And when, at the end of a long day, the painters, exhausted, are packing up their supplies—they have worked tirelessly, knowing that they may not be paid on time or even at all—His Majesty has another idea. He wants the whole ceiling adorned with stars.

“And angels, too?” La Trémoille asks sweetly, though he looks as if he is about to choke.

“And angels, too,” the Dauphin says.

When he sees Joan, he is as giddy as a boy who has been fed a bowl of powdered sugar. He leads her into her new rooms, watching her face carefully for astonishment, for gratitude. The tour is extensive. Every few steps they stop to admire a new detail.

“And here a pair of candlesticks,” the Dauphin says, “of enameled silver.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replies. To her right, le Maçon nods at her. She picks up the candlesticks and makes a show of observing them carefully. “They are truly wonderful candlesticks.”

“God! Are we going to go through every item in these cursed rooms?” La Trémoille hisses as le Maçon bursts out laughing.

But the Dauphin bristles, scowling. “Georges, if you do not like it, then you may leave. No one is keeping you here, and your company is hardly necessary to us at this time and place. Also, do not blaspheme.”

Joan spins through the anteroom to the chamber beyond. She sits on the feather bed and smiles at her king, who looks for a moment as if he would like to curl up on the bed beside her and listen to her tell stories.

Over the next week, gifts arrive from the Dauphin’s supporters. From the Count of Provence, Yolande’s eldest son, Joan receives a chalice of gold, the base engraved with saints: Martin with his cloak, Paul with a sword, Hubertus dressed for the hunt.

Her pages are charged with a new duty: the sorting of presents. What courier comes from whom and with what message. The Dauphine, Yolande’s daughter, sends a sapphire ring, the silver band adorned with jeweled crosses. The ring isn’t new and was not commissioned for Joan, but was pulled from her own finger when she heard of Joan’s victories at Orléans. The stone brings good luck, Her Majesty promises, for she wore it in the months that she was pregnant with her son, and he is a healthy, intelligent boy who has above all things inherited his father’s famous nose.