Paris: The Novel

quite impossible to find a girl with any fortune. But in the end Robert had found the youngest daughter of an impoverished nobleman who was reduced to a state hardly better than a small farmer, and she had been willing to take on the nobleman with his tract in the wilderness. After her arrival in Canada, Alain had written back that his brother had made an excellent choice, and that they were very happy together.
    The next generation had continued the correspondence. Roland remembered his grandfather speaking of his Canadian cousins as if this was a part of his family that he would surely meet one day. And after his grandfather had died, his father Charles had kept the connection alive, out of family duty. Roland and his second cousin, Guy, sent letters to each other from time to time, especially concerning any important family event.
    Guy de Cygne in Canada, therefore, had known that Roland and his wife had only one daughter who lived to adulthood and that she was long since married to a noble in Brittany. He had known that her two sons had both died as infants, that Roland was now fifty-five years of age and that he was a widower. It could hardly be thought that he was likely to marry again and start a fresh family.
    Though Guy de Cygne was aware that his cousin in France had once been wounded in battle, he had no knowledge of the details of the wound, and so he was unaware that Roland’s nose had been split and that his face was quite unsightly, making it even less likely that he would obtain another wife at this late stage of his life.
    All he knew for certain was that as things stood at present, upon thedeath of Roland, his own son Alain would be the only male de Cygne left, and presumably heir to the family estate.
    The letter before Roland now came not from Guy, but from his son Alain, a young man of twenty, containing the sad news of Guy’s demise, and asking Roland de Cygne whether he wished him to come to France.
    It was a fair question. If the young man was to be the representative of the family in France, then he would have much to learn, and Roland should summon him to his side at once.
    But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A deep, primitive voice inside him urged him to fight. He would not give in. I may not be much to look at, he thought, but I still have my name, and my health. I have another ten years. More than that, perhaps.

    Madame de Saint-Loubert was a middle-aged woman with a long face and very large blue eyes. Her mother and d’Artagnan’s mother had been cousins. Her husband, the count, had a modest position as a superintendent of mines, but hoped for more, and to help him accomplish this, she had made friends with a large number of people at court. They had a small house in the town, where Amélie spent her first night. The very next morning, Madame de Saint-Loubert announced that she was taking Amélie to court.
    “You are not due to see the dauphine until tomorrow. You needn’t worry, by the way. I happen to know that you are the only person under consideration at the moment, so you only have to be polite and the position will be yours. But it will be a good idea for you to get an idea of the court before you meet her. So just stand beside me and watch.”
    It took hours to dress. Amélie’s gown was charming. An underpetticoat of watered satin trimmed with bands of silk. A hooped skirt gathered at the waist, divided, looped at the sides and then flowed back to end in a short train behind her. It was made of a heavy silk, but with a light brown color, shot with pink, that suited her very well. Her tight bodice was decorated with charming ribbons tied in bows. French lace at her wrists and neck. It was the most feminine thing imaginable. Madame de Saint-Loubert’s hairdresser spent another two hours on her hair, arranging it with ringlets and ribbons in the style then current. She was relieved that her dress passed muster. “It’s better than many of the ladies of thecourt. Not everyone here is rich, you know. You look very well. Come along.”
    The first thing that surprised Amélie as they approached the vast palace was how many people seemed to be crowding around the entrance. “Who are they?” she asked.
    “Anyone who wants to look at the king.”
    “Anybody can walk into the palace?”
    “Yes. And they do.”
    Just then a closed sedan chair was carried in past them.
    “Who is that?” Amélie asked.
    “Hard to know. All the sedan chairs are hired. Only the royal