“Of course,” said Sophie.

Claudine turned to Henriette. “You need sleep and repose.”

Henriette nodded.

Suddenly the door slammed open. Henriette gasped as Philippe stalked in, his face tight and red. “Both of you! Get out!” he shouted.

Sophie scampered into an anteroom and Claudine quickly packed her case and exited. Then Philippe turned on Henriette. “You! You chose to see him before you saw me!”

Henriette wiped her hair back from her face. “He came to greet me. My husband did not.”

Philippe stood, breathing hard, looking at his wife. At last his face softened. “You are right. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

For long moments they considered one another, their unspoken thoughts a silent song of regret and uncertainty. Then Philippe walked up to Henriette and put his hand on her cheek. “Do you forgive me?”

Henriette closed her eyes. “Always. Though sometimes I truly believe you would be happier if I were suddenly not here anymore.”

“I cannot live without you.”

“Nor can you live with me.”

He was descending the winding staircase to his office when he heard the voice behind him. “Monsieur Marchal?”

Fabien turned to find Beatrice following. “I’d hoped I might see you. I wonder whether I might have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

Beatrice’s smile looked as if it had been nailed on. She was nervous. That was fine. That was good. “I had conceived the notion you were upset with me.”

“Why should I be upset with you?”

“Because I lied about who I am.”

Fabien started down the stairs again and Beatrice kept up. “You used the wrong sort of paper,” he said. “The paper you used was of Swiss origin. Such paper was not available in France at the time you claimed to have been born.”

Beatrice chuckled lightly. “I underestimated you.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

Beatrice grabbed Fabien’s arm and gazed at him intently, pouting her lips in an attempt to seduce. “Because I care for you. I first came to court to find a match for Sophie. Then I discovered another reason to stay.”

“Have you found a husband for your daughter?”

“No. May I ask what you intend for us? Will you have us banished?”

Fabien put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure the matter will be resolved favorably.” He felt her tremble but couldn’t tell if it was from relief or fear. It didn’t matter. Then he left her on the steps and continued to his office.

When mid-day arrived, Fabien went out in search of the King’s favorite gardener. Builders were at work, moving wooden beams and stones, busy on the palace’s roof and expansions as well as new foundations, pools, and statuary. He found Jacques on a bench eating a piece of chicken.

“Do you know who I am?” Fabien asked.

Jacques rubbed grease from his mouth with his sleeve. “I know who you are and what you do.”

“I’ve noticed you in discussion with His Majesty.”

“Spying on him?”