He smiles and walks past her, nearer to the altar. “My position does not deceive me as to the nature of men…and women,” he says. “Praying…is just wanting, isn’t it? We both know this. And what do men want but the usual things? Power. Money. Love. To be freed from illness. To be excused from death. To ascend to heaven without actually dying.” He laughs. It is a crackling laugh, like a heel stepping on the delicate shell of a snail. “We always want something from God. Even if it is something noble. Scholars desire enlightenment, poets a better turn of phrase, physicians a cure for plague. I confess I am prone to the same greed. In my heart, I have many hopes. I pray every day for the Dauphin’s good health, my own good health, and your good health, too. I hope the English will disappear in a giant puff of smoke, and they will send large chests of money to make restitution for all the evils they have inflicted upon us. In a way, we live nearly every moment in prayer. The laundry maid, who is just waking this very hour—you can probably imagine her very well, perhaps you have been one in the past?—hurries down a flight of stairs and hopes she will not trip and break her neck in her haste. The housewife slicing vegetables for her husband’s dinner resolves to keep the knife in her hand steady, so she won’t cut off a finger. Before we drink from any cup, we live, for a moment, in the expectation that what we are about to imbibe will nourish and give pleasure, not poison us and make us fall ill and die.”

“Your Excellency is able to conjure such lovely images,” she says. She does not smile.

“Oh, but a prayer tells so much about a man. So much may be learned: his strengths, his failings. A tradesman who cheats his customers and abuses his workers may still be a loving father to his children and a faithful husband to his wife. He may found a chantry in honor of his mother. It would surprise you, the conflicting natures of men’s hearts. Vanity with tenderness. Ambition and arrogance with openhandedness and charity. Since you first arrived at Chinon, I have watched you carefully. And I have wondered, since that morning I saw you peering down at the rest of us with le Maçon, what it is you want: in here.” He points to his heart. “Power? Money?” He hesitates, tries again: “His Majesty’s love?”