The central, Renaissance palace was promising, but Catherine de Médicis had built a palace of her own at the far end of the Tuileries, cutting off what might have been a noble view toward the west. A much better enterprise, which King Henry had now taken in hand personally, was the splendid series of galleries running westward from the Renaissance palace along the bank of the Seine. It ran for a quarter of a mile.

“Some people say,” Robert had told his brother, “that if there’s ever serious trouble, King Henry reckons he can run along the galleries and escape from a discreet side door at the western end. Like some of the palaces in Florence.”

More likely, the galleries were to be a noble setting for impressing visiting foreigners with the splendors of the royal art collections.

So when the king turned to Alain now and asked him, “Do you know what is so important about the long gallery?” Alain went for the art collection.

“Not at all. It’s the lower floor that’s the best thing about this new wing. Do you know what I’m going to use it for? Workshops. Artists’ studios. Scores of them. We’ll give the craftsmen space there. It’ll be like a huge academy. A hive of activity.” His enthusiasm was palpable. “A country is nothing, de Cygne, until it has peace. And a king is nothing if he does not promote the arts and crafts of his country. And a palace is nothing but an empty shell, unless it is the center of useful activity. So I am going to fill this palace with workshops.”

He turned to Robert.

“You are staying in the Marais, aren’t you?”

“I am, sire.”

“You must show your brother the site of my new square. They’ve started clearing the ground. It’s on the rue des Francs-Bourgeois, before you get to the Bastille. There’ll be colonnades at street level where people can walk. And above that, houses and apartments for honest working people. All built in brick and stone. A haven for modest townsmen, in the aristocratic quarter. I’m going to call it the Place Royale.” He suddenly looked at Alain. “Do you approve of my efforts for ordinary people, monsieur?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Why?”

Alain paused to think. He really hadn’t considered such a proposition before.

“I suppose,” he said, “it’s similar to the religious question. France is at peace now after being torn apart by religious divisions. But men can be divided by other things as well. If there is hatred between the classes, that is dangerous too. After all, there have been peasants’ revolts in history, and they were terrible. It seems to me that Your Majesty is seeking to make France at peace with itself.” He stopped, afraid that he might have spoken too much.