemed that we would be fit for nothing but the cloister. Indeed, some of the girls were so confused by the drastic change in routine and rules that they didn't dare open their mouths and could not give an intelligent reply when they were quizzed on their lessons. They were put down as stupid. To add to our unhappiness, Madame de Maintenon did not come to see us for weeks at a time, nor did the King. This neglect made us feel especially forlorn.

One day when I was embroidering a cover for a chairback in the chapel, a mischievous idea took hold of me. The design was intricate and had at the end of many scrolls a flower in each corner. Part of the pink flower petals made me think of the pinkness of a pig and I decided to embroider a little pink pig in each corner instead of the flower. It took several weeks to finish and amused me through otherwise intolerable boredom. I thought, secretly, that the substitution would not be noticed, and when I presented it to the mistress she praised it at first and held it up for all to see. Then a giggle went around the classroom and she looked more carefully. When she discovered the pigs, which were really very cute, she was furious, particularly, I suppose, because she had not noticed them at first and had thereby been deceived. She ordered me to report at once to the headmistress.

The headmistress was not liked by anyone and, as I think of her now, I suppose she had a very distasteful job. But she is the only person I ever hated in all my life and I was to hate her more before the week was over. She meted out my punishment for being frivolous and sacrilegious. I was to spend my evenings until bedtime taking out the stitches of the entire piece of embroidery. It was to be done in a fairly dark room, beginning each evening when the entire school was having supper. I should have to subsist on one meal a day until the work was finished.

Moreover, I was given only a pin to use—no scissors—and the piece must be neat and free from holes when I finished.

You can imagine that my evenings were sad ones for almost a week. At last the work was done and I presented it to the headmistress with becoming meekness. She looked at it, put it aside, and told me to hold out my hands. Then she took a heavy ferrule and struck my palms repeatedly. It hurt so much that I had to bite my lips to keep from crying out.

"I hope you have learned a lesson, Adrienne," she said. "Your hands will remind you for a few days that you should put them to better use in the future."

I wrote to Pierre's grandfather—a formal letter which amounted to this: "Dear Cousin Armand: I am very unhappy at Saint-Cyr. The life here is very different since the play. We are harshly treated and punished for everything. I have written to _grandpère,_ but he says I must stay here. Can't you think of any way to have my contract broken so that I can go home?"

No reply came from him and I am sure that he never received my letter. Perhaps the headmistress thought that one letter of complaint was enough.

The final indignity came in March. My friend Toinette was one of the girls who was so upset by the new rules and the fear of breaking them that she could hardly utter a sound when she was called on to recite. I knew she was not stupid but only afraid. When we had time to talk to each other—in a low voice, for there was always a Lady present in the room—I tried to encourage her to learn her lessons so well that she would not be afraid to give answers. I was not supposed to study with her—that was expressly forbidden. But I thought of a way to make it easier for her. She could give me her history book and the lesson marked for the next day and I would write down the general meaning of a paragraph in a few words. She could memorize those words—they would have to be very few—and would be able to give an answer when called upon. I could not see that there was anything wrong in that. She could understand what she read, but could not produce the gist of the matter in class because she was afraid it might be wrong and she would be scolded, or even punished. She trusted me, and felt hopeful.

We tried it and it worked for about a week. Toinette was called on several times and gave an acceptable answer. Her teacher even praised her. Then the blow fell.

One of the girls had been watching her slip the book to me every noon and saw that I handed it back to her with a piece of paper in it. Perhaps maliciously or perhaps because she had meekly accepted the instructions to report on infractions of the rules, she told her teacher about it. The next day the teacher demanded the paper. Toinette froze and could say nothing in her defense, but the paper was taken from her and I was called to the headmistress' office. I found the girl who had reported us waiting there. It doesn't matter now who it was.

"Is this the girl you saw with Antoinette's history book?" asked the headmistress. The _demoiselle_ said that it was.

"Did you write this brief summary of Antoinette's history lesson?" the headmistress asked me coldly.

"Yes, I did," I replied—perhaps defiantly, I don't know.

"You have done well," she said to the other girl, who curtsied and left immediately. To me she said, "Stay."

I became angry. "Madame," I said, "my friend Antoinette is a shy girl, and she is being frightened to death by all these new regulations. I have not done anything wrong. You want her to learn. She cannot learn in an atmosphere of fear and punishment. I can help her to learn. That is what I have been doing. Surely that is what you want."

She looked at me for several moments. Then she said, "This school had become frivolous and disobedient when I was asked to take over. The regulations to which you refer were made to curb bad traits in the pupils. You have been reported on for breaking a regulation that one student must not do the work of another. You resent this, though it is according to the new rules. It is also according to the new rules that you must be punished for being resentful. Since you have already been sent to me for correction of another misdemeanor, I shall have to be more severe with you than I would if this were your first offense. Stand where you are while I write out my instructions for your punishment."

I was seething with indignation, but there was nothing I could do. She wrote steadily for a few moments and then handed me a paper. "Read it," she commanded. I started to read it. "Out loud," she said. I read:

"To the Disciplinarian: I have broken one of the fundamental rules of this institution. It is my second offense. For punishment I am to be locked in the dark room reserved for storage, and for three days shall receive only one crust of bread and a cup of water twice a day. This shall be passed to me through a slot in the door. No one may speak to me until my punishment is over. By order of Madame Loubert, Headmistress."

I stumbled over the words; I could not believe what I heard myself reading. Surely this was not Saint-Cyr—the finishing school for young ladies!

'Take that to Room Four," she said and turned away.

"I won't! I won't!" I cried. "This is a horrible place. I won't stay here! I'll appeal to Madame de Maintenon."

The headmistress called her assistant, who was in the next room. Then without a word they each took an arm and marched me down the hall and down the stairs to the basement. I protested all the way, crying and struggling to get free. But they were bigger and stronger than I was. As the door in the corridor was being unlocked, I wailed, "I haven't had my supper yet."

"No," said the headmistress with a gleam of pleasure in her eyes, "and your three days of punishment weren't to start till tomorrow, but because you have resisted it will begin now." With that she opened the door, pushed me into a dark room, and shut and locked the door from the outside. I heard the two walk away, the milder voice of the assistant questioning and the hard voice of the headmistress replying.

Official visit of Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon

Maison Royale de Saint-Louis of Saint Cyr, 1690

### Chapter 5

I found myself in a room in which only a glimmer of fading light came between the leaves of the iron shutters, which were closed and locked. It was a room totally bare of any furniture except a straight chair in the middle and a receptacle in one corner. The floor was of wood, uncarpeted. It was here that I was to spend three days and four nights without the comfort of a bed of any kind and with only enough bread to keep me constantly hungry.

I was not a child. I was sixteen years old and the darkness did not frighten me, nor did the prospect of discomfort. Instead I was angry, terribly angry. I sat for a while conjuring up what sort of agony I could inflict on the headmistress, if I were able, in payment for this unjust punishment she had thrust upon me. I was being treated like a criminal and only for helping a friend!

The story Cousin Armand had told Pierre and me about his imprisonment for a night in the dungeons of the Château de Chambord came back to me. I consoled myself with the fact that this was not nearly so bad, though it would be for a longer time, since the place was at least clean and dry and there were no rats. Moreover, if I screamed loudly enough I could probably be heard, though only servants came down to the basement level. But I did not intend to scream. My pride made me resolve to endure my punishment silently. I would show that woman that she could not intimidate me! But when I was let out I would do something—what, I did not know. Somehow I must get away from the horrible place that the school of Saint-Cyr had become.

I was soon weary of the chair and curled up on the floor. It was hard, but not so bad that I could not get some rest. I disliked to get my clothes so rumpled, but after the first night I did not care. I missed being able to wash myself and comb my hair, but these things, too, faded in importance.

When morning came, I had been awake a long time and was terribly thirsty—and hungry, too, because I had not eaten since the previous noon. I started eagerly for the door when I heard a noise outside. A key was turned in the lock of a small opening, the flap pulled up, and an unseen hand pushed toward me a small tray on which was one small piece of bread and a cup of water. I grasped it thankfully and could not help crying out, "Who is it?" There was no answer and I had not expected any. It must have been one of the servants, but which one? Was it someone I could bribe with promises? Then I remembered my vow to accept my punishment in silence and, anyway, it would do me no good to get out—I should only be caught and punished still further. I must have a plan.

For the rest of that interminable time, during which I found rest more and more difficult and the gnawing hunger in my insides very hard to bear, I spent much time thinking out what I should do about my situation when I was free again. And in spite of my resolution, I found myself crying out every time the slot was opened, "Who are you? Please tell me who you are!" There was never any answer.

By the third evening, I was lightheaded from fasting. All sorts of fancies filled my brain, whether I was awake or asleep. I had just about reached the limit of my endurance, and the headmistress had become such a monster to me that I wondered if she was capable of extending my punishment by days or weeks till I should wake the house with my cries and beg to be let out at any price. I wept then, tears of weakness and despair.

But on the fourth morning of my imprisonment, a key was turned in the lock and the headmistress herself stood in the doorway. She found me lying on the floor, and when I attempted to get up, I swayed and would have fallen had she not grasped my arm.

"Well, you are a sight, I must say!" she exclaimed and propelled me through the doorway where a servant took my arm. Between them they got me up the stairs and into a small room where there were facilities for washing, some clean clothes, and a proper breakfast.

"When you feel better, Adrienne, you may join the others. I hope you have learned your lesson and that I shall not have to punish you a third time."

Up to now I had not said a word. She looked at me closely and said, "I trust that fright has not robbed you of your voice."

I answered her. "No, Madame," I said. "I am not frightened and I am quite capable of speaking."

"That's better," she said, with a slight tone of relief. But she sensed the threat in my words. "Your conduct has been explained to all the _demoiselles,_ as well as the punishment you have had to suffer in consequence. Whatever you say will be known to them already." With that, she left me.

After she had gone, the maid helped me wash and produced a comb with which she arranged my tangled hair. When I started to eat my breakfast she burst out, "It's a shame, Mademoiselle! It is inconceivable that you should have been made to suffer so, whatever the fault! I would have done something for you if there had been anything I could do."

"Do all the servants know about it?" I asked.

"No, indeed. Only myself."

"Then it was always you who brought me my bread and water?"

"Ah, mademoiselle, I could hardly bear not to answer you! But I had my orders and I said to myself, what good would it do? And as for the other _demoiselles_ —they have no idea what you endured, whatever _she_ may say. I heard her announcement and it did not sound so bad. She told them you were to be kept in a private apartment for three days—that's all."

"Thank you," I said. "And please tell me your name, now that you are not under orders not to speak to me."

"Gabby Durelle, Mademoiselle," she answered. "And if I can ever do anything for you, you'll find me in the linen room."

I smiled at her and she went away. There _was_ something she could do for me. I had been making a plan during the last three days. Perhaps it was not possible but I must at least try. I must see Pierre.

Under cover of writing a composition for one of my lesson periods, I wrote a note to Pierre. I had to be very careful, for the teachers were watchful, but I always wrote a lot so it was not unusual that I took two pieces of paper. (We were obliged to be very thrifty, for paper was costly.) It was my plan to get in touch with Gabby Durelle and get her to smuggle the note out of the school and into the Palace. This would not be easy.

It was several days before I even had a chance to see Gabby. She passed me in the hall one day when we were being marched from one class to another, and I touched her in passing and nodded toward the linen room from which she had just come. She seemed to understand, so I gave the conventional excuse for being permitted to leave my classroom for a few minutes and hurried to the place where I hoped to find her waiting for me. She was there.

"Gabby," I said, "you can do something for me—at least I hope you can. Do you know anyone among the soldiers guarding our gate who could take a note for me to a friend in the Palace —a soldier who could be trusted not to betray me?"

She thought a moment. "Of course, Mademoiselle! There is Jacques Courier. He is my brother's best friend and I think he likes me." She blushed and went on, "He has entree to the Palace, of course, being a guard. He could take a message to your friend."

"I have a note here, Gabby," I said. "You can imagine what would happen to me if it were found out that I had sent this message—for I am attempting to get away from this place. And it would be very bad for you if it were found out that you had helped me. Will you take the chance, Gabby? Can I trust you?"

"Indeed I will do what I can, mademoiselle. I feel that your punishment, in which I was obliged to have a part, was mean and unfair. I have, myself, felt guilty ever since, that I did not answer your pleading voice! And you a young lady of high birth, and delicate!"

"I am not so delicate as all that, Gabby," I said. "But here is the note. It is to be delivered to Pierre de Lys, page to Madame de Maintenon. See—I have written it on the outside. Be sure of Jacques, and tell him not to deliver it to anyone but Pierre. I must hurry back to my class." She took the note and put it inside her bodice. "I have influential friends and I shall reward you both when I can, but if you betray me, I am lost!" With that I hurried away and my heart surged with hope.

This is what I had written: "Dear Pierre, I am wretched, miserable, and harshly treated. I must see you for I cannot bear to stay here any longer. Meet me three nights hence (Friday) in the orchard. You can scale the wall. Many have done so, though none lately. It is dark by six and I dare not be absent from supper at seven. Don't fail me. Adrienne."

*

I was in dreadful suspense for the next three days. I had allowed this much time for fear the letter would not reach Pierre sooner. Perhaps Jacques would not be on watch the first night; he might not locate Pierre at once; and Pierre might not be able to get away from his duties on short notice. So I had to wait and worry, not knowing the outcome. I did not dare to confide in Toinette for she might give me away without meaning to.

On Friday I asked her to take a walk with me. Between half-past five and supper hour we were allowed free conversation, though that did not mean that we were not under supervision.

On fine days we were permitted to walk in the gardens until dark, with mistresses stationed at several points to watch us. I had worried about the weather during the time of waiting, but our pleasant spring days continued.

At half-past five, Toinette and I walked away down a garden path, and since there were other girls strolling about, we were not conspicuous. The limits of the garden were as far as we were supposed to go—not beyond to the orchard by the wall. But the dusk descended rapidly and it was hard for a mistress to distinguish the girls in the twilight and recognize those in her charge. I had counted on that. I asked Toinette to leave me and not ask any questions. I knew I could count on her to do just as she was told. As I slipped farther into the trees, Toinette joined some other girls. My absence would not be noted until supper time when the roll was called, and I intended to return well before that hour.

My heart was beating violently as I paced beneath the wall in the dim light. Perhaps Pierre had never received my message. Perhaps even if he had, he was unable to get away. And the worst might have happened—my letter might have been intercepted.

Possibly it was only a few minutes, but it seemed to me to be hours, when I heard a scrambling and scuffling at one section of the wall and a man appeared at the top, then jumped with a thud to the orchard turf. It was Pierre! All the pent-up emotions of the past months overwhelmed me and I rushed into his arms. He held me close while I sobbed in relief. When I managed to stop crying, he still held me close and kissed me. It was the first time.

"My darling," he said, "what have they been doing to you?" He took his kerchief and wiped away my tears. The time was short, so I poured out my story. Perhaps it was incoherent, but he heard enough to understand.

"What am I going to do?" I cried at last. _"Grandpère_ won't help me and Cousin Armand didn't answer. You are my only hope."

"Of course I'll help you," Pierre said. "But what do you want to do?"

"I want to get away from this dreadful place!" I cried.

"If you could slip away, I could take you to Charlefont."

"But that wouldn't do at all. There is that contract _grandpère_ reminded me of. Your grandfather would be questioned and he couldn't say I was not there."

"That is true," he replied, "but what else can you do?"

"I must hide—somewhere. In the Palace, perhaps, where no one would think of looking for me. Couldn't you help me over the wall and hide me, Pierre? With all the thousands of people living there, I would not be noticed."

"I don't know." Pierre hesitated. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"It's the only way! I've always wanted to live in the Palace—you know that. Somehow I'll have to disguise myself, and after the excitement over my escape has died down, I think Madame de Maintenon will forgive me."

Pierre seemed doubtful about that. "And you know the Palace is not as gay now as formerly," he said. "Because of Madame's influence, the courtiers wear dark colors; there are fewer balls and parties. You may be disappointed in the Court even if you are allowed to stay."

"I won't be disappointed," I protested. "And nothing could be worse than Saint-Cyr as it is now!" I began to cry.

Pierre pressed my hand in sympathy. "Don't cry!" he begged. "I don't know right now how to solve the problem. I must think over all the possibilities carefully, as well as the dangers."

"The torches are lighted in the dining hall," I said. "I ought to go back now, for I must not be caught."

"Go, then, dearest Rienne. Can you meet me here at this time two nights from now?"

"That is Sunday," I said, "and there will be prayers at this time."

"On Monday, then. I'll be here at six and I'll try to have a plan. Don't be discouraged. Trust me. I'll think of something."

He kissed me and started to scale the wall, and I dashed back to the garden where I slowed myself to a sedate walk and joined the girls who were entering the building.

For the next three days I was more than careful of my behavior. I prepared my lessons dutifully; I said "Yes, Madame," and "No, Madame," with my eyes meekly lowered whenever I was questioned; and at chapel each morning and during the services on Sunday, with my palms pressed together in prayer, I knelt motionless, no matter how much my knees hurt. I was really praying, and with fervor, that I might manage to escape from this school which had turned into a prison. But I am sure the headmistress thought my punishment had taught me a lesson!

On Monday between dusk and dark I walked in the garden, this time without Toinette, and stole away to meet Pierre. He took me in his arms again and I felt safe.

"I have thought of a plan," he said. "It is a desperate one but any plan of escape from Saint-Cyr would involve danger. You can get the maid who befriended you to give you some clothes. I will take you over the wall and slip you into the servants' quarters at the Palace as a new girl—perhaps a scullery maid. No one will notice one new maid."

I was very quiet after he stopped speaking, and he sensed that something was wrong. "Oh, Pierre," I whispered, "must it be that way? I should not know how to do the work. I should be awkward, and besides, it would be found out by my speech alone that I have had a good education and do not sound like a peasant. Wouldn't I be discovered at once and sent back to a still more cruel punishment by Madame Loubert? And it would be so hard to climb the wall in petticoats!"

He was silent, thinking this over, and I burst out with a plan I had thought of myself.

"Couldn't you smuggle out a page's livery? Pages are of high birth like myself, and if I was put with the eight to twelve-year- olds I could pass for a boy. I could be with you some of the time and you could show me what to do. Oh, please say yes! It is the only way!"

"It just might work," Pierre said thoughtfully, "if you don't mind wearing boys' clothes. Why didn't I think of that! Only two days ago I was put in charge of a group of young pages in the service of Madame la Duchesse. Did you not notice that my uniform is now blue—her colors? You are little and slim. Yes, it might work if I could keep you busy enough so that you need not mingle with the boys too much. I could take you for my personal page and protect you as far as possible. Yes, it might work!"

I started to give a cry of joy, but suppressed it.

"But what then, Rienne?" he said. "You cannot remain a page for long. They will hunt everywhere for you as soon as they find you missing."

"But hardly in the Palace," I said. "And I don't know what will happen! If I escape from Saint-Cyr and cannot find any way to be accepted as a lady-in-waiting at the Palace, the only place I have to go is to my Aunt Felice in England. I should be safe there, but I don't know how I'd get out of France!"

"What we're doing is fraught with danger," said Pierre, seeming to hesitate. "The punishment, if you are caught, will be far greater than anything your headmistress would do to you. You realize that? We could never marry! You would probably be sent for correction to some faraway convent and never be heard from again. Madame de Maintenon, however kind she may be, would not have her authority flouted. And she now rules the King."

"But I _must_ take the risk," I said. "Oh, Pierre, if you only knew!" I began to cry.

"Don't cry, sweet," he said. "We'll make a page of you—my page—and then take the next step." As he wiped away my tears, he joked, "If you were a serving wench, I could steal a kiss whenever I met you in the Palace and no one would think twice about it, but this way—"

"Oh, Pierre! It isn't funny!" I gave a lopsided smile.

"I know it isn't and I don't feel like laughing. It was just to make you smile. Listen, then. I will bring a page's clothes that will fit you, and you must be ready at this time tomorrow night. There is little you can take with you—maybe nothing at all. And another thing, if it rains you won't be allowed out, but if it is only a little rain, I will come and look over the wall. And I'll come every night until you meet me here."

"Oh, Pierre!" I cried in relief and hope. "I do love you! And now I must fly." I kissed him quickly and sped away toward the lighted hall.

The next morning it was raining and I was bitterly disappointed. It was the kind of rain that would not let up by nightfall, at least not enough to allow us to walk in the garden. I contained my impatience as best I could, and indeed I looked listless enough for I had slept little all night. I was startled into wakefulness, however, when the servants rushed to admit Madame de Maintenon and His Majesty.

It was weeks since I had seen them and now a wave of remorse swept over me when I thought of what I was planning to do. The King looked around the hall filled with girls and said, "Well, Madame, what a drab company of young ladies you have here! Did you think it necessary to take away all their ribbons? Now they all look alike—and not very happy, I must say."

"But, sire, I explained to you how the pupils got out of hand after all the praise they received from the Court. Surely you do not wish them to grow up giddy and foolish! I have thought it best—and Madame Loubert agrees with me—that they become more modest, study harder, and not think so much of their appearance."

"Yes, I understand," he answered, "but do not go too far in your good works. I like to see pretty faces and pretty dresses on young people. I would not have them become too intellectual. What do you say, Madame?" he asked, addressing Madame Boulette, the teacher I particularly liked, who was standing near.

"You need have no fear for our girls, sire," she replied and I detected a note of sarcasm in her tone, "for they no longer have the slightest intelligence."

"As bad as that!" exclaimed the King. "Beware, lest you ruin them entirely," he said to Madame de Maintenon. But he spoke mildly and I could see that the Sun King, the most powerful monarch in the world, was indeed ruled by his wife—at least in matters concerning Saint-Cyr.

I was standing across from the two—the lady whose favorite I once was, though now I think she had forgotten all about me, and the King, whose ward I still was. I longed for a chance to slip out of the room and I was making a move in that direction when I heard the King say, "Where is that pretty little _demoiselle_ who spoke the Prologue for _Esther,_ the one you brought to me some years ago? I don't see her anywhere."

One of the mistresses pushed me forward a step, saying, "Here she is, Your Majesty."

He looked at me across the room, and I made a low curtsy. "So pale, so thin," he said. "I would never have known her. You must feed her more and see that she has proper rest." He turned to Madame Loubert, "I think you have been too severe in following your instructions." She bowed but said nothing. How little he knew the truth!

We were dismissed, then. I had been quaking with apprehension all through the interview, but when I thought it over, I decided perhaps fortune was on my side. If the King did not recognize me at the school, there was less chance that he would know me when I was dressed as a page.

At nightfall I said to myself, as I gazed out a window wet with rain, "Tomorrow it will clear, tomorrow it will clear. I must be patient and soon I shall be free!"

But it did not clear the next day or the next. On the fourth afternoon there was only a thick mist, but I knew the headmistress would not think the weather suitable for us to walk out in, and soon the spring rains would start in earnest. Pierre had said he would come every night if it did not rain too hard, and I was sure he would be at our trysting place on this evening at dusk. I must slip away. Surely I would not be missed at once, and should have time to change my clothes and be up over the wall before a search was made. I decided to take the chance. If he was not there and I had to come back, wet with mist, I should be punished again, I knew. But he _would_ be there! He had promised!

I made a little bundle of my few treasures, put my long cloak over my arm, and slipped out when no one was looking. Once outside, I wrapped myself in the cloak and ran as fast as I could through the wet grass to the orchard and the wall. Because of the clouds it was quite dark.

I looked anxiously along the wall and risked a soft call. "Pierre!"

In an instant he appeared with a bundle under his arm, swung himself over the top, and jumped down.

"Hurry!" I said. "There's not a moment to lose!"

"Here are the clothes," he said. "I will hold up your cloak like a curtain so that you may drop your skirts and put on the livery. Pray God it will fit!"

I kicked off my slippers and pulled the long silk stockings on over my own, then the sturdy buckled shoes. I unfastened my petticoats and dress and lastly my laced stays and let them fall so that I could put on the underpants, blue breeches, shirt, and coat. There was no rain falling and it was wet only on the grass.

"There!" I said, but he scarcely looked at me. Instead he bundled all my discarded clothes into the cloak, being careful not to leave a single thing, and went close to the wall. "Stand on my shoulders," he said, "and you can get over." I did as he said, and in a moment he joined me on the other side.

"Pierre!" I cried, but very softly. "I'm free!"

"Not yet," he answered. "We must be very careful. First of all, here's something else—your hat." He picked the tricom out of a shrub where he had carefully hidden it and placed it on my head. "And something else—I brought some shears. Your hair is too long for a page. Only the nobility wear it that long and theirs, of course, is curled."

"My hair!" I exclaimed. "Must you cut my hair?"

"Not too much," he said. "So it just touches your shoulders. Stand still." I obeyed, feeling the first qualms of transformation as the shears bit into the feature I prized most—my long, wavy hair.

In a moment he was satisfied, and after picking up every strand and tiny cutting which might provide a clue later, he surveyed his new page. "You'll pass," he said, "but you must remember to walk differently; stride—don't mince like a girl."

I blushed under his stare, for I felt actually naked. All my life, even as a little girl, my dresses had come to the ground and had had several petticoats to hold them out. Now the skirts were gone. My tight-fitting breeches ended above the knee, and the blue coat, fitted at the waistline, came down to just cover them except when I walked. I was all legs—or so it seemed to me. Though I had expected this, I was dismayed for a moment. Pierre didn't seem disturbed and I wondered that he didn't care that I no longer appeared like a young lady—the young lady he wanted to marry. I glanced down at my clothes, and then I looked at him.

"Why," I said, "I am dressed just like you! Except that you have a lace jabot, lace cuffs, lots more embroidery on your coat, and a feather in your hat."

"That is because I am a senior page and head of a group. But come now," he went on, "let me see you walk. Throw your feet forward and take longer steps."

I would have liked to dramatize my transformation and my escape, but I realized that Pierre was more practical. I tried to do as he suggested and I walked back and forth until he was satisfied. Then he picked up the bundle containing my clothes and the cut portions of my hair and we started back toward the Palace of Versailles.

He drew a long breath and let it go in a sigh. "So far, so good," he said. "The first part is accomplished, but the hardest is yet to come."

We walked along a path leading to the pages' wing of the building, moving fast, so that I could practice striding. "Do you like me like this?" I asked him, looking down at my legs.

He glanced my way, and in the darkness I could _feel_ him blushing. "I hardly realize that it is you, Rienne. I have been so anxious! Ladies are not supposed to show their legs. But I suppose it really doesn't matter—as long as you are safe."

All of a sudden, he stopped dead as something occurred to him. "The birchings!" he exclaimed. "I had forgotten the birchings!"

I asked him what he meant, but he said he would explain later.

The Palace of Versailles

Painting by Pierre Patel (1668)

### Chapter 6

As we walked toward the pages' wing of the Palace, Pierre began to tell me some of the things I must remember. These I must memorize immediately for we might be stopped at any time on our way through the park.

First of all, there was my new name. "I have decided to call you André," said Pierre. "I chose a name something like your own in case my tongue should slip, and I want one different from that of any of the pages in my charge. I have asked Madame's permission to accept as my personal attendant a twelve-year-old boy who is a distant relative of mine. That boy is you, Adrienne, and you have just arrived from Paris tonight. Your name is André Danière. You must say it over and over to yourself right away so that if you are asked, you will not hesitate."

"André Danière, André Danière," I murmured, and it kept running through my head as he went on speaking.

"There is so much for you to learn! But you must practice a bow, right now, before we meet anyone. Forget that you are a girl. Remove your hat, sweep it out in your right hand, throw your left arm out and up a little and bow from the waist—like this." He illustrated and I copied him.

"I've seen you do it often enough at Saint-Cyr," I told him.

"That is not the same as doing it yourself." And he made me practice it over and over. Finally he was satisfied, and we went on. We were approaching a Palace entrance where I saw a guard at the door, his figure showing up plainly in the light of a torch in a holder on the wall.

"What do I do when I meet a guard—not bow, surely?"

"Just touch your hat in salute." I copied him as we passed the guard and entered the building. "You bow only to someone of rank, and much lower to the royal family and Princes of the Blood," said Pierre. "I'll have to teach you all their names and titles. It won't be easy for you to remember them all, but you will be allowed some lapses because you are new."

We headed for some stairs, but before reaching them we saw approaching a man in very fine dress. I stopped a step behind Pierre and tried to bow just as he did.

"Who was that?" I whispered when we had passed.

"The Duc de Maine—a prince, you know and son of the King; but not the heir. The Dauphin is a much older man."

"He is very handsome, but a little lame."

"Everyone pretends not to notice that he is lame," said Pierre. "He must have been giving orders to his equerry on his return from a journey. We do not often see a nobleman in this wing. It is reserved for pages and other attendants of the nobility. And because the stables are adjoining, where there are hundreds of horses, messengers and equerries usually pass through here."

"I wondered why we did not see the magnificence I remembered from my first glimpse of Versailles," I said.

"Wait till you see the galleries and salons in the main Palace! There is little magnificence here—yet we are more comfortably housed than the servants. But aren't you hungry, Adrienne? You didn't have any supper."

I had not realized it till now on account of the excitement of my escape, but I was famished and said so.

"We'll go down to the kitchens and see if we can get something to eat. We have missed the supper hour for pages, which is early, for so many of the older pages have to attend their masters and mistresses who dine late. I have been excused from duty tonight."

The kitchens were filled with busy cooks. We got some bread and meat and some diluted wine from a steward who paid no particular attention to me. I was relieved to see that I was taken for a page, and I was especially glad not to have to meet the other pages until I felt more accustomed to my role. It was going to take all my acting ability not to give myself away.

After eating, we climbed two long flights of stairs to a corridor out of which opened many little rooms. Pierre's, which we entered, was in two parts: first a small entry room with a large closet at one end; then a larger room in which there was his bed and his washstand, an armoire, and a chair. Pierre gave a big sigh of relief.

"We have accomplished the second step," he said, "as soon as I get rid of the clothes in this bundle. And from now on we must act as master and page, even in private—otherwise we might make a slip in public. Do you understand, my darling?" He took my hand and looked deep into my eyes. "It will be hard, but from now on I must call you André and treat you like a boy."

"I understand," I told him, "and I am beginning to realize what a lot I'll have to learn. But I shall try not to make mistakes, for it would mean your disgrace, too. I think I am a good enough actress to play my part."

He dropped my hand and went on in an impersonal voice. 'To protect you from too much association with the other pages, I am going to give you a place to sleep in my little hall. I have had a pallet stuffed with straw; it is in the closet with some blankets and a change of clothes for you. I hope it will be comfortable. My mattress, too, is stuffed with straw, and it is hard enough, in truth!"

For the first time I began to think of the practical side of being Pierre's page. "But—" I began. "What if anyone comes to summon you in the night—"

"Emergencies do arise," he said, "and so it would be safer if you do not undress. Just take off your doublet, put on the nightshirt that is in the closet, and kick off your shoes." He continued, "Across the hall there is a lavatory. I think it will be deserted at this hour."

I realized, gratefully, that Pierre had thought of everything. He turned away from me and stood looking out of the window. "We'll begin your training tomorrow. Good night, André," he said, his head averted. "I'm sure you must be tired."

I looked at his back for a moment and decided I could do no less than begin my new role immediately. I was the one who had insisted on climbing over the wall. I was the one who was putting Pierre in danger. I closed the door to the anteroom softly and pulled out the pallet and blankets. I hung my doublet carefully in the closet, put on the nightshirt over my other clothes, and kicked off my shoes. Then I lay down and pulled the covers over me. The pallet was really comfortable and I was very tired —so tired that in spite of the excitement just past and the uncertainty of the future, I quickly fell asleep and slept until morning.

When I awoke I felt rested, but it must have been very early, for I could not hear Pierre stirring or anyone in the corridor. I could not tell the time by daylight, for there was no window in the anteroom. I lay quiet for a long time going over the events of the past days in my mind. I think I began then to realize what a terrible thing I had done in running away from Saint-Cyr. I was free from the tyrannical rule of the headmistress; I was in the Palace where I had always longed to be; and I was with Pierre. But under what difficult conditions! My mind was full of questions. Could I succeed in my disguise as a page? How long could I keep it up? I had longed to become a lady-in-waiting when I was sixteen; I _was_ sixteen, but what chance had I now? What had they done at Saint-Cyr when they found me missing? What would my grandfather say? And Cousin Armand? Surely a search would be made, and when they couldn't find me, what would they think? _Grandpère_ would be very sorrowful if he thought I had come to harm. I felt guilty about that, and I realized that if my mother had been alive, I would never have run away. I could not have caused _her_ to worry!

Up to then, I hadn't actually thought the thing through. Lying there I realized that neither Madame de Maintenon nor my grandfather would give up the search quickly, and I couldn't remain a page forever. What would happen to me? I refused to face the conclusion that eventually I would be discovered!

My thoughts were recalled to the dangers of the immediate present when Pierre opened the door. I sat up and answered his polite greeting, and while he was gone for a few minutes, I got into my doublet, which I saw was neat looking, and smoothed my rumpled breeches and stockings. In my little bundle I had brought a comb and I put it through my hair—my shortened hair—so that I looked presentable. When Pierre returned he asked me if I had slept well, and I said that I had. He told me to wait to wash until he gave me a signal and he stood outside the door until the pages had left the washroom and scrambled, like unruly schoolboys, down the stairs. He gave me a moment to refresh myself and then escorted me downstairs to the line-up required at the beginning of each day.

On the way down he explained quickly that he was going to assign one boy to show me around—one who was quiet and could be trusted not to play pranks. As we appeared in the lower hall, the boys stood in a row, some fidgeting and poking their neighbors, some quiet and attentive. Pierre introduced me.

"This is André," he said, "a distant cousin of mine who is to be my personal page. He has not been very well and therefore will not be given many duties at first. I expect you to treat him politely. You, Jean"—he addressed a nice-looking boy at the end —"I wish you to show André around the Palace. Take him everywhere and explain the apartments of the various personages to whom you often take messages. Show him the grounds, as well. You will have no other duties for today."

Jean looked pleased and eyed me curiously. Pierre was inspecting his pages, looking to see that all had clean hands and face, and livery in the proper order. Some he rebuked, but he was, on the whole, kind if firm. I could see that the boys liked him. In other parts of the hall, other groups of pages were being similarly checked by master pages. They were dismissed to attend chapel and, after that, a couple of hours of lessons. I had not realized that pages had a sort of school at Versailles and Pierre had not thought to tell me. Later he explained that they were taught deportment, their duties, and much about Court life that a young boy could not know when he arrived—even though he came from the home of a noble—as well as the art of self-defense. I would not have to attend unless Pierre thought it wise.

Jean kept close to me as we went to chapel and after Mass he said we would begin our tour of the Palace. This was most interesting. I was thrilled to see the gorgeous tapestries, handsome rugs on the tiled floors, gilded furniture, and the wonderful carvings and statuary. Every part of the walls and ceilings not covered by rich hangings was carved into intricate shapes, some painted in color, some gilded—all the work of superior artists. I gaped at everything with admiration, as would be expected of a newcomer to Versailles, and with me the feeling was quite genuine. This was the Palace I had so longed to live in—and here I was! But in what capacity! I had always imagined myself as a fine lady, beautifully gowned and surrounded by courtiers. Now I found myself in the midst of all this beauty, completely ignored as if I did not exist—a page!

The halls were thronged with ladies and gentlemen in elaborate clothes. If the colors were more somber than they used to be, I scarcely noticed the difference. They were fine enough indeed, and whatever the color, there was enough gold braid, embroidery, and jewels to dazzle me, used as I was to drab clothes. Not all in the crowd were of the nobility. I saw masses of common people as well, for the Palace was open to all.

I did not see the King go to chapel, but I saw a throng of courtiers who, Jean told me, were following His Majesty. I kept asking to go to the Hall of Mirrors, and finally we entered it. Groups of people were chatting, dozens of lackeys and pages were hurrying through with messages and packages. The crowd occasionally made way for a sedan chair carrying a lady to her destination. The Palace was so huge and spread out that a lady of rank could not be expected to _walk_ from one end of it to another. I remembered the first time I had been in that beautiful gallery and shivered as I thought of what would happen if the King should see me now and put a finger under my chin to look into my face as he had on that day when I was twelve! He had not recognized me a few days ago at Saint-Cyr. Surely he would not know me now as a page. I drew Jean toward one of the mirrors and we stood there side by side. I was a couple of inches taller, but otherwise we were almost as alike as twins. His hair was brown, too, and wavy, and our uniforms were identical. He was about eleven, I think, and I looked no more than twelve. I felt better after that long scrutiny. But Jean thought I was interested in my appearance for vanity's sake.

Jean was a nice boy. He did not plague me with questions, and to those he asked I found myself quick at inventing answers. For the most part he was enjoying his role as one with superior experience and liked me to express astonishment at all he had to show.

We had scarcely completed a tour of the lower floor when it was time for dinner. Madame la Duchesse required certain pages to attend her at dinner, but Jean and I, being without duties, sat in a corner alone and ate a good hot meal.

After dinner we completed our tour of the Palace and a part of the grounds—the gardens first. They were so vast that no one could see them all, and the park too, in one day. But the weather was fine and because the King had special guests, all the fountains were playing. It was a beautiful sight, really overwhelming, for there were fifteen hundred fountains filling the air with rainbow spray. Since it was spring, the flower beds, edged with low box hedge, were a mass of bloom. The King's favorite flower was the tulip, Jean told me, and he had heard that four million bulbs a year were imported from Dutch nurseries. I could well believe it because of the riot of color in the part that I saw; and besides tulips there were daffodils and many other flowers and flowering shrubs.

I had not time to look my fill, for Jean said we must go on to the other parts of the Palace or Master Pierre would be angry. This made me smile, but I let him lead me into the building and explain the location of some of the apartments. The south wing was for the Princes of the Blood and their households—fifteen flats in all with another fourteen in the attic. The north wing was for the nobles, where the apartments were smaller and joined by mazes of corridors. Above were small attic rooms where the poorer nobles lived. Of course the King's chambers, salons, and guard rooms, and the apartments of Madame de Maintenon occupied the central portions of the Palace and these were not open to the public except at certain times.

I asked Jean if he could find his way in all sections of the Palace, and he told me that he had been at Versailles a whole year but still did not know all of it.

"How can you find a person to whom you are to deliver a note or a message?" I asked him, for that was something that worried me.

"You have to ask directions of certain people," he explained. "Then you have to ask other persons of the same rank if they have seen the person whom you are seeking. And of course each noble has an usher outside his door, and you can ask him if you have come to the right place. Sometimes you can't deliver your message at all, but that mustn't happen often, for it is a serious offense."

I didn't see Pierre until four o'clock and I wondered what he had been doing all day, but I wondered even more if he had heard anything about what happened at Saint-Cyr when my disappearance had been discovered. I was glad, therefore, when Jean led me back to our post in the lower hall, where I saw the other pages drawn up in a line. We joined them and I found out that it was time for dismissal for free play outdoors. The youngest pages, of whom I was now one, had no duties after this, but after their supper at seven they were required to go to their dormitory and were under the control of a supervisor. Pierre had only to see that they performed their duties and was not required to be with them at meals or after hours.

Pierre reprimanded one page for a fault—I did not hear what—and then said quite clearly to me: "André, I wish you to attend me when I deliver a message to Madame la Duchesse; after that I will instruct you further in your duties." The boys disappeared quickly and noisily, and I followed Pierre into a corridor. As we went along, he said to me in a low voice: "It is important that you be seen at least once by Madame la Duchesse. She may look at you closely and ask you who your father was—I told her you are an orphan—but she does not know you, of course, and you need not worry about anything."

"Tell me, Pierre—for I do not recognize all the titles—who is this Madame la Duchesse whom you now serve?"

"She is the second wife of the King's brother, Philippe, who is always called _Monsieur._ She is German—a very kind lady but brusque in manner. She dresses differently from French ladies and in spite of being of enormous size, rides astride on her hunting horse, like a man. She adores hunting and goes out every day. She has a loud voice, but don't let that frighten you. And, another thing—she hates Madame de Maintenon."

"But why?" I could not help asking.

"I do not know," answered Pierre, "but it need not concern us. That is a piece of luck for us, making it fairly sure that I shall not have to send you on an errand to Madame de Maintenon, which would be very risky. Your father's name, if she should ask you, is Jacques Danière, Marquis de Ladeau, and you were brought up in the town of Blois, which is very like Ronne."

We had reached the Duchess' apartment and Pierre informed the usher of our presence. Then we entered a pretty chamber of graceful proportions with a lofty ceiling painted with a blue sky and white clouds. I had only time to observe the heavy blue draperies at the windows, the carved garlands of fruits and vines that decorated the walls, and the figure of Madame la Duchesse in a high-backed chair flanked by her ladies—some standing, some seated on stools. Pierre offered the note he was carrying. As she accepted it, he said, "I have taken this opportunity, Madame la Duchesse, to present to you the new page I spoke about, André Danière."

I moved a step toward the large, florid woman in her voluminous red gown covered with gold embroidery, and bowed. She gave me a moment's attention. "I hope you will be happy here," she said kindly. "Mind Pierre and keep out of trouble and all will be well with you." I bowed again, stepped back, and we withdrew. I had not had to speak a word.

"I'm glad that's over," I said to Pierre as we walked to his room.

"You mustn't be nervous," he said, "for you will have to meet many of the nobles and even the royal family. They will not pay any more attention to you than they would to a piece of furniture."

I was beginning to get used to my costume and the display of legs that I found so different from my petticoats and dresses. In fact, I began to like the freedom with which I could move and was comforted by the fact that no one looked at me with suspicion. I really looked like all the other pages, and though my legs were a little more shapely than those of the boys, no one seemed to notice.

Right now I was eager to hear if Pierre had any news of what was going on at Saint-Cyr. He told me that all he had heard was snatches of conversation between some squires about a rumor that some _demoiselle_ had disappeared from Saint-Cyr and no one knew what had become of her. "We are sure to hear more soon," he said. "But now, before supper, I want to teach you about the important people here in the Palace. You may have need to know."

I was terribly ignorant, as I think most people were except those who lived at Court, about the people who ruled France and spent all the money raised in taxes. I knew about the Sun King, Louis XIV, of course, and about Madame de Maintenon who was now his wife, though Pierre said she held no queenly position at Court and in processions had to enter rooms behind all the duchesses. The Dauphin, son of Queen Marie-Therése who had died a few years before, was the next in importance and was called _Monseigneur._ After him came the "Children of France"—that is, the King's brother, _Monsieur,_ and the children and grandchildren of _Monseigneur._ Then came the "Grandchildren of France," a group consisting of the King's cousin, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, her half-sisters, and _Monsieur's_ children. Next in rank were the "Princes of the Blood"—I couldn't begin to remember all of them and Pierre said it didn't matter—and then the children of the King by Madame de Montespan. Eldest of these was the Duc de Maine, whom I had seen when we first entered the Palace, and the youngest was Mademoiselle de Blois, whom I had good cause to remember. After these came the dukes, counts, other nobles, and the bishops and prelates of all degrees.

Pierre said the purpose of telling me all this was so that I could address any one of them by the proper title when handing him a note or delivering a message. That was all I should have to do, he said, for pages spent most of their time standing around. This was true of the courtiers as well, and at Versailles hardly anyone had a chance to sit down from morning till night except the King and a few ladies of rank. Pierre told me that the card tables were crowded in the evening and the theatricals and ballets were well attended, principally because it gave the ladies and gentlemen a chance to sit down! This was a surprise to me, for I had always thought of the Court as one unending round of pleasure. I was to find out that it was a dreary business, and that the ladies-in-waiting—and I had wanted to be one of them—had to stay up till all hours, rarely sat down during the day, and had no regular meals but ate whatever their patroness left on her plate and serving dishes. So much food was provided that no one ever went hungry; but it seemed to me a humiliating position.

"Another thing to remember," Pierre told me, "is that if there is no usher at a door and you yourself must ask to enter to make known your errand, you must scratch at the door with your fingernail. No one knocks at Versailles; it is considered bad manners."

My first day at court had not been too bad, but I was worried about mingling with the pages and about finding the person to whom I might be sent with a message. I managed these things as they came along, however, beginning with supper that night which I had at a table with Pierre and the other pages. I sat beside Jean and that helped. And the next day, when I had to take a note to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Pierre pointed out the entrance, but to be doubly sure, I asked the usher at the door. In fact he took the note and that made it very easy for me.

It was hard to understand how hundreds of pages could be needed to carry messages and letters from one person at court to another. But I came to realize that the Palace was too huge and crowded for people of rank to visit each other often. Their duties required them to be with the King, the royal family, or one of the aristocracy all day and most of the night, and their only means of saying things to each other was by writing letters. Hundreds were carried back and forth every day, some to ladies from ladies and others from ladies to gentlemen, and the other way around.

The second day made me feel more secure in my position but I was very uneasy about what had happened at the school. That afternoon I found out. Pierre was summoned to the apartment of Madame de Maintenon, and as he left me he whispered, "This is it!"

Afterward he related to me what had happened. Madame de Maintenon told him of my disappearance because she knew him to be my cousin, and of course he expressed great surprise and dismay. She said that as soon as a search had been made of the building and grounds she had dispatched a messenger to my grandfather. She thought that I might have found a way to get home, but she could not imagine how I had left Saint-Cyr without being seen by someone, nor whom I had found to take me on the two-day journey to the Château de Ronne, since she supposed I had no money for the stagecoach. Remembering that I had been very friendly with Antoinette, Madame had questioned her.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, when Pierre told me of this. "How glad I am that I did not confide in Antoinette! She could never have kept the secret under questioning!"

"It is fortunate," said Pierre. "And I can tell you that it is not easy to hide the truth and express the proper feeling of worry over your disappearance when I know you are right here in the Palace!"

"Oh, Pierre, I'm sorry! It must have been hard for you," I said.

"It was the hardest thing I ever did! Luckily Madame had no suspicion that I might be mixed up in this matter. She asked me when I had seen you last and I told her that it was at Christmas time when you visited Charlefont. That was my first lie. But there will be more to come. Your grandfather will go to mine, and no doubt the two of them will appear here at Versailles as soon as they have time to make the journey. And I am not a very good liar, I fear."

"Here!" I exclaimed. "Why would they come here?"

"To see me, I suppose. I have been your best friend, have I not? And they would naturally come to tell me. But I think they will not suspect me since they do not know of our betrothal."

"Oh, what a tangle of lies and deceit!" I moaned, and since we were in a comer and no one was around, I began to cry. Pierre was upset and it was all my fault!

"Don't cry! People may come by at any moment. They'll think I've been beating you!"

So I choked down my sobs. I was safe for the time being and dared not look beyond that. By the next day the Court was buzzing with the news that Mademoiselle Adrienne Lavelle had disappeared from Saint-Cyr. There were all sorts of rumors. Some said that gypsies had stolen me from the gateway of the school, but all of the guards swore they had not left their posts, nor had they seen me. There was a country fair going on in the town of Versailles and it was thought possible that some of the vagabonds connected with the fair had either sheltered me or abducted me. But a thorough questioning satisfied the authorities that this was not the case. Something had happened to me, that they knew; I had not vanished into thin air. And they meant to find out!

I trembled as I went about the Palace. Pierre had to leave me alone much of the time now, particularly in the evening. He said that if he did not go out as he had formerly with his fellow pages, they would be sure to become suspicious. I performed a few errands; I ate my meals with the pages; I refrained from joining their games, using the excuse that I was recuperating from an illness. The rest of the time I stood around, one of hundreds and hardly noticed. I feared greatly to meet the King at close range, and once when I saw him approaching—all in brown with flounces and ruffles of gold lace, and taller than his accompanying courtiers because of his immense black wig and shoes with high red heels—I turned away so that he might not see my face. He had been so kind to me at Saint-Cyr that I wished I could be recognized by him here and be complimented and approved as in past years. But, alas! I had renounced all that! I worried also about being observed by Madame de Maintenon, but she rarely left her chambers and I never saw her. The Palace was so chilly, because the King liked fresh air and insisted on the windows being open even in winter, that she kept to her rooms and even there, I was told, she sat in a high-backed chair draped on all sides to keep out the drafts. The King did not feel the cold and refused to believe that anyone else did.

Most of all, I trembled lest I come face to face with Mademoiselle de Blois. I thought it possible that neither the King nor Madame would recognize me, but I felt instinctively that a girl my own age who had watched me act and envied me as she had would be sure to know me even in disguise.

King Louis XIV and His Courtiers

Detail from _The Reception for Prince Conde at Versailles_ by Jean-Leon Gerome (1878)

### Chapter 7

In spite of my worry I was intrigued by the splendor of the Court at Versailles. Jean had told me that there would not be many gentlemen around in a week or two because, since France was still at war with the Netherlands, the spring campaign would begin in May and nearly all the courtiers who now were living in idleness would depart to join their regiments. In the summer, he said, the Court was composed mostly of ladies. I was glad that I happened to be here when the place was crowded.

There were many processions: every morning a line of nobles went to the King's apartments to take part in the ritual of his _levee,_ which began when he got out of bed and continued until he finally emerged to lead them to the chapel. Only the most privileged nobles were present to hand him different articles of clothing, and it was their duty every day as well as their privilege, but sometimes it must have been tiresome. I wished that a page to Madame la Duchesse might have the chance of squeezing in to watch these proceedings, but Pierre said that would be out of the question, even if I were not a girl. Since I was, it would be a shocking thing for me to watch the King put on his clothes! The same procedure went on when the King went to bed, but that was usually very late, for he did not have supper till eleven or twelve at night, so I never saw the procession of courtiers going to the King's retirement for the night.

Nearly every noon, however, I saw the Parade of the King's Dinner. This took place even when he was having his dinner in private. The kitchens that prepared food for the King were so vast they were housed outside the Palace, and the dishes—thirty or forty of them—were carried by a long procession of servants marching across the courtyard into the Palace, and into the King's bedchamber where he dined _au petit couvert._ The service was much more magnificent when there was a state banquet, which was called _au grand couvert,_ or when he dined _au public,_ a time when hundreds of people came to witness the spectacle, filing by slowly and not allowed to linger.

For the private dinner, the parade was led by two Life Guards and an usher with his wand of office, followed by the _maître d'hotel_ with his baton; next came the head of the pantry department and the Controller-General of the King's household; then came the dinner itself. The many dishes he was to partake of, all of which had been tasted first, were carried high on trays by a line of servants. Not only was this long parade impressive but everyone who was present when the royal dinner passed bowed as if to the King himself, the gentlemen sweeping off their plumed hats and saying solemnly, "The dinner of the King!" A wave of bowing and curtsying surged down the corridor like the figure in a ballet I saw one night at the Palace, and a murmur replaced the buzz of conversation until the procession had passed.

It was on such an occasion, after I had been in the Palace a few days, that something I had been afraid of happened—and nearly resulted in my being found out. Pierre had left me to attend to some duty, and I was standing alone when, following the dinner procession, a group of ladies and gentlemen paused very near me. One young lady called to me in an imperious voice which I immediately recognized: "Come here, page. I wish you to take a message for me." It was Mademoiselle de Blois!

For a moment I failed to move, looking to right and left where other pages were standing, to see if she really meant me, and she called again impatiently. I thought quickly as I moved toward her. If she saw my face I feared the worst. I could not let it happen. But since I could not run away without being caught and questioned, I did the only thing that came into my head at the moment. I crossed one foot in front of the other, stumbled and fell flat on the floor, hiding my head with my arms. Mademoiselle was angered.

"What an awkward creature you are," she cried. "You, there!" she called to another page, "you can do my errand. As for this page of Madame's—tell the master page that he has disgraced himself and should be punished."

I got up, my head turned away from her, and she paid no further attention to me. But one of the pages grabbed my arm and twisted it. "I'll tell Master Pierre and you'll catch it!" he said with relish.

"I couldn't help it," I lied and walked away. Nothing could be worse than being recognized by Mademoiselle de Blois!

When the afternoon line-up came and my conduct was reported, I saw Pierre's face whiten.

"It was an accident," I said meekly.

"I'm sure it was," Pierre agreed quickly. "Be more careful in the future."

"Aren't you going to punish him?" asked the page who had reported me. "Mademoiselle said to punish him."

"No," said Pierre and turned away, taking me with him. I heard a groan of disappointment as we left.

It was not until the end of the week that I knew what had disappointed the boys. I arrived at the line-up as the clocks were striking four to see one page bent over a chair, one of the others holding his hands, while Pierre applied a stick to the seat of his breeches. He was yelling lustily and the other boys were getting a great deal of enjoyment out of it. In an instant of shocked surprise, I realized what Pierre had meant that first evening when he spoke of the birchings. It was a birch rod that he used for punishments.

"What did the boy do?" I asked when we were alone.

"I gave him a message to deliver at the other end of the Palace and he deliberately disobeyed me. He went out to the stables to look at the horses instead."

"Didn't he try to deliver the message?" I asked.

"He was in the stables within five minutes. I happened to have an errand there myself and so I caught him. There was no excuse. You see, Adrienne—André, I mean—I have to be strict with the boys. They are sometimes hard to manage. They can be little monsters!"

"I've been watching them," I said.

"And you must be very, very careful of everything you say and do. I couldn't bear it if I had to punish—you!"

"You wouldn't, would you?" I asked.

"Not unless someone made me do it. Some noble might insist, if you offended him. So do be careful. I don't know how—I couldn't do it—I should be so embarrassed!" he said in a low voice.

"Don't worry, Pierre. I'll be a good boy," I said with confidence. And I certainly tried to be.

We were often about the Palace in the evening, Pierre attending Madame la Duchesse and I attending Pierre. Madame did not mingle very much with the other courtiers and seldom played cards as most of them did till the early morning hours, but she was present at certain functions and sometimes entertained in her apartment. I overheard much Court gossip and found little of it to my taste. On occasion I heard about practices in the Palace or in France with which Madame did not agree. One of these was the treatment of the Huguenots. The King had in 1685 revoked the Edict of Nantes, a decree made by Henry IV nearly a hundred years before, which gave Protestants liberty to worship as they pleased. Madame, who came from a Protestant country, was loud in her condemnation of the brutality which now forced these unfortunate people to either accept conversion to the Catholic faith or lose their property, their right to earn a living, and more often than not, their lives. I heard her say that just before the Edict was revoked, thousands of the best people in France—soldiers, tradesmen, professional people—had fled to foreign countries, having foreseen what was coming. Now, she said, no Huguenot was allowed to leave France. If a man was caught attempting to cross the borders or to go by sea to England, Holland, or Germany, he was sent to the galleys for life.

All this was very puzzling to me for, until this time, I had scarcely realized that there were differing views on the Christian religion, or that the Huguenots were considered evil people. I had known Pierre's young uncle, who was a Huguenot, and observed him, even in his last illness, to be considerate and kind. I could not believe our King so cruel as to persecute people for their religious beliefs. I knew his good qualities. At Saint-Cyr I had seen that he loved children, beauty in all forms, and education—so how could he be cruel? I did hear a courtier say our King did not know of the persecutions but thought most conversions voluntary, and that it was Louvois, his minister, who was responsible. Being only a girl, I could not understand these things. As for punishments—I did not even know what a galley was!

Every day I observed the behavior of the courtiers and heard certain snatches of gossip that made me realize living at Court was not what I had imagined it to be. Not much attention was paid to a mere page, so I was able to see the cruelty and self-seeking that permeated Court society. More than once I overheard malicious remarks about various ladies, married ladies, who were having affairs of the heart with gentlemen other than their husbands, and nothing was more greatly relished than a new scandal. Yet the same ladies who made scathing comments about an absent member of their circle were the first to greet her with pretended affection when she rejoined them. This lack of sincerity astonished and sickened me. Could it be that this poison was hidden behind the painted faces of all who lived in the magnificent Court of Versailles? It was not the change from crimson and purple to brown and green Pierre had warned me about that disturbed me, but the hypocrisy I detected behind the smiles.

The greatest attention was paid to clothes by both ladies and gentlemen. The mass of ribbons, laces, and other furbelows attached to the already rich materials was unbelievable. Ladies wore elaborate headdresses at evening festivities, some with wire foundations; and I actually saw one, worn by a duchess, which stood a foot above her head and consisted of a two-masted schooner under full sail!

On the fifth day after I had climbed the wall to become a page in the Palace, Pierre made me stay hidden most of the day. "There has been time for your grandfather to learn of your disappearance, and time for him to ride to Versailles, allowing for a stop at Charlefont. I am sure that both our grandfathers will arrive at any moment, and we must take no chances on your being seen. They'll go to Saint-Cyr first, but since there is nothing to be found out there, they will come here to tell me about it."

I knew he was right and I contented myself as best I could in Pierre's room, reading a book he had brought to distract me. My thoughts were gloomy. How could I cause _grandpère_ such anxiety? Would Pierre be able to hide his knowledge of my whereabouts even from his own grandfather who knew him so well? I longed to go to them when they came and confess everything. They would forgive me, I was sure. But in the eyes of the King and Madame, I had done an unforgivable thing and every day of hiding was making it worse! I simply did not dare to show myself for fear of a punishment that would forever separate me from those I loved. There must be some other way!

When Pierre returned after supper time—he had brought me some food and explained to the other pages that I was not feeling well—I soon knew that my fears were justified.

_Grandpère_ and Cousin Armand had arrived in the afternoon and had gone straight to Madame de Maintenon. She sent for Pierre and they all had a long talk. Pierre had the difficult task of pretending to be sorrowful and full of anxiety on my behalf. He was overwrought because of the deception and this stood him in good stead. Madame explained that a thorough search of the surrounding country for miles around had been made even before she discovered that I was not at my grandfather's home. She asked him about the letter I had sent him and his answer, both of which had been read by the headmistress. He answered that he was aware that I had been unhappy at school. But he did not know the extent of my unhappiness until Madame told him what she had learned by questioning Toinette. My little friend had told them about the punishment to which I had been subjected, though she was firm in her denial of any knowledge of how I had fled from Saint-Cyr.

"I was very angry with the headmistress," Madame told them, "and I have decided she is too harsh with the girls. It was my wish that they be required to behave more quietly and be less frivolous, but I did not intend them to be subjected to such an ordeal as Adrienne was made to suffer. As a consequence, I have removed Madame Loubert from her post."

I was jubilant when Pierre told me this. "It serves her right!" I exclaimed, interrupting him.

Pierre could not give me the whole story at first. He was trembling and white-faced with the strain he had been under. But he regained control over himself and went on to tell me about the rest of the interview, and it was all bad news.

"Your grandfather was horrified to know that you had been treated so unkindly. He said that he himself would institute a search with the help of the Comte, my grandfather, who agreed with him, and that when you were found, he would take you back to the Château de Ronne. No education was worth such suffering.

"At that Madame stopped him. 'You yourself wrote that she must remain at Saint-Cyr until the age of twenty according to the agreement,' and she added, 'if she is found.'

"'God forbid that she should not be found!' my grandfather cried. 'Could she have managed somehow to get into the Palace and be hiding here—perhaps disguised as a chambermaid? If she got through the gate at Saint-Cyr, she could walk right into the Palace without being stopped. Everyone enters here.'"

Pierre said he was terribly alarmed at this and hid his face.

"'She would have told Pierre, would she not?' asked Madame.

"'She would not have dared tell anyone,' said your grandfather. 'She was overwrought, poor child, after such treatment.'

"'I will have all the maids checked,' said Madame. 'But it will take some time—there are hundreds of them.'

"Then Madame said, 'If she is found and proves that she deceived us and purposely fled the school without permission, then she must be punished.'

"'She has been punished too much already,' said my grandfather.

"Then _your_ grandfather said that when you were found he would not allow you to continue at the school, but would insist that you return to live with him."

"Dear _grandpère,"_ I murmured.

Pierre continued: "Madame de Maintenon said, 'Have you forgotten that you no longer have control over her, monsieur? She is a ward of the King.' I have never heard her speak in such an icy voice. I told you she would not be flouted!"

"Oh, Pierre," I cried. "I'm so afraid!"

"I think that then my grandfather was sorry he had spoken about your being in the Palace. And I hope I did not look too guilty. 'See what you can do, Pierre,' he said to me as they left the Palace, and I promised to try. I looked troubled enough and I feel sure that they thought it was all on account of your being lost."

I said in a small voice, "At least they cannot find me among the chambermaids and kitchen help."

"No," said Pierre. "But your position is precarious. We must think of a way out."

Perhaps it was on account of worry and lack of sleep that, a few days later, I made my first serious mistake. It was after my supper, which I had finished early, and I was standing in the beautiful Hall of Minors, which was thronged with courtiers admiring the glitter from the chandeliers, when I heard a call: "Page, page!" I looked up and saw a lady, most elaborately gowned in pink with fashionable tiers of lace for a headdress, beckon to me. Although I belonged to the household of Madame la Duchesse, it was not unusual for someone else to require me to do an errand. I went to her and bowed.

"Do you see those two gentlemen talking in the comer?" She pointed them out. "The one on the left is the Comte de Rideau, the one on the right is the Comte de Rousseau. Walk over there, and as soon as they have parted, give this note to the Comte de Rideau—the one on the left. Do you understand?" She took a note from her bodice and handed it to me. "The one on the left," she repeated with a simper. I guessed it was a love note. There were many of those and they were joked about quite openly.

I said to myself as I walked toward them, "Comte de Rideau, Comte de Rousseau, Comte de Rideau, Comte de Rousseau. I must give this to the Comte de Rideau and he is on the left." A passing sedan chair took my attention and blocked my view for a moment. I stepped up to the gentleman on the left, who had walked several feet away, and handed him the note. He smiled and passed me a coin, as often happened. I was walking back looking at it, pleased with myself, when he let out a bellow of rage. "Boy, boy," he cried. "Who gave you this note to deliver?"

I pointed out the lady in pink. He stared for a moment, then strode to the man he had been talking with and thrust the note into his hands. "This is for you, monsieur, I think," he said, and swept angrily out of the hall.

The lady had watched this from a distance and now she reached for me. "Dolt! Imbecile!" she cried. "You gave the note to my _husband!"_ She grasped me by the ear and hauled me along to the pages' quarters in a far corridor. The other pages were just coming up from supper, and Pierre was turning the corner.

"Here, Master Page," she fairly shouted. "This is one of yours, I think, by his livery. He has made a terrible blunder which may mean my disgrace. You must whip him. I insist upon it!"

Pierre looked at me in consternation. His face lost its color, but he bowed formally and said, "Very good, madame; it shall be done. I will take him upstairs."

"No," said the lady, "here and now!"

The pages were clustered around, grinning. Pierre had no choice. He went to a closet and took out the birch rod, and the lady stood by while he gave me three whacks, not very hard ones, on the seat of my tight-fitting breeches. The lady did not wait further when she saw he was obeying her, but the other pages did. They snickered. "He didn't hit hard," said one. "André didn't yell," said another. "He ought to be made to yell." "Hit him harder," they cried. "Make him cry."

But Pierre said in a stern voice, "Be quiet or I'll take the stick to every one of you." He made a move toward them and they fled, laughing. Pierre put the rod back in the closet and strode away. I followed him, looking meekly at the floor. It had hurt, but my ear hurt worse where the lady had pulled it as she hustled me along.

When we reached the sanctuary of his room, Pierre broke his resolve never to treat me as a girl. He took me in his arms and held me tight. "Oh, Rienne," he groaned. "I hoped this would never happen! Did I hurt you too much?"

"It didn't hurt much, really," I said, comforting him. "I know you had to do it. I don't know how I could have been so stupid as to get those gentlemen mixed up," and I told him what had happened.

"The situation is getting impossible," said Pierre. "But I'm glad I didn't have to give you a regular birching."

I got my "regular birching" the next week, however, and this is the way it happened. Pierre sent me on an errand to a party having supper in the park. It was quite a long way, and I enjoyed the lovely grounds, the sweet spring air, and the false feeling that I was free. I delivered my message and was returning happily in the dusk when I heard shouts from the shrubbery, and I was suddenly attacked by six of the pages who had watched my rather mild punishment a few days before. There was no one near to whom I could call for help, and in a moment they had pushed me over a tree stump and were holding me down while one after another of them clouted me with a stick. This really hurt and it was hard to keep from crying. I knew they wanted to hear me yell, as they did when they were being punished, and though I was determined not to oblige them, I was beginning to cry when the fourth boy took his turn. Then I heard a shout of rage, and Pierre arrived on the run. He had seen from a distance what was going on. He cuffed the boys aside and told them to report to him in the morning for punishment—in addition to this unauthorized beating, they were out after hours. Then he helped me up. By this time the boys had disappeared, and he lifted me and half carried me before I stopped him.

"Don't, Pierre," I said. "Someone might see. It isn't so bad— not so much worse than I've felt after a very long horseback ride when I've been out of practice. I guess I won't sit down for quite a while, though," I added, laughing weakly.

"I can't bear it!" Pierre exploded. "This can't go on! The boys will continue to plague you in spite of all I can do, and eventually they'll find out that you're a girl!"

He had quieted down somewhat by the time we reached his room, but after we talked it over, he was determined, in spite of all I could say, to go to his grandfather, tell him the whole story, and ask his forgiveness and advice. I didn't want him to do this, but how could I hold out against him when the whole thing was my fault? Pierre had weighed the chances of confession against the punishment of ultimate discovery. He was involved as well as I, and I must let him decide; but I now wished fervently that I had never run away from Saint-Cyr!

Chapter 8

As it happened, my anxiety was for nothing. Pierre did not confess to his grandfather, for the very next day an unexpected bit of good fortune occurred. He whisked me away to a secluded spot in the gardens immediately after dinner to tell me about it. The Due de Maine had called him to his chambers in the morning and appointed him one of his equerries. It was a big advance in position and though Madame la Duchesse hated to part with him, she had agreed to it. Pierre was now entitled to have more than one personal page if he wished, and he would not have to wear a livery but could dress as any elegant courtier. The clothing did not interest him at the moment for there was something much more important. The Due de Maine had recently been given command of ninety-one squadrons of cavalry in a division of the army of the Marshal de Luxembourg. They would take the field against the Dutch in a few weeks; the Marshal was already in Flanders and a message must be taken to him at once from the Due de Maine. He had appointed Pierre to take that message and had told him to set out two days hence.

"Do you realize what this means?" Pierre was excited. "It means that we can both get away from Versailles! The place I must go to is near the coast, and somehow we must find a way for you to get to England."

This was exciting news and we immediately began to plan. I had escaped from the school to the Palace, and now I must escape from Versailles—to what unknown dangers I could not guess. Still, I did not hesitate. If I did finally reach England, I could then let my dear ones know that I was safe and stop their worrying. Much as I had longed to live at Court, I did not regret leaving it. Even if I could have been a lady-in-waiting there, I would not choose it now. I had seen what weary, shallow lives were the lot of ladies and courtiers at the Palace and no amount of magnificence could make up for living among intrigue, battling for advancement—the footstool or the chair, the word or smile from the monarch—playing cards every evening out of boredom and losing vast sums of money. I had seen it all and I now understood why Cousin Armand chose to live on his estate.

Pierre said that his new master had given him a day's grace to say good-by to his grandfather at Charlefont. He would go this very afternoon. It would be hard to keep the secret about me, but he would manage. Then, there was something else to be considered.

"It will be quite in order for me to have two pages," he said, "and you need another girl to keep you company and wait on you. I shall find one who will also be willing to use a disguise."

"I need no company but you, Pierre," I told him.

"It would not be proper for us to journey together alone," he said. "We must think of your reputation later. I love you too much to jeopardize that. And the journey will be hard. You will be glad of another girl to share it."

I had no idea how he would get that other girl, but when he went away he took with him a page's livery thickly ornamented with gold braid—quite different from that of Madame la Duchesse's pages. He sent me to the seamstress who had been told to make the alterations to my livery and to add the de Lys crest. This was a rush order and she had it all ready by the next morning.

When Pierre returned he had another page with him. In his room we were introduced. "This is Suzanne, a maid in my grandfather's household," he said. "She has agreed to go with us on our adventure—in fact, I think she is quite excited about it."

I saw a girl about my own age with straight blond hair cut short across her shoulders, dressed in Pierre's livery. She smiled at me and bobbed a curtsy. I warned her that she must never do that, but must act like a boy, and she blushed and said, "I forgot."

"What will you call her?" I asked Pierre.

"I shall call her Robert—if ever I have occasion to address her in public," he said.

"What will your grandfather think when she is missed?" I asked, knowing that missing girls created a problem.

"Suzanne has been homesick," he said, "and when she is not to be found, it will be thought that she has gone to her home in Brittany. It is a long way off, but country girls can find their way. She will not be searched for as you have been."

"This is a dangerous journey, Suzanne," I said. "Can you be trusted not to give us away?"

"I promise," she replied. "I like adventure, mademoiselle. It was dull at the Château. I am strong and healthy. I think I can give you good service."

"And you will go with me, even to England?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, mademoiselle—even to England."

She had honest eyes, and I felt I could trust her and, as Pierre had said, I would be glad to have another girl along. Dear Pierre! He always thought of everything.

Pierre had brought three horses from his grandfather's stables and equipment that he thought we might need. "I could, of course, have horses from the Duc de Maine," he said, "but I wanted my own. I know them and trust them to carry us safely."

We did not take Suzanne to the dining hall, so that she might avoid any contact with the other pages. She slept with me in Pierre's anteroom, and the next morning we set out.

It was unbelievably simple. Pierre, dressed in plain riding clothes covered by a gorgeous velvet cloak with a plumed hat on his head, had only to walk to the stables with his two pages, mount, and ride away. But Pierre was in high spirits, seeing safety within our grasp, and he could not resist a fling at danger. He decided he ought to say good-by to Madame la Duchesse. He marched jauntily through the halls and corridors to her apartment, followed by Suzanne and me. He had provided riding boots for us and we strode along proudly, jangling our spurs. For some reason I felt safer now that I knew I was about to leave the Palace and also because, with Suzanne beside me dressed just as I was, I felt less conspicuous. Madame was impressed with Pierre's new appointment and his two pages, who bowed as one, and she complimented him. He made an elegant obeisance as we retired from her apartment, and we then walked boldly down the length of the Hall of Mirrors, out into the courtyard, and over to the stables. In half an hour we were mounted and away.

It was heaven to be on a horse again and so much easier to ride astride, in spite of the soreness I still felt from the birching. Fortunately Suzanne had been brought up with a horse to ride to market in her home in Brittany, and though she had never ridden a spirited mount, she learned quickly. When Versailles was a little way behind, our road led up a hill from which, on turning back, we could see the Palace and its grounds, partly hidden by the woods surrounding it. It was a beautiful sight and I could not help lingering a few moments with a feeling almost of regret till Pierre reminded me that I must look only ahead now—not back.

Pierre had plenty of money with him. Not only had the Duc de Maine provided for his journey, but he had money of his own. He had never been one to gamble it away as most young men do. He gave me some to keep in a leather bag inside my shirt, for he reasoned that in case we were attacked by robbers the money was safer if divided.

We made good time with our fast horses. For three nights we stayed at inns we found at the end of our day's ride. Suzanne and I took care of the horses as was required of our position. Anyway, I did not want to leave the rubbing down to the inn servants and I knew perfectly well how to do it. Suzanne learned what was necessary and helped me lift the heavy saddles. We ate well, kept very quiet, and attracted no unwelcome attention. At night we had a room to ourselves—not always easy to do, for inns are nearly always crowded and it is not unusual for a traveler to share a room with one or several strangers. Pierre insisted that Suzanne and I sleep in the bed, while he stretched out on a quilt on the floor. We barricaded the door so that we should not be disturbed by thieves. On the fourth day we approached the boundary of Flanders, where the Marshal de Luxembourg was encamped.

It was nightfall when we arrived, and from a hill we could see in the twilight the tents of the army—hundreds of them—with campfires and men sitting around them. Pennons flew in front of many of the pavilions, and from here and there came the sound of singing. It was an awesome scene.

Pierre told us to wait with our horses at a little distance from the camp while he rode in. He did not want us to be addressed by the soldiers; some annoyance might occur which would lead to the discovery that we were girls. We waited for about an hour. When Pierre returned to us he had delivered the papers entrusted to him and had been told to go to the mess tent to be given supper, but he had skirted the enclosure and come back to us. Now that he was rid of his responsibility, he said, there was nothing to connect him to the French army. He was not in uniform and had no papers on him. He could now be simply a country gentleman with two young squires.

I reminded him of his cloak. "Anyone would know you were from the court with that," I said. "It is so magnificent with its embroidered fleur-de-lys all over it and the jeweled clasp."

Pierre looked a little ashamed. "It is too gaudy for me, I know. But I couldn't resist a little splendor for my new position. However, it is too warm to wear it and I shall carry it on my saddle bow."

So we went on and found an inn for food and lodging. It took two days more to reach the coastal town of Calais, which was the shortest distance from England, only fifty leagues across the water.

We were tired when we reached Calais. As we approached the inn, we saw a long line of wretched, half-naked men in chains, traveling north. There must have been a hundred of them. Guards along the line lashed at them with a whip if they did not move fast enough. "Who and what are they?" I asked Pierre.

"Prisoners of some sort," he said, "but not military prisoners. They would never be so badly treated."

"Who are those wretches?" he asked the innkeeper, who was standing in the doorway.

"Convicts on their way to the galleys."

"Oh," said Pierre, "I've heard something of His Majesty's navy. A sad life, poor fellows."

"A living death, and long drawn out," said the innkeeper. "But do not waste sympathy on them. They are mostly murderers. What can I do for you?"

Pierre asked for accommodations for himself and his squires, and after a quick supper, we went immediately to our room.

"What are galleys?" I asked Pierre.

"Ships that, in addition to sails, are propelled by oarsmen—men like those you just saw."

"How horrible!" I exclaimed. "I'm certainly glad to know that they're all criminals."

Before retiring, Pierre slipped out to make arrangements with a boat captain to take us to England the next morning. He said "us," and I always thought he meant all of us. When he came back to the room where we huddled on the bed waiting for him, he looked annoyed. He had lost his plumed hat—the wind had whisked it off his head and into the bay. And he said that a curious thing had happened. When he had approached the skipper of an open boat about forty feet long and asked him about a voyage to England with three passengers, the man had held up a finger and said, "Shh!" They then discussed the trip and the cost in whispers, and as Pierre started to leave, he saw several men strolling about, pausing by each boat before going on.

The captain he had been talking to spoke in a loud voice: "Certainly, monsieur," he said. And then to Pierre's surprise he continued, "Six fish, all cleaned and ready for you. Depend on it, they will be good fish and you can make a hearty meal of them."

Pierre looked at him in wonder, but caught the wink the captain gave him and departed without further speech. It seemed as if the boats were being watched, he told us, and we must be quick the next morning and get away with the greatest possible haste as soon as it was light.

When morning came, we took a hasty breakfast, for dinner was uncertain, and went down to the boat. Pierre told us to get aboard and hide under a tarpaulin that was lying in it. He must pay the landlord and then he would join us.

"Here, take my courtier's cloak," he said to me. "The innkeepers have been thinking me wealthier than I am!" I turned it inside out, and Suzanne and I hurried onto the boat.

The boatman, looking to the right and left, asked in a low voice if we were the boys Monsieur de Lys had told him about. When we said we were, he was quick to hide us under the tarpaulin. His caution surprised me. He then called to his mate to get up the sail. While this was being done, a man came to the dockside and asked, "Going out to fish this morning, Jacques?" Jacques answered that he was and that he had many orders for fish. "Going alone?" asked the man. And Jacques said that except for the lazy boy getting up sail he was going alone. We could not see a thing, hidden as we were by the heavy covering, but in a moment we heard the sailor give an exclamation and push off with the oar so that we got moving quickly. And then the wind caught the sail.

I poked my head up and would have cried out but he stopped me. I said as loud as I dared, "Monsieur is coming with us! Go back! Go back!"

As my voice rose, he put his hand over my mouth, and when I struggled to get free, he held me down with one hand while he managed the tiller with the other. When we were a good way from the wharf, he put his face under the tarpaulin and said to me—and I had trouble understanding him, for he spoke in a dialect—"I shall take you two boys to England, as Monsieur ordered. I could not wait for him. There were soldiers coming to search the boat; I knew we must go straight off or we would be stopped."

"Why?" I cried in desperation. "Why this secrecy?"

"Are you not aware that no boats put out for England now?" he asked. "It is as much as my life is worth to take you. There's a law that no Huguenots may emigrate and they've caught many in the attempt at this port. But Monsieur paid me well."

"We are not Huguenots and neither is Monsieur!" I protested. But he paid no attention and would not turn back. I do not think he believed me.

I was terribly distressed and had not realized how much I depended on Pierre, not only for the voyage, but to help me explain to my aunt in England. I was glad that he had given me some of his money to keep—I should need it when I got to England. But of course, I thought, since Pierre had been so clever in getting us aboard this boat, he would find another to take him, at the latest by the next morning. I never dreamed that he wouldn't come at all.

*

When we set out the wind was behind us and we moved very fast over the water, but soon the breeze dropped and the boat began to rise and fall on every wave. I had never been on the ocean before, nor had Suzanne, and it was not long before we were violently ill. The journey seemed interminable, and indeed it was long. When the wind rose again it was from the west and we had to sail back and forth across it—"tack" the sailor called it—making very little progress westward. We recovered from our seasickness finally and were able to eat a little bread and cheese the captain offered us, and though the first meal came up again, we were eventually able to keep enough down to give us some strength. But we talked little. Suzanne had, of course, heard the captain's explanation, and I said nothing further about it. I hesitated to talk for I wanted at all costs for him to continue to think we were boys. It was barely daylight the next morning when we saw some white cliffs rising from the sea and were told that we would soon land. How welcome was that news!

I asked the name of the town we were approaching and was told that it was Dover. I was very glad to hear that for I knew that my aunt lived near Dover, though in what direction I had no idea. I knew the name of her estate, however, and I told the captain that when we landed I should need some conveyance to take us to our destination. He told me that he supposed there would be a stagecoach and that if I inquired I might find it was going the way I wanted.

When we set foot on land I gave a silent prayer of thanks. I never wanted to repeat that voyage! But I looked back the way we had come toward the shore of France, hidden in the mists, and wondered if Pierre was already embarked and on his way to us. It was terrible to be separated from him.

There were very rough-looking characters on the waterfront and I thought it best to try to find my way at once to my aunt's estate. Pierre knew its name and could follow us. I managed to get at some of my money and asked for food in a nearby inn where, fortunately, the innkeeper knew a few words of French. After eating, I inquired about the hackney coach. I told the innkeeper that my brother and I were on our way to the manor house called Grammercy Hall which belonged to Sir Walter Northridge, and he directed us to the place where the public coach would set out in less than an hour. He thought it went fairly near the estate.

We were in luck, for the coach deposited us at the very gates of Grammercy Hall. It was, of course, a long walk up to the house, which was set in the midst of woods and was surrounded by lawns and gardens. But we were glad to stretch our legs.

Because we were well dressed, though terribly rumpled, we had no trouble getting by the servants and were ushered into my Aunt Felice's salon. Of course she had no idea who we were for she hadn't seen me since I was a little girl. We seemed to be two young boys dressed in the French manner in some kind of livery. It took a great deal of explaining, and at first I told her only enough to establish my identity and that of my maid Suzanne. As to what had happened at Saint-Cyr and Versailles—that took days to describe. But first I poured out the story of my betrothal to Pierre, whom she had known when he was a child, and of my distress at being separated from him. She became very grave when she heard the details.

"Relations between France and England are very strained just now," she said "It may be difficult for Pierre to get away. And perhaps he thought it best to go back to Versailles."

"Oh, he wouldn't do that!" I protested. "He wants to be with me. And how could he explain to the Duc de Maine that he did not return immediately after delivering the papers?"

"Would he have to explain?" she asked. "He would not have been gone unreasonably long. Would he have to tell anyone about you at all?"

I could not believe that Pierre would go back to Versailles as if nothing had happened and let my grandfather and his go on thinking that I had come to harm.

"It isn't like him!" I exclaimed. "Something must have happened at the port of Calais, and I'm sure he will find his way here soon. At any rate, I know I must send a message to _grandpère._ He has worried too long as it is."

And so a messenger was dispatched, telling of my safety but saying nothing about Pierre in case he had returned to Versailles—which I still could not believe. Two weeks later we had a letter from _grandpère_ and one from Cousin Armand, together with a large box containing some of my dresses from home—one of them the gold gown and all of them too small for me now.

The letters expressed fervent thanks for my safe arrival in England and the hope that I would soon explain how it had come about. Though I had not given the details of my escape from Saint-Cyr, since Pierre was involved, it would not matter if it was known that I had been found since neither Madame nor the King could reach me here.

Cousin Armand wrote that he had been worried about Pierre, who had not returned from his mission to Flanders, and I knew then that I was right in my belief that something unforeseen had caused his delay in following me. I felt then that I should have confessed the whole affair, but decided to wait a little longer—until Pierre was safe in England.

After two more weeks had passed and Pierre had not found his way to me in England, I was sure that some misfortune had befallen him, but at first I could not imagine what it might be. In spite of my aunt's doubts, I was sure that he wanted to come and had tried to come—that he was not purposely keeping away from me or from his family. Cousin Armand had written that he would start a search, and so I tried to keep up hope. Nevertheless I cried myself to sleep at night and grew pale and listless. Suzanne tried to comfort me and I was very glad to have her with me. She had been with Pierre and me on our adventure and she could understand a little. Aunt Felice was sympathetic and so was my uncle, Sir Walter Northridge, but they did not know Pierre as I did. He would come! He _must_ come! But the weeks passed and then the months, and I heard nothing.

Chapter 9

It is painful for me to remember that summer—the weeks of waiting, the nights of longing, the days when I was torn between hope and despair, until I finally accepted the certainty that Pierre was dead. My aunt told me she had feared it as soon as we heard from Cousin Armand that he had not returned. We weighed all the possibilities, and since Pierre could not be connected with my disappearance, had broken no law and need not fear arrest, and was not a Huguenot, there were only two catastrophes which we could think of. Either one was likely: he might have set sail in a small boat which was wrecked in a storm—we had many storms after I landed—or he might have been set upon by robbers and killed for his money and good clothes. I was aware things like that occurred all the time, although no news of such a happening would ever reach us.

Aunt Felice had outfitted me in clothes of her own which were proper for a young lady, and had given Suzanne a proper uniform. I took off my page's livery with sadness, for it was Pierre's. I kept it in a chest, along with his embroidered cloak, and I often took them out and pressed them to me while my eyes filled with tears. Nevertheless I tried to be cheerful when with my relatives. My uncle was a very kind man and I liked him from the moment I met him. Of course I did not remember him from my early childhood when he had come to France and married my aunt. I walked in the garden, I read to Aunt Felice, and I accompanied her on visits to all parts of the manor holdings and to the shops in the small town. But I begged her not to accept social invitations for me because I felt too sad to meet people.

In spite of my sorrow I could not help being interested in the manor house that had become my aunt's home when she married Sir Walter Northridge. It was a very old house, having been built in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and it was more informal than the French buildings I was acquainted with. It did not have the round pepper-pot towers which distinguished my home at Ronne and the Château de Charlefont. Compared with Versailles, it appeared very small, but it was really large and quite grand. Although there was carving over the portal, there was none over the windows and the place was not crammed with statues and sculptured facades as was Versailles. I found the house very attractive and the gardens even more delightful. There was shrubbery and there were vine-covered walls and beds overflowing with flowers, and I loved to walk slowly and sadly along the garden paths thinking of Pierre.

Once my aunt took me in a carriage the short distance to the seashore. She thought the sea air would be good for me, but when I looked across the water to France, I thought only of the distance that separated me from that unknown place where Pierre must be lying dead, and my weeping obliged my aunt to take me quickly back to the estate.

I was doubly troubled by the thought that Pierre's death was all my fault. If I had only not prevailed upon him to help me escape from Saint-Cyr! I consoled myself by praying in the little, thickly draped room that was used as a chapel by the household. It had an altar and beautiful paintings, and Mass was celebrated there. It comforted me to pray—pray that I might be mistaken and that Pierre was alive after all.

In this way the summer passed, and one day Aunt Felice spoke very seriously to me. "You know, Adrienne," she said, "we are most happy to have you here and I want you to think of this as your home. What concerns me now is your future. You are pretty and young, and your life is before you."

"Not without Pierre," I put in dolefully.

"You must forget Pierre. I was married when I was your age, and I want you to meet some young men. There will be many not suitable for you to marry, but your uncle and I have many friends, friends we can trust. You do not know, perhaps, how it is for us who are Catholic to live in a Protestant country. Under Cromwell's government there was much persecution. When I came here Charles II was King and it was better, and his brother James, who lately fled the country, was converted to Catholicism. It was thought that the present King, William of Orange, wished the recent Act of Tolerance to be extended to Catholics as well as to Quakers and Puritans, but Parliament voted differently. So now though we go about socially without hindrance we can hear Mass only in our own home. I tell you this so that you will understand my position—and yours, if you marry an Englishman. Nevertheless, you must meet some young men, and I want to give a ball in your honor."

"But you know that I have no dowry," I said. "My father left no estate and I have forfeited the dowry from the King."

"You were planning a marriage to Pierre without a dowry?" she asked.

"Ah, but with Pierre it was different."

"Not so different, my dear," she said. "But do not worry. My husband and I have no children, and if you will consent to make yourself agreeable to the young men who come here, we will provide the dowry when the time comes. No girl related to us shall go to her wedding without a penny."

"Wedding," I murmured—and shuddered. I could think of marriage only with Pierre. We had not had much time to be close and there had been only a kiss or two between us, but I felt as if we had been intended for each other since we were children. To change my thinking would take some time. However, I did consent to the ball. Every girl had to marry, I supposed, and I should be thankful that a marriage was not to be arranged for me without my knowledge.

Before I entered on any social life, my aunt insisted that we make a journey to London where she could get me some dresses in the latest fashion. I agreed with little enthusiasm but I will admit that the trip did to some extent take my mind from my sorrow. My uncle had a coach-and-four and we traveled in comfort, stopping on the way at a very fine inn called the White Horse. In London we put up at the Royal Oak, and from there went out to see the city and make our purchases.

I was astonished at the huge size of the city, its many narrow streets, the noises of hawkers, the unpleasant smells, and the jostling of crowds. We drove in our coach to our various destinations, and the way was often blocked for a long time by masses of people, some fighting, some merry-making, and all very noisy. We bought some shoes, scarves, and stockings in Paternoster's Row, and then went to a draper's for material for several gowns, Genoese point lace for trimming, and yards of ribbons. It worried me to see how much money Aunt Felice was spending on my apparel, but she was enjoying it and I tried to enjoy it too.

We did not spend all our time shopping. After taking the materials to a seamstress who had often made clothes for my aunt and who, with her assistants, could finish my gowns in three days, we went to see the many points of interest. It had only been twenty-five years since the Great Fire had destroyed more than half of London, and much that we saw was new, rebuilt in brick and stone, though of similar design to the old. We saw the Tower of London, and, of course, London Bridge, which was covered with houses to replace those that had burned in 1666. It was strange to see the Tower Guards in the uniforms of a style that was a hundred years old. St. Paul's Cathedral, not quite finished but already magnificent, was the goal of one of our visits. My aunt had told me that its builder, Sir Christopher Wren, was a very famous architect and this church with its huge dome was one of his best works. She admired its beauty, though she had never attended services there, it being Church of England rather than Roman Catholic. Then we saw the old Abbey, where the Kings of England are buried. It is called Westminster Abbey and, I am told, is somewhat similar to our own Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris.

On one of the four evenings we were in London, my aunt took me to the Duke of York's Theater to see a performance of _Romeo and Juliet,_ a play by the great English poet, William Shakespeare. Of course, I could not understand much of the dialogue, but I was interested in the acting. I did not need to understand the words to appreciate the tragedy of the lovers who were separated and then died by their own choice—Pierre and I were thus separated. I was so greatly moved that I had a fit of weeping in the theater.

Of all the dresses we took home with us, my ball gown was the most elaborate and really the most beautiful dress I have ever possessed. It had a lavender silk skirt with a wide band of Persian design in purple, gray, and silver at the bottom, and a darker lavender overskirt with the same border, the back of which was looped up over the hips and hung in folds down the back. The bodice, pointed in front, had the same Persian motif, but narrower, as had the sleeves. They were wide at the elbow and finished with lace. The neckline was slightly décolleté and had a ruffle of lace in front, and the headdress to wear with it was lace—a high starched pleating which stood up from my hair, and a veil which hung down in back. The other dresses were lovely too; there were two morning dresses and two to wear for afternoon parties. But I had never before had a ball gown and I couldn't help looking forward to wearing it, even though I felt I should never want to act gay and amusing.

My aunt had tactfully spread the word that her niece, who was visiting her, had been ill, but that she hoped soon to invite some friends in to a collation at which tea would be served. This was a new drink from the West Indies, served hot with milk and sugar, which had gained great favor in the last few years. It was very expensive and only the well-to-do could afford it. My illness was of the mind rather than of the body and now, with our trip to London behind us, I felt that I could engage in polite conversation without betraying my grief.

There were several pleasant occasions of this sort, collations at Grammercy Hall and visits we made to friends, where I met agreeable ladies and a few young gentlemen. Most of them spoke French nearly as well as I, so we had no difficulty in conversing. I found the talk sprinkled with more witty remarks than I had heard at the French Court, but the topics which we discussed were general and homely—art, house furnishings, horses, gardens—anything but politics and religion.

One young man whose name was Henry, Lord Denby, paid me particular attention. He called twice with his aunt, who lived on a neighboring estate; he had recently come from Ireland and was planning to stay only a month. On his first visit he talked of trivialities, but on the second he took me into his confidence. As we walked in the garden, bright with autumn flowers, he told me that he was a follower of the exiled King, James II, and had fled with him to France the year before. Since then they had fought a battle in Ireland, but King James had been defeated and had lost the chance to recover his throne. Within a month Lord Denby intended to return to Paris where James was living at the Palace of Saint-Germain, lent to him by Louis XIV. He said that all of this must be kept very secret, but that he trusted me because he had heard something of my story.

"Oh," I cried when I heard this, "I have seen your King James. In fact I was presented to him when he attended the play _Esther_ at Saint-Cyr."

It was his turn to be surprised. "I was with him when he attended a performance of _Esther._ Surely you were not there. I could not forget it if I had ever seen you!"

"I was the Prologue," I told him. "It is not strange you do not remember me. The Persian costume was quite overwhelming."

"But I do remember you now—the girl with the beautiful voice who spoke the Prologue. How could I fail to recognize your voice!"

"Conversation is not the same as declaiming the alexandrines of Racine," I said to relieve him of embarrassment.

He talked to me then most enthusiastically of his return to France and of how much he wanted to see Versailles again—such a beautiful palace! At that my eyes filled with tears. A wave of nostalgia swept over me, and if some other guests had not joined us at that moment, I should have sat down on a garden bench and wept. Lord Denby would not leave my side that afternoon and when he took his departure, he looked deeply into my eyes before he bent to kiss my hand and whisper _au revoir._

As we chatted about the guests that evening at supper, my aunt asked me what I thought of Lord Denby.

"He is very handsome," I replied, "tall and beautifully dressed. And he speaks French remarkably well."

"Of course," said my aunt. "French is the second language of every well-born Englishman, and it is only lately that it has not been the preferred language at Court."

"Lord Denby will make some girl a fine husband," said my uncle. "Particularly a French girl!" He smiled knowingly, and I looked down and blushed.

I liked Lord Denby. I agreed that he would make a good husband, but my heart still belonged to Pierre. Nevertheless I thought longingly of going back to France. To think that Lord Denby was returning to Paris in a few weeks! And Paris—so near to Versailles! How I longed to go home! England would never be home to me, and I realized that if I married Lord Denby I could go home. As plain Adrienne Lavelle, I might be shut away in a convent. But if I were Lady Denby, under the protection of King James of England, I could go to the Palace and be graciously received by the King and Madame de Maintenon. It was a tempting thought. I was homesick and I forgot for a time all the disillusionment I had felt when I saw how shallow were the lives of Court ladies. Yet, would I want to be at Versailles without Pierre?

*

A weekly news sheet was circulated in the shire of Kent which shortly afterward contained this notice:

Sir Walter Northridge and Lady Northridge are writing Invitations to a Ball soon to be given at their Country Seat, Grammercy Hall, in Honour of their Niece, Mademoiselle Adrienne Lavelle. Elaborate Preparations are being made; the Hall will be Illuminated and Music will be provided by an Orchestra. Those who receive Invitations are to be envied.

Finally, in early November, the evening of the ball arrived. For days there had been bustling preparation. The yellow drawing room opened into the blue drawing room through a wide archway, and this made a long reception salon which had been cleared for dancing by rolling up the beautiful rugs, removing some furniture, and setting other pieces against the wall for seating. These were gorgeous rooms with high, painted ceilings, sumptuous hangings at the tall windows, and marble fireplaces. Fires were lighted against the November chill, and the foyer, the dining room, and drawing rooms were almost smothered in chrysanthemums—pale yellow, gold, and deep, dark red. There were many guests and I listened to voices speaking English as well as French. I had not mastered more than a few words of English to use when speaking to the servants, and I was appalled at the thought that I might meet someone who did not speak French. My aunt, however, had made her selection of guests carefully and there was no one who did not greet me with: _"Enchanté,_ mademoiselle!" I felt quite at home, then—almost cheerful.

This was my very first ball! Once at Versailles I had looked on from a distance and listened to the pretty music, but I was not really among those present. Here I was the guest of honor, in a beautiful new ball gown. All the ladies were handsomely dressed, as were the gentlemen, only a few of whom wore curled wigs. I listened with excitement as the orchestra of flutes, violins, and cellos tuned up, but I trembled, too, for I did not know the dances.

This lack had not been overlooked by my aunt, and she had given me some coaching in the usual dances, as well as one, very stately, very graceful, which was just coming into style—the minuet. Lord Denby claimed me for the first dance and whispered just what one must do in each of the figures as it came along. I was grateful to him and found him charming. By watching the others, I managed quite well even in the minuet, and I must say I found dancing very stimulating.

After the reception and the dancing, we went to the tables set with elaborate refreshments. The evening was fairly warm for the time of year and many of the guests wandered out onto the terraces, taking their plates with them. After the exercise of dancing, I, too, longed for fresh air, and Lord Denby escorted me to the terrace. Here we balanced our plates on the stone balustrade since it was too chilly to sit down.

He began to flatter me and his tone of voice became so intimate that I sensed what was coming. I managed to mention, casually, that I would always love my cousin, Pierre, to whom I had been betrothed, whether or not he was still alive. I did not want him to make a declaration which I should have to offend him by rejecting. He said no more on the subject then, but when the ball was over and he took his leave, he asked permission to call on me the following day. I could not refuse.

When I thanked my aunt and uncle for the beautiful entertainment they had given in my honor, telling them that I had never known anything of such sparkling social life, my uncle remarked that he had noticed Lord Denby paying me his almost exclusive attention.

"I must tell you, Adrienne, that he has asked my permission to address you with a proposal of marriage, and I have given my consent, for I think him a most suitable match for you. I beg you to consider it seriously."

I thanked him and went to my room, and I did think it over, but I still could not imagine marrying anyone but Pierre. And that meant, I supposed, that I should not marry anyone. But I was prepared for the proposal of marriage which Lord Denby did me the honor of making the next afternoon in the garden, bereft now of most of its flowers.

"Do not decide hastily," he begged. "I know you still grieve over your cousin's death."

"You say 'death' as if you were certain," I answered. "I know I should accept it as a fact. And yet Pierre still has my heart, and while that is so I cannot marry another."

"Time heals all things," said Lord Denby. "I will be patient However, I should sail for France within the month, and I do hope so very much to take you with me! Though you do not feel love for me now, I am sure it will come with time. I would do anything for you; I can make you happy."

It was while I was listening to his last words that I heard a coach coming fast up the driveway and then stopping at the portico. I looked up, and there, a few feet away, I saw someone alighting from the coach. My heart beat wildly. It was Cousin Armand!

Without a word to Lord Denby, I flew to the steps crying, "Cousin Armand! Cousin Armand!" Surely I would learn at last what had happened to Pierre.

Cousin Armand took me in his arms and pressed me close. "My dear child! There, there, Rienne." And when he had quieted me a little, he held me from him and said, "Prepare yourself, my dear, for a very great shock." My heart almost stopped. I felt sure he was going to tell me he had found proof of Pierre's death. By this time my aunt was with me, and she was shaking hands with the Comte when the coach door opened again and I saw a man standing on the steps. It was Pierre! Thinner, even gaunt looking, but undoubtedly Pierre! The shock was too great and I fainted.

When I came to myself, there were two men bending over me. As they saw me open my eyes, they straightened. I looked from one to the other and saw they were Lord Denby and Pierre. I held out my arms to Pierre and he raised me up, pressing his cheek to mine.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" I babbled. "You aren't dead!"

"No," he said gently, "nearly, but not quite. And now that we are together again and you are so happy to see me, I shall soon be as good as ever!"

I said no word of farewell to Lord Denby, but I am sure that my aunt must have made excuses for me. I could see no one but Pierre. He supported me as we went into the house and insisted on my lying down till I had completely recovered from my fainting spell. I begged to be told at once all that had happened to him and why he had been delayed so long. But he shook his head. "It is too long a story to tell now," he said. "It can wait until you feel stronger. But rest assured that it was not of my own free will that I was separated from you."

I told him that I had never doubted that, and then I rested quietly on a sofa with his hand in mine. My aunt and uncle and Cousin Armand came in and talked quietly together. Aunt Felice then told Pierre all about my arrival with Suzanne and the things we had done since. She did not mention Lord Denby in particular and it was some time before Pierre knew that I had had a proposal of marriage just before he arrived. Suzanne was called in and Pierre greeted her warmly. She cried to me, "Oh, mademoiselle, we knew he would come back, didn't we!" And though I agreed, I knew that I had been for some months with almost no hope at all.

When my aunt had finished her story, I said to Pierre, "Now you must tell us what happened to you. I know by your expression that it must have been something very bad. But I am strong enough to hear it now." Then I saw that his hair looked somewhat strange. "I hadn't noticed until now," I said, "but you are wearing a wig. Have you become a courtier?"

Pierre patted my hand and smiled. "Hardly," he said. "And I think my story had better wait until tomorrow."

"You and the Comte will stay with us, of course," said my aunt.

"But Pierre, I cannot wait till tomorrow!" I cried. "Tell me at once what kept you from getting into the boat with us and why it has been so long since we parted."

"I will tell you one thing only—the rest must wait till later. In front of the inn I was mistaken for my uncle Pierre, who was a Huguenot, as you know, and I was sent to the galleys, a hell from which no one escapes, ever—except by a miracle!"

My aunt's hands flew to her face in a gesture of dismay and my uncle threw back his head, the motion catching the corner of my attention, and his expression was one of consternation. It was by their reaction that I knew Pierre's experience must have been most frightful, a horror still unimaginable to me.

"But a miracle occurred," said Cousin Armand, "and he did escape. We must all thank God for that miracle!"

Chapter 10

I stared at Pierre, trying to understand. He was not as elaborately dressed as the English gentlemen I had been seeing, but he looked very elegant to me. He wore a surcoat of good green cloth, the sleeves of which had very wide cuffs of embroidered pale green satin, and the suit under it was of buff-colored satin with a white lace jabot at the throat. I noticed that he looked older and leaner and there were lines of pain about his eyes. His expression was graver than it used to be, and I knew he must have been through great suffering. Suddenly I remembered the long line of chained wretches we had passed on our way to the coast. Could that have been his fate?

"Oh, no!" I whispered. "Oh, Pierre, how horrible!" And I threw my arms about him as if at this late hour I could shield him from what was already past.

"Don't grieve, little one," he said. "But, as my grandfather said, thank God for the miracle that set me free. Now that we are together again I want only to look at you and forget those months of terror. Tomorrow I will tell you something of it, but today let us talk only of you and this beautiful home with its rooms full of flowers." He looked about him at the countless vases of chrysanthemums in the yellow drawing room and the other rooms he could see opening out of it. "It is a long time since I have seen anything beautiful," he said quietly.

So to please him I forbore to question him further, though I wanted desperately to know his story, and prattled of Grammercy Hall, the kindness of my aunt and uncle, my trip to London, and the ball that had been held here only the night before.

When I came to describing the ball, Pierre said, "Yes, I know about that. I read about it two weeks ago in a local paper."

"Two weeks ago! Then why did you not come sooner?"

"That is part of my story," he said, and Cousin Armand, looking anxiously at Pierre, bade me continue to amuse them. "It is such a relief, Adrienne, to see you safe and happy after all our worry," said the Comte. "You must indulge us."

After supper, which I was too excited to eat, I rested while Uncle Walter, Pierre, and Cousin Armand talked. Then Pierre sat with me before the fire with his arm around me, holding me close as if he would never let me go. But our elders made us part and go to bed early, for it had been an exciting day.

I found it hard to get to sleep, for I was eager to know of Pierre's experiences, however harrowing they might be; but I must have fallen off sooner than I realized, and I awoke to see the maple branches outside my window, through which sunlight filtered, making traceries on my bed. I dressed quickly and found Pierre already in the garden at the end of a path that led through hedges and flower borders into woods. It was with the utmost joy that I raced down the path to meet him, knowing that he was alive, that he was here!

He was not wearing the wig and his brown hair was short and curled over his ears and the back of his neck. I thought it becoming and said so, but he laughed and said that it would never do for a gentleman to be seen in public with hair so short.

When we assembled in the morning room Pierre began to tell of what had happened since the day we parted. He didn't tell us everything—I know that now. Nevertheless it was a tale that grew in frightfulness till I could not bear it, and he had to stop and comfort me. My aunt and uncle were deeply affected, too, and it is just as well that he didn't tell of the worst horrors. When, in an interval, I asked Cousin Armand how he came to be here with Pierre, he told me to be patient and it would be explained at the end of the story.

Since that day, Pierre has written down the account of all that happened to him. It tells the whole story and I think it best to include it here, in his own words, in place of the bits and pieces he told us at Grammercy Hall.

Pierre's Story

I am setting down the events which happened to me in the year 1690 because I feel strongly that those in authority should know how the innocent, including those who are persecuted for holding a faith different from ours, are made to suffer extreme cruelty—inhuman punishment that should not be inflicted on the worst criminals. Perhaps someday I shall send this testimonial to the highest in the realm, where I hope it may do some good. And so, thanking God for the mercy which set me free from a lifetime of torment, I begin my narrative.

On the morning when I expected to set out with Adrienne and the maid, Suzanne, in the boat I had engaged to take us to England, I had just paid the landlord when I was accosted in front of the inn by two men in uniform, who showed me a paper identifying them as deputies of the Minister of War, Louvois. They asked my name and I told them, in all truth, that I was Pierre de Lys of the Château de Charlefont. Thereupon they looked carefully at a list which one of them carried and let out a grunt of satisfaction. "Here," said one, pointing to a name, "it is the same. He is one that we have been looking for these five years past and now we catch him in the act of escaping from France!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, thinking only that I was helping Adrienne to escape from the consequences of having fled from the school at Saint-Cyr, yet beginning to realize that it was not her escape they were interested in.

"I beg to advise you, Monsieur de Lys," said the one who appeared to be in charge, "that your record as a Huguenot is well known and that you are now under arrest for attempting to emigrate."

"I am not a Huguenot!" I exclaimed, "but a Catholic, born and bred. I have had no traffic with Huguenots."

"Your name is written here and you have been proscribed these five years."

Then I understood. "You are mistaking me for my uncle!" I cried. "It is true that he was a Huguenot."

"Was?" asked the leader coldly.

"Yes," I answered, " _was,_ for he is now dead. He returned from La Rochelle over six years ago, ill, and after suffering for about four months, died of fever of the lungs."

"A likely story! Who, then, are you?"

"I was named for my uncle and so my name is the same as that on your list. But I am not a Huguenot. I am equerry to the Duc de Maine."

"You are not well enough dressed for a servant of the Duc de Maine," said one of the men. "But doubtless you have proof of your position."

I remembered then that I had no proof. I had delivered the papers to the Marchal de Luxembourg, I was dressed plainly—even my costly cloak which might have identified me with the Court I had given to Adrienne to keep. I thought of Adrienne, waiting for me in the boat. I wanted to let her know what was happening, but how could I do so without endangering her, too? I saw that the two girls had hidden under the tarpaulin as I had bidden them, and was relieved that they, at least, were safe; the boatman had his orders and his pay and, to save his own skin, would doubtless set off as soon as he saw the soldiers.

"You were seen dickering with a boatman last night. Do you deny that you were attempting to escape from France?"

"I do deny it," I said firmly. "I was talking with the boatman about some fish."

"We are wasting time," said the deputy. "We have a name and a man who goes by that name, and we have our orders. Come with us, monsieur."

"But can I not communicate with friends who will identify me?" I asked, still not realizing the danger of my position.

"Who and where are they?" I was asked.

"At Versailles, for certain," I said. "And perhaps the Marshal de Luxembourg, who is much nearer, would recognize me as the one who brought him important papers two nights ago."

"Every Huguenot who tries to leave France is under penalty of extreme punishment," said the deputy. "We must deliver you to the Provost at Lille."

"It is absurd," I cried desperately. "I am not yet nineteen. My uncle was twenty-three when he died—he would be twenty-nine now. Look at me!"

"You could pass for twenty-nine," was the reply. 'Tell your story to the Provost Marshal. Now you must come with us!" At once they took pistols from their belts, and grasping me by the arms hustled me to a cart which stood waiting. I thought of making a dash for it, but with their pistols out and primed I knew I would be shot. Better wait, I thought, and talk to someone of higher station who would be fairer in judgment than these underlings. How little I knew of my predicament!

I was hustled to a waiting cart, my feet and hands were tied, and I was thrust in under an awning where I discovered seven other men in like condition. It was some time before I ventured to speak to them, but on that interminable three-day journey, bumping and rattling around in the cart, I found out all about my fellow prisoners. They were all Huguenots and though they were suffering as I was, they showed extreme fortitude, helping each other when they could and singing hymns to keep up their spirits. I marveled at them and felt the greatest admiration for them, whatever their form of religion.

No mention was made of the fate that awaited us until near the end of the journey when someone ventured to speak the word "galleys." I could not believe he was well informed until it was explained to me that the sentence passed on any Huguenot caught trying to escape from France, since the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, was the galleys—for life. They seemed resigned to their fate. They had known the risk they were taking when they tried to emigrate, though one of them—his name was Gervais—had not tried to get away himself, but had helped a Protestant woman of quality to get over the border into Holland, and for that he was to suffer the same punishment as the others. I felt that my situation was different and that when I explained it to the Provost I should be allowed to go free. This hope buoyed me up till we reached Lille.

As we entered the city, people lining the streets greeted us with great sympathy and words of encouragement. This part of Flanders, recently conquered by the French, was Protestant, and the citizens were well acquainted with the fate of the prisoners hurried to the castle in carts such as ours.

It was into a room of one of the towers of the castle that we were thrust, one after the other as our bonds were removed—a large room, almost dark, with a little straw on the floor and innumerable rats running around. It was already crowded almost to bursting with about thirty of what I quickly found to be the most depraved scoundrels of France. Its filthiness was indescribable, but exhausted as we were from our jolting journey, we fell to the floor almost on top of men who grudgingly made room for us. When I sat up and looked about, I despaired of getting the help I had counted on. It was approaching evening and soon the men began to look less than half dead and greeted us newcomers with grim attempts at humor. It would be worse than this when we became _galériens_ they said; they had heard tales! Some kind of a meal would be brought soon and they looked forward to it with eagerness, though it might be unfit to eat. After weeks of confinement they were already reduced to acting like animals.

A jailor came to escort the Huguenots—among whom, for the time being, I had to count myself—to be interviewed and sentenced. We were taken to a large room upstairs where several deputies verified the information taken down at the time of arrest. In each case the sentence was: "The galleys." When it was my turn, I protested that I was innocent of the charge and demanded to see the Provost Marshal.

"Oh, Monsieur de Lys cannot be bothered with such as you," I was told.

"Monsieur de Lys!" I exclaimed. "That is my name!"

"Why, so it is," said the deputy, looking at the paper. "Well—in that case, I will at least tell him about you."

He sent the others below but told me to wait, and after being gone for a few minutes, he returned with the Provost Marshal, Monsieur Gaston de Lys. He questioned me carefully and finally established the fact that we were about fifth cousins, but that his branch of the family and ours had never met.

"This is a sad case indeed," he said. "Why did you ever embrace this perfidious doctrine?"

"But I did not!" I cried. "I have tried to explain that it is my uncle who was a Huguenot and that he died six years ago. Those hirelings who arrested me could not, or _would_ not, understand. They simply seized me."

He nodded. "They receive a _louis d'or_ for every prisoner they bring in. So you see—"

"But surely a gentleman of your obvious distinction—and a relative as well—must understand my predicament. My uncle was ten years older than I. I am not quite nineteen."

He looked thoughtful. "I would like to believe you, my boy," he said. "Indeed I do believe you, but I fear I am powerless to change your fate."

"But you are in command!" I exclaimed.

"It is very complicated," he began. "I am a political executive, but I do not have much power, really. It is the priests who are bitterest against the Huguenots, and they would not give up one prisoner if there were a shadow of a doubt that they had a Calvinist in their hands."

"But I can prove I am a Catholic. I can recite the Credo entire and in Latin. Let me do so—"

But he interrupted. "That has been tried before and failed. Most Frenchmen were brought up as Catholics and have not forgotten their first lessons, even though they have been converted to Protestantism. There is one thing I can do for you. I will keep you out of that hell hole below—which I would change if I could—and lodge you more comfortably, with proper food, until you depart from Lille for Dunkerque. You and one companion whom you may choose, if you know of any worthy."

This was but little comfort, yet I grasped it. I asked for Gervais to keep me company, and he was sent for. It would be a week before the prison gang set out and for that time, at least, we need not suffer. Gervais thanked God profusely and in the Huguenot fashion for his deliverance from the pest hole, and we tried to draw some comfort from this first remittance of fate.

When the Provost Marshal came to see me the next morning, I begged him to notify the Court at Versailles, including the Duc de Maine, in whose service I was employed, about my unjust fate. I still had not admitted my mission at Calais, but implied that it was by royal order. His reply was disappointing.

"You would be surprised at how we are ignored by the Court, my dear Pierre," he said. "For ten years the dragonnades have been bringing thousands of Huguenots back to the true church by the most inhuman cruelties, yet when any injustice is reported to Versailles, it is ignored. Louis does not want to know about it and therefore pretends it is not happening. It would be the same with you. I would be the one to suffer for reporting false evidence."

"But at least write to my grandfather," I pleaded. "He will know what to do and time is short."

"It is what he would do that I am afraid of," replied the Marshal. "He would go to King Louis and complain of the way things are being handled here; the King would protest that he must be wrong; he would promise to look into the matter, and that would be the end of it, except that I would be reprimanded and perhaps replaced. Anyway, by that time you would be a _galérien,_ and from that sentence there is no reprieve."

It was hard to accept his refusal but I could think of no more arguments. A week later Gervais and I set out in a cart furnished by the Provost Marshal, following a long line of chained prisoners, weak from confinement, bleeding from the whips which urged them on and from the stones that cut their feet, so that by the fourth day the road looked as if it had been traveled by carts carrying wine casks that leaked. It boded ill for our treatment at the port. We could only be thankful for the others and ourselves as well that we were not destined for Marseilles, many hundreds of miles away, from which most of the galleys set out. Those at Dunkerque were used to fight off pirates and to take part in war fleets in the North Sea, where swiftness and maneuverability were important.

We reached Dunkerque about the middle of May. The weather was warm, for which we were thankful, for our gang was set to provisioning the ships. We carried heavy burdens all day, were fed sparingly, and shut up in an old stable at night. The galleys were not used except in summer, and were put in readiness for action during May. There were three galleys, and to man them there were over two thousand men ashore—officers, marines, and slaves. We were constantly under the eye of an overseer but were given rest periods when we could go over the ships and inspect our future prisons. While we were ashore I felt some hope of rescue, so with interest rather than fear I looked over the galleys. They were, each of them, long—more than a hundred feet—and shallow, with a high prow and a high poop, under which were cabin accommodations for one hundred marines and officers. Two backward-tipped masts with lateen sails were stepped from near the bow with the banner of Louis XIV flying from the topmost. There were twenty-six oars on each side and benches for the five rowers required for each eighteen-foot oar, on which were hand-holds for five men. Down the middle of the ship ran a narrow platform, the purpose of which I found out later.

I had not much time or strength for such exploring, for they worked us hard. I was in good physical shape and stood the work better than some of the miserable specimens I saw. But no mercy was allowed them, and if they dropped from weariness they were flogged until they got up or lay still in a faint.

Buoyed up as I had been by the optimistic hope that I would escape the final commitment, it was with despair and horror that I was pushed into the assembly of wretches who were being readied for service as _galériens._ We were stripped and sorted into gangs of five according to our physical fitness and then— unimaginable degradation—our long hair was cut off and thrown away into a pile, and our heads were shaven. This was the final mark of the galley slave. Imagine the feelings of a person of pride and high station in life—the shame, the terror of being naked, except for a pair of canvas drawers, with shaven head, as would be no man's by choice. I still cringe when I remember that day and how we were marched to our benches, where we were fitted with wrist and leg irons to which chains were attached that fastened us to our bench. Our galley was named the _Marais,_ and the other two were the _Flandres_ and the _Escourier._ Except when our galley was in port, we were to stay on that bench, or under it for a little sleep, from that day forward—all summer, and for all the summers thereafter. In wintertime we would be in a filthy prison—the same five men until death released us from torment. And I was only nineteen and strong!

When all this happened, I gave up hope and from then on it was a matter of endurance. There was one very slight comfort—the man beside me at the oar was Gervais. I was next to the rail; at the other side of Gervais were two scoundrels, filthy but strong, and at the end was a Turk. I discovered that there were many Turks who rowed in the galleys for pay. They were the strongest and, of course, the best treated. Was I to spend my life with these four?

On the first day the galleys went out for practice I learned what the center plank was for. It was for the man who trained the rowers—many of them, like myself, completely ignorant of what to do or the meaning of the commands given—and he trained us with the whip. He walked up and down the narrow platform, issuing commands and flinging the lash of his bull-whip on the back of any man who did not respond immediately. After the oar was run out on command, a rhythm was pounded on a drum. At each beat we must rise as one man and push the heavy oar forward, then as it dipped in the water, pull back with all our force until we were on the seat again. This went on and on. Any man who was not pulling his weight was immediately spotted and the lash stung his back. The first few times this happened it was a shock but bearable, but after awhile, the flesh became raw, and grunts and screams of pain filled the air to the beat of the inexorable drum. I thought I could not keep it up for an hour but I did, and later one old hand told me he had rowed for twenty-four hours with only a few short breaks.

Our first training session lasted four hours. The sea was calm and the rowing comparatively easy, had we been accustomed to it; but in four hours we were exhausted and hardly able to move. We marched wearily back to our bare barracks with only another day of the same torture to look forward to. This went on for two weeks. The weather was unusually good, and therefore the training was pursued with urgency so that the ships might be ready for action as soon as possible. By the end of the two weeks, I did not care about anything anymore. I tried not to think. Gervais and I stopped talking; we were in a stupor of fatigue, for after that first day, we had two shifts of four hours each. Our food was bread and bean soup, morning and evening—that was all.

Our galley must have been very old. The bench on which we sat had hollows in it from the constant pressure of former galley slaves. My seat was the more uncomfortable in that the wood was somewhat splintered and a long crack ran down the center. Yet that extra torture soon lost significance in the maze of monotonous labor punctuated by the smart of the whip and pangs of hunger. Visions of my former life and of my love for Adrienne came to me in dreams at night; waking I put them out of my mind. It hurt too much to contrast my happy times with the ghastly present.

On the few days of our practice cruises, when the sea was choppy, I learned how difficult it was to keep the oar at the proper depth in the water. If it skipped through the froth of the wave, our pull would hurl us backward into the oar behind us, causing injury to both our set and the rowers behind, and breaking the rhythm of the whole ship. This brought wrath down upon us and the furious lash of the whip. Try as we would, we could not be sure of avoiding this every time. So it was that when we were assembled at the oars one day in July and told we were setting out to intercept a pirate ship that had been preying on the coast, I was alarmed to see how rough the ocean looked.

We were not to return until the ship was met and either driven away or sunk. After four hours of rowing in that choppy water, we were exhausted, but there was no letup at the oars. A man passed down the line and thrust biscuits soaked in wine into our mouths, and we kept on. A commotion and a command to stop rowing spelled a brief cessation of a motion that had become agony; but when we learned the cause we shuddered. A man up forward had collapsed and died at the oar. He was unfastened and thrown overboard with no more ceremony than if he had been an animal—even less, for a man treats his horse or his dog better than that. By this time I had learned that we _galériens_ were not accorded the status of domestic animals.

We kept on rowing. Finally we sighted the pirate craft. The marines ran out their two small bow cannon and prepared their muskets. This we could hear, and we sensed their excitement, but we had no strength or will to watch. I, as the end man, had particularly to guide the oar so that it cut the water at the proper depth, for I could see over the side. We could hope for nothing from the pirates. If they captured the French vessel, we would, no doubt, be worse off, and still galley slaves. But our marines were skillful; their shots struck the pirate amidships and in no time at all the mast came down, and the vessel keeled over and sank. Our men shot at the survivors, for it was agreed that all pirates should be killed. But I could not help thinking of the unfortunate slaves chained to their oars who went down with the ship.

We made more forays to beat off pirates and privateers. It was all one to me whether we succeeded or lost. I ceased to think. It was up, pull till your muscles cracked, then down; up, pull, down—over and over till the mind was drugged, the body aching. There was a slight difference when we drew near another ship. With twenty-six oars on each side of the _Marais,_ she could be turned quickly in a circle, especially if the sails were furled, and this we did by having one side backwater while the other rowed. This often happened, and the maneuver was instilled into us with the whip so that we acted instantly on command like the helpless victims we were.

During the second week in August—I kept track of the time by checking the date with Gervais every night—we heard a rumor that we were to set forth the next day to join a large fleet of French vessels against the Dutch. I barely paid attention. What did it matter? The tide turned early in the morning and we set out on the ebb before daylight. It was August thirteenth—I have cause to remember that date.

Close to the shore it was smooth, but soon the wind freshened and long before we had come in sight of any fleet, it became a gale. I had not yet been out in a sea that flung spray over the ship, but now we were drenched with nearly every wave. Since it was summer and the sun was often warm and the air mild, our violent exercise had kept us from feeling cold, naked as we were. Even in the fog which often shrouded the coast, we did not suffer; and we became so toughened that, resting under the seats, we did not mind the lack of a shirt. But on this day the wind blew cold and icy out of the North Sea, and it felt like the middle of winter. We were on a westward course toward the coast of England, but the wind blew us ever farther and farther south. It came to me with a pang that we must be off the shore near Calais, where I had last seen Adrienne, but I put the thought from me. Our attempt to row in one direction while the sails pulled us in another made the vessel nearly unmanageable, and we soon heard an order to lower sail. When this was done, the ship rode on a more even keel and rowing became at least possible. But we made poor headway.

The waves were growing higher—monumental. A quick glance up showed me that the master of the ship looked frightened and was giving orders to stow the sails and lighten the ship. Various articles were heaved overboard. The lurching of the ship, a galley never meant to navigate in a storm, threw the officers and marines from rail to rail, while over two hundred galley slaves fought the ocean to keep the _Marais_ from overturning.

Then an enormous wave, foam-crested, far higher than the rest, struck the bow and washed over the decks from stem to stem. For a long minute we were actually under water; then we rose on the next wave, the oars flailing. It was at that moment that I heard several sharp cracks as the freeboard was stove in. Each wave after that helped shatter the timbers, and finally a monstrous comber tore us apart. The crack I had been sitting on for so long widened as half the board split away. There was shrieking, cursing, and moaning on every side of me.

"We shall be drowned," Gervais yelled in my ear. "It is better so."

What happened next was never clear to me. All was confusion. The marines were thrown back onto the rowers, a thunderous crash was sensed rather than observed, and in a moment the sea was around us and over us. I fought upward for air and found myself on the surface, chained to a bench board that had split in two. Gervais and I were clinging to it; our seatmates were nowhere in sight, but the water was full of struggling bodies. The forepart of the ship was afloat, but the stern had disappeared, and while we looked, the bow sank too.

We had no time to think of what had happened; we fought to keep our heads above water, and though we were immersed by every big wave, our board kept us from going down.

It seemed hours—though actually we could not have survived that long fighting those foamy crests—before we were in calmer water. We did not know where we were but we were still afloat. The tumult was far behind us, and when we had strength to look ahead, we saw land—not close, but unmistakably land. We had no notion of what land it was and did not care, though I did hope that it would not be any part of France.

We rested as best we could, and as our strength returned, we attempted to swim. In this manner, after hours more, we came to a beach—deserted, it seemed—and crawled up on the sand, more dead than alive.

Thus it was that I, Pierre de Lys, grandson of the Comte de Charlefont, escaped from more than three months of living death. I had been sentenced to this hell through no fault of my own, but in place of my dead uncle, whose only offense had been that he wished to worship God in a different way from the King of France. If I send this account to His Majesty the Sun King, I hope he will reflect on the sins committed in his name!

Chapter 11

When Pierre, in telling his story to us at Grammercy Hall, had reached the part which showed him and his friend Gervais safe from the sea, I was struck with the fact that the shipwreck had occurred in August.

"Three months ago!" I exclaimed. "It is November now. Why did you not seek out my aunt's estate at once?"

Pierre made a grimace of comic despair. "At once?" he asked. "Imagine us then, two wretches almost entirely naked, with shaven heads—for it was the practice in the galleys to shave us every three weeks. At the time of the wreck we had no hair and were still shackled to our board—once the mark of servitude and now our blessed lifebuoy. We had to find the means of freeing ourselves! After strength had returned to our bodies, we went to work with large stones, pounding the metal links until they gave way. It took a long time, but eventually we could stand up and move about free of chains—but not of the iron bands on wrist and ankle. It would take a blacksmith to remove those.

"We were very thirsty, having swallowed quantities of salt water, and after searching about on the deserted beach, we found where a small stream entered the sea. It was hardly more than a trickle but it served to quench our thirst and wash away the salt and accumulated grime of three and a half months. We ventured a little way up the stream and saw a cluster of houses and a church tower. It was a village where we could get food and shelter—that is, if we were not driven away before we could explain our predicament. Fearing that wild looking and naked as we were, we might be stoned by the villagers, we waited till dusk before daring to get close to any house. But when it was growing dark, we crept forward to where we saw a light in the dwelling nearest the beach. Can you imagine how we felt when we saw, in the red light spilling out of the wide doorway, the glowing forge of the village smithy!

"The first words the blacksmith said to us were in English, which I recognized but could not speak, so we knew we were in England. Fortunately Gervais did speak English and was the one to relate our story. We were told that the storm of August thirteenth was the worst in forty years, and we were very lucky to have escaped with our lives."

We had all followed Pierre's narrative so closely that we sighed with relief when he and Gervais found the blacksmith, and we shared their joy when the man proved to be friendly. When he heard about their grim and undeserved punishment, he used his tools to free them from their wrist and leg irons, fed them, and gave them a sort of covering for their backs and scarves to cover their poor bald heads. Pierre had to explain here that since he was taken for a Huguenot and, because of this, received kindness from the blacksmith who hated all Papists, he had thought it best not to reveal his religion or his true identity. Gervais, he half suspected, had not believed his story anyway, for he accepted him as a brother.

The blacksmith's wife, as kindly as her husband, gave them a place to sleep after their hearty supper, and kept them hidden for several days. No others from the _Marais_ had been washed up on the beach nor any piece of wreckage; the current must have swept them all southward. When it seemed that there was no danger to them in the village, where Protestant refugees were welcome, they ventured forth. Not wanting to presume on the hospitality of the blacksmith longer than was necessary, they set out to find some work. The village was small but there was a town not far away, and one day the blacksmith drove them there in a cart. Gervais easily found work as a wheelwright, for that was his trade.

Pierre had been thinking, ever since their rescue, of what he could do. He had no proper clothes, even for a peasant; no money; no way to get in touch with me. But though he was a nobleman's son and had never learned a trade, he knew he had a skill which was worth a lot. In this he was more fortunate than most Frenchmen of wealth who knew only a life of idleness at Court. Pierre could do things with his hands. He was really a skilled cabinet maker. And it was as an assistant in this trade that he found a way to make a living for the time being and to learn to speak English.

As soon as he got some money for his work, he bought a plain suit, such as befitted a skilled craftsman, and a knitted cap which he wore at all times. The story of the two refugees from French persecution was known in the village and they were treated with great sympathy; but Pierre did not want his story to spread any farther. He hoped that word of his escape would never get back to officials in France, but that it would be assumed by the authorities that he had drowned.

When he had enough money for the post, Pierre sent a letter to his grandfather telling briefly what had happened to him. He explained my despair at Saint-Cyr and the deception which followed, and begged to know if his grandfather had heard from me. He had been concerned for my safety though he felt fairly certain, since the seas had been calm the morning we parted and the boatman well paid, that Suzanne and I had reached my aunt at Grammercy Hall. He told the Comte that he had been washed ashore on the southern coast of England and was lodging and working in Chichester near Portsmouth.

In two weeks he had word from Cousin Armand, who was overjoyed to hear from him and furious to learn of the unjust fate that had befallen him. He told Pierre about the letter from my aunt and also that he had arranged for Pierre to receive some money.

Pierre had been talking for so long that he stopped and sighed and let his head fall into his hands. Cousin Armand took up the story.

He said that immediately upon the receipt of Pierre's letter, he had spread the good news to all the relatives. Then he rode to Versailles to seek an audience with the King, who, upon hearing of the matter, was quite shocked and said that he would look into it. This did not satisfy the Comte, who then made a journey to Lille. He interviewed the Provost Marshal at the castle and berated him for his cowardice.

"For fear of the priests and the Court you allowed an innocent man, and a relative at that, to go to a living death! What kind of an administrator are you?"

He produced proof of his son Pierre's death in 1684 at the age of twenty-three, and of his grandson Pierre's birth on July 15, 1671, making him ten years younger than his uncle. He gave his oath that his grandson had never been a Huguenot or had dealings with them, and obtained from the authorities a full pardon and apology for the unforgivable mistake. This he demanded on pain of the King's displeasure. He thought that though the King might never get around to the matter, he, the Comte de Charlefont, had enough influence to force action if necessary—particularly in view of the letter from Louis XIII which acknowledged the indebtedness of the throne to all of the de Lys lineage.

"And that does not apply to you," he told the Marshal of the prison, "but only to my descendants. You had the chance, but it was not you, it was God who rescued my grandson from a fate to which you condemned him!"

The Comte then had the difficult task of explaining to the Duc de Maine, who was at the front, the reason why his equerry had not returned to him as expected. Since the campaign in Flanders was still going on, he had to wait till late August, and the explanation had to be followed by a session with Madame de Maintenon, since the reason that Pierre had not returned to Versailles was that he was helping me. He wanted her to know I was safe, for however stern her principles, she had a kind heart.

I shivered with apprehension when he got to this part of the story. It was my running away that had caused all the trouble and I wondered how Madame had taken it. Cousin Armand said she was very angry at first. She admitted that she would have felt it her duty to insist on a convent life for me if she had found me, for anyone so disobedient and spirited should be humbled. But she was intrigued by the astonishing fact that I had been in the Palace for weeks, under her very nose, without being discovered. She could almost bring herself to forgive me, had it not been that it was so very unladylike for me to have paraded myself in boys' clothing! Cousin Armand told me that Saint-Cyr had now become almost exactly like a convent, and that the ladies who taught there had to take vows like other nuns.

The last part of the story was short. Cousin Armand had hired a boat to take him to Portsmouth and from there by coach to Chichester. He was joyfully reunited with Pierre and planned to journey to Grammercy Hall, which was just two days' ride away. He had been surprised at Pierre's reluctance to start out.

"But you have not told about the trip I made earlier," Pierre said. Then he turned to me. "In October, when I had enough money for the journey, I took a hackney coach as far as Folkstone. There I saw a news sheet which told of the ball your aunt was giving in your honor. I knew that if you were having a ball you were probably being sought out by many suitors. I did not know if you would want to see me, Adrienne, after so many months. You might prefer your new life in England. . . . And the young lord you were with when I arrived—was there, maybe, some romance?"

"Never!" I exclaimed, holding out my hand to him. He took it and smiled the old smile of perfect understanding, and for a moment I blushed with guilt. For had I not actually considered marrying Lord Denby? Not really, I decided, and not for love. I would not have married for months or even years, and only if I had had definite proof that Pierre was dead.

Now that the story was told, we all felt happy and relaxed and began to talk of other things. Pierre had a proposal to make—it was not one of marriage, for by now that was taken for granted. He wanted first to tell us of what he had heard from a fellow workman about life in the New World. There was a colony in North America called New France and he had heard all about it from a most enthusiastic colonist who was back working in Chichester for a time to get money enough to return to Quebec with a bride. An Englishman, but a Catholic, he had lived in New France for over a year and had returned to marry his childhood sweetheart; they would set out together to make their home across the ocean.

I could see that the idea had great appeal for Pierre. There was land to be had for the asking, unlimited opportunity, and though there were hardships even for someone of wealth, the society was not corrupt, as it was in France.

"You know it is corrupt, Rienne—you said so yourself from what you observed of Court life. Imagine a colony where you could make your own society! No great cities with foulness and stench, no Court where obsequiousness is the greatest virtue. Instead, freedom and a wilderness to tame!"

He enlarged his description, telling about the settlement of Quebec on a mighty river, the Saint Lawrence; about the land to be cleared, though great vistas would remain wilderness; about the hunters and trappers that provided furs for the lords and ladies of the continent; about the need for colonists in Quebec, where a man could work with his hands even if he was an aristocrat. Obviously he found all these things stimulating. I remained very quiet. He could not expect me to take an immediate interest in this far-off land, could he? I thought of the centuries-old, carefully tended gardens of Ronne and Charlefont, even of the pleasant lawns and quiet vistas around Grammercy Hall, and this new land he talked of seemed crude and frightening.

"It isn't as if I had a duty to Charlefont," he went on. "That will go to Raimond. I have been through great hardship and suffering. I have survived and I am stronger than when I was at Court. I feel a call to this untamed wilderness."

The Comte spoke quietly. "You had better tell Adrienne about the Indians," he said.

"Oh, there are natives—Indians, they are called—who resent the settlers, and there have been some unpleasant incidents, but there is protection against attack, particularly in a large colony like Quebec. And do not think that there is no social life—there is a great deal. There are many parties, and at the Governor's mansion there are balls with ladies and gentlemen as beautifully gowned as in France." Pierre took my hand again and said very seriously, "Think about it for a time, Rienne. Don't decide against it hastily. I know it is a very new and strange proposal to put before you."

I did think about it, particularly that night in my own room. This was what Pierre wanted to do—emigrate to New France. How could I hesitate about what I wanted to do? Pierre had been given back to me, alive and well, when I had feared him dead. I did not love Lord Denby, and though I could go back to Versailles now without fear of being punished, it would be strange to go back alone. As Lady Denby I would have a position, but was it the position I wanted? Would Pierre go back to France with me? And if I insisted on it as a condition of our marriage, would he not be unhappy all his life, yearning for something worthwhile to do? I really could not imagine him as an equerry again or, later, as a courtier. His brother would have the title and lands of Charlefont, but he could have no position that he did not carve out for himself. I was dreadfully afraid of the voyage across the ocean and the dangers of the frontier, but I realized that what I wanted most was to be with Pierre. He had helped me to adjust to the strange situation of being a page in disguise at Court; he would help me to become a frontier wife and protect me from danger. That very night I made up my mind.

And so when Lord Denby called the next day, with the excuse of inquiring after my health, but really to know the answer to his proposal, I was able to keep calm and poised. Pierre and Lord Denby were a trifle stiff with each other, one knowing and the other suspecting the circumstances. But toward the end of Milord's call, without allowing myself to be alone with him, I announced quite casually that Pierre, of whom I had told him, had been shipwrecked and unable to communicate with me all through the summer—I did not give him the details—but now that he had arrived, we were preparing to be married very soon. I had not given Pierre a direct answer about the future and when I spoke thus to Lord Denby, Pierre's eyes lighted up with happiness. Lord Denby congratulated him, bowed formally to me, and took his leave.

"I suppose it is quite a long journey to New France," I said to Pierre, and he hugged me and said it would not be too long.

Now that I had made my decision, my aunt began to plan for the wedding. Pierre hoped that it would be before the new year and that his grandfather would stay until that time.

*

And so at Christmas time we were married. It was a beautiful wedding in the private chapel, and the reception afterwards was even more elaborate than the ball had been. Both Uncle Walter and Cousin Armand wanted to provide my dowry and in the end I had an abundance of riches, which was fortunate, for we needed countless things to take to Quebec. From _grandpère,_ along with his wishes for my happiness, came the jewelry which had been my mother's.

We could not set sail for New France until late spring because of the danger of storms on the ocean. Before Cousin Armand left us he said that he was planning on chartering a ship for our journey; in fact, he was thinking of buying into a shipping company so that he could supply us in the years to come, and he would call his ship the _Adrienne_ in my honor. When we asked him to come with us, he shook his head.

"My heart will always be in Charlefont," he said. "Yet I would like to see the New World before I die. When you are settled there, I may come to visit you some spring and stay all summer."

Pierre got in touch with Gervais and offered him free passage to Quebec. The wheelwright was glad to accept and I persuaded Suzanne to accompany me. Then I remembered Gabby at Saint-Cyr, to whom I had promised a reward for helping me. I wrote to her and received word that she and Jacques were getting married and would be delighted to go with us on our journey. It surprised me to find out how many of the underprivileged in France and England were eager for a chance in the New World. Before long we had gathered quite a large group of servants who were of an adventurous spirit.

We stayed at Grammercy Hall until spring. Pierre learned something of the life of an English country gentleman. We both studied English and became acquainted with most of southern England, which we visited in Uncle Walter's coach. We even made a trip to London.

In May we set out in a brave new ship named the _Enterprise,_ which had been chartered by the Comte de Charlefont and filled with provisions and countless bales and boxes containing our own furnishings. I wept as we said good-by to Cousin Armand and my aunt and uncle. It was a long way we were going—such a long way from France!

The ship was stout and seaworthy, and the journey, because of fair winds, took us only a little over two months. When after sailing miles and miles up the Saint Lawrence River we finally reached the settlement and dropped anchor alongside several other ships, I looked out of the porthole of my comfortable cabin in the high stern and saw a group of houses, no bigger than a French village, huddled up against a mountain-high escarpment. I must admit that I was shocked to see it so small, for here my fortune lay, for better or for worse.

Our settlement is really quite old—it was founded in 1608, and we have a neighbor whose home was built in 1635. So we are newcomers. At the end of summer, our house was finished—a fine, strong, three-story, red-roofed mansion of pleasing proportions, built of stone with walls even thicker than those of our Château at Ronne. It is surrounded by a moat fifteen feet wide, for here we live somewhat as in feudal times in France. We must protect ourselves from hostile tribes of red Indians. Fortunately most of the tribes are friendly, but not all! Pierre is vastly proud of this, his own house, and the land he has acquired high on the plains above and behind the embankment, as well as the pieces of furniture he has made with his own hands.

On the height, which is called Cape Diamond, there is a fort built by the Comte de Frontenac when he was first Governor here years ago. After his dismissal and the trouble with the English and the Indians which followed it, he was returned to his high position—a few years before we arrived. Still strong and vigorous at seventy years of age, he lends us all courage by his very presence. Pierre is devoted to him. And the Comte has a fatherly feeling for both of us.

We are not without culture, for there are some families here that are headed by sons of noble lines like my husband, and recently a fine new house has been built by an Englishman, the Duke of Kent. Some of our society have learning almost as great as that of the Jesuits at the Mission or the nuns at the Ursuline Convent. We have a hospital now and a beautiful church built five years ago. It was called the Church of Saint Genevieve until, after a tremendous victory over attacking Indians, it was renamed _Notre Dame des Victoires._ In the Place Royale is a statue of Louis XIV, so we should feel quite at home.

There are few ladies of quality, but I am learning to admire women of great courage and other virtues who belong to what we would call in France a lower class. Here there are no classes, especially in times of danger. Pierre has acquired the common touch—perhaps it is because he works with his hands. He is at ease not only with the Governor and his aides, but with the frontiersmen—the merchants, the hunters, trappers, and _coureurs de bois._

After we were settled in our home, there was one thing connected with my past life that I wanted to make right. I wanted to send a letter to Madame de Maintenon. Perhaps she could not seize me here and I was satisfied, from the account of the Comte de Charlefont, that she would not try. But I wanted her to forgive me. In spite of what I had considered my wrongs, I knew I had behaved badly, and she had been very kind to me. She was a great letter writer and often told us about letters she had received from former pupils. Maybe she would read mine now and answer it. So I wrote her, telling her briefly the whole story and something of my life in Quebec. She did answer, though it was a long time before the wide Atlantic brought me her reply. It was a good letter, just like her, and I prize it highly. She addressed me as "My dear daughter."

It is true that your disappearance from Saint-Cyr caused me much anxiety for many weeks. The King also was troubled and to him I have presented, as you requested, your regrets and desire for pardon. He was moved by what you wrote about loving his statue in the square across from your window. He grants you pardon for your offense, as do I, my child. It had its humorous side.

You have chosen a new and difficult path but a husband who, I think, is worthy of you. Remind yourself of your education and dream only of serving God, because we live only in Him and should live only for Him.

Do not think I was annoyed by your writing—I am very pleased to know your news and I wish you to be happy. Only God is powerful enough to enrich us. I embrace you with all my heart.

Maintenon

I do not regret leaving the school at Saint-Cyr, even as I did—over the wall—for thus I was enabled to see and judge the life at the Palace for the shallow thing it was before I had realized my ambition to become a lady-in-waiting there.

It has taken me a long time to write this history and now, near the end of the Year of our Lord 1693, I am twenty years old. Sometimes when I look out of a window across the wide Saint Lawrence River to the hundreds and hundreds of miles of fir-clad wilderness, I think of Versailles and of how different it was there. But if this new land still seems strange to me, I am happy to know that I am soon to have a child to whom it will be home, for he will have known no other. And I have only to sit with Pierre holding my hand in front of our hearth fire to be sure that I have made my choice wisely. I would not be anywhere else than where I am.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

_Ward of the Sun King_ follows closely the historical records describing the latter part of the reign of Louis XIV and the school founded by Madame de Maintenon, which he supported and for which he built a special building adjoining Versailles—Saint-Cyr. The school, housed for its first years at Noisy (pronounced Nwa-zée), was the first school for girls anywhere in Europe and its aim was to prepare young ladies of noble birth to take their position in society with poise and competence. The account of the plays written for them by Racine, the poet, is true to fact, as is the effect produced on them by taking part in serious drama—bringing about, in no small measure, the change in the school and its eventual transformation into a convent.

Adrienne and Pierre and their families are fictitious characters. All the others are as history pictures them, and many of the remarks of the King and Madame de Maintenon quoted in the story may be found in contemporary writings. The harsh treatment of the Huguenots and the picture of life in the galleys, as well as the conduct of the provost marshal at Lille, all are described in source books on the period.

Listed below are the volumes consulted in research for the background of the story:

R. C. Anderson, _Oared Fighting Ships._ London: Percival Marshall, 1962.

Charlotte Blennerhassett, _Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon._ London: George Allen Sons, 1910.

Gamaliel Bradford, _Daughters of Eve._ Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1930.

Maud Cruttwell, _Madame de Maintenon,_ New York: E. P. Dutton, 1930.

Will and Ariel Durant, _The Age of Louis XIV._ New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963.

C. Dyson, _Madame de Maintenon, Her Life and Times._ London & New York: J. Lane, 1910.

W. H. Lewis, _The Splendid Century._ New York: Doubleday, 1957.

W. H. Lewis, _Sunset of the Splendid Century._ New York: Doubleday, 1960.

Madame de Maintenon, _Lettres, Vol._ _3_. Paris: Letouzey et Ane, ed., 1935.

Nancy Mitford, _The Sun King:_ New York: Harper and Row, 1966.

Alfredo Panicucci, _Life and Times of Louis_ XIV, tr. by C. L. Richards. Philadelphia: Curtis, 1967.

Samuel Pepys, _Letters_ (passim).

_Editor's note:_ As of 2012, detailed information about Madame de Maintenon's school for girls at Saint-Cyr, along with pictures, can be found at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maison_royale_de_Saint-Louis.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mildred Butler Engdahl, who published under her maiden name Mildred Allen Butler, was the mother of writer Sylvia Engdahl. She had a B.A. from Wellesley College and an M.A. in Drama from the University of Oregon, and had worked both as a high school English teacher and as a director of community theaters. Late in her life she wrote several historical books for teens as well as articles for scholarly magazines. She died in 1987 at the age of ninety.

OTHER EBOOK EDITIONS BY MILDRED ALLEN BUTLER

### Twice Queen of France: Anne of Brittany

(Biography)

Anne of Brittany was only 12 when, in 1488, she became its Duchess, but already she was among the best-educated women of her era and she was determined to preserve the duchy's independence. At 15 she averted takeover by France when she married its king, Charles VIII, and after he died she married his successor, Louis XII, becoming the only person ever twice crowned Queen of France.

### The Disobedient Queen: Katherine of Valois

(Biography)

Katherine of Valois, born a French princess, was the wife of King Henry V of England, the mother of Henry VI, and ultimately the grandmother of Henry VII, the first Tudor king. In view of the current widespread interest in the Tudors, young adult readers will be fascinated by the story of the widowed Queen who fell in love with—and secretly married—the commoner who gave that dynasty its name.

### Actress in Spite of Herself: The Life of Anna Cora Mowatt

(Biography)

Anna Cora Mowatt holds an important place in American theater history. She was the first woman to give public readings; she wrote the first social satire for the stage; and, having become a star overnight without previous acting experience, she was the first American to make the acting profession for women respectable—proving that a lady could be an actress and an actress a lady.

### Rapier for Revenge

(Fiction)

Like all sons of the nobility in 17th-century France, Armand de Lys (later the grandfather of Pierre in _Ward of the Sun King_ ) has been trained to defend himself with a rapier. But beyond that, he believes it is his duty to avenge the murder of his father. His quest takes him to Paris as an actor in a prominent group of players, friendship with the famous Cyrano de Bergerac, imprisonment in a castle tower, and ultimately a duel with his father's killer.

