“It is for the welfare of the child. As well as your own.”

“Then let us go back to Paris. Confine me there.”

Louis led her to her bed and they sat. He stroked her hair as he would a child needing consolation. He would not, though, consent to her request and she knew it.

“At least, “Marie-Therese said, “make them change the tapestries. You promised.”

“I will.”

“I wish you would keep more promises. My bed is very big without you in it.”

Louis put his hand on her belly and felt a powerful kick.

“Strong!” he said, eyes widening.

“Like his father.”

“Sire,” said Bontemps from the door. “Father Bossuet is calling us to chapel.”

Marie-Therese looked at the floor. She suddenly seemed more anxious than bored. “When the time comes,” she said slowly, cautiously. “I do not want many people here.”

“Why not?”

“I do not feel the same as I did the last time.”

Louis kissed her cheek and the dry tears there. “All will be well. Fear not.” He rose and left his Queen yet again.

Abandoned once more, Marie-Therese thought as the door closed and the King was gone. Any joy she’d felt bled away. She turned to her lady-in-waiting. “Tea,” she commanded. “Bring it now.”

Surrounding her were the silent walls again, the lonely bed, the charmless tapestries. Nothing to make her happy. Nothing, nothing…

Suddenly there was a tickling on the backs of her thighs, and she broke into giggles. She knew it to be…

“Nabo!”

A black African dwarf, dressed in bright and frilly clothing, poked his head out from the pleats of her skirt. “A baby is coming!” he said in his high-pitched voice.

“Nabo, you naughty thing!” the Queen said to her pet, happy for the diversion.

Nabo pushed himself all the way out, hopped to his feet, and bowed dramatically. Then he turned a summersault. The bells on his clothes jingled.

“Bed,” ordered Marie-Therese with a snap of her fingers, and Nabo scrambled to a little bed on the floor and curled up like a puppy.

Worshippers left the chapel following the Mass, moving out through the ornate wooden doors and into the clouded sunlight. The King stood in the royal box above the lower pews, watching as the nobles passed by, bowing, curtseying, hoping to be seen by His Majesty, and hoping, in some cases, not to be heard.

Louvois moved along with Philippe and Colbert, speaking quietly. “So sad to be missing the lovely Seine at the time of year.”

Philippe conceded. “We stay for a birth, it would seem.”

“An expectant father,” said Louvois, “and only a year since you lost your dear mother. That can be very hard on a young man. For the good of France we must return to Paris as soon as we can. Surely you agree, Monsieur?”

Philippe waved a fly from his face. “How do you imagine one would persuade my brother of this?”