Paris: The Novel

grotesque was saving her for himself. She prepared to scream. But nothing happened until, after a long pause, the voice she’d heard before spoke.
    “Forgive me for addressing you without an introduction, young lady, but I know that you must be close by, since there is no exit from the little hedgerow into which you have run.” The voice was kindly. “I am Roland de Cygne, a poor widower who was wounded long ago in the wars, which is why, though my wounds were honorable, I think it more pleasant for others that I should take my walks at dusk. I can tell you that the dauphin has departed toward the palace. I doubt that he meant you any harm, for that is not his reputation. I shall now continue on my way, but if you wish me to conduct you safely back to your quarters, I shall be happy to do so.”
    She heard him move on. She waited, then, emerging cautiously from her hiding place, she looked to see if the coast was clear. It was getting quite dark. Who knew if the dauphin was lurking out there? She looked into the long alley and saw the back of Monsieur de Cygne, already fifty yards away.
    “Monsieur,” she called softly. “Monsieur, if you please.”

    By the time he got back to his house that night, Roland de Cygne was in love. It hadn’t taken him long to discover who this young lady was, but when he tried to discover why she was so afraid she became reticent, and he didn’t press the matter. God knows what the innocent girl might have seen in the corridors of Versailles.
    But by the time they reached the north wing, he had discovered enough about her to know that she was honest as well as kind.
    “I am sorry that I gave you such a fright out there,” he ventured.
    “It was just the shock of running into you when I was already so frightened.”
    “My face can be a surprise I’m afraid.”
    “Since it was not the dauphin’s face, monsieur, I can assure you that for me it was nothing but a relief.” She gave him a wry look and smiled. “I spend all my days with the dauphine, monsieur.”
    He laughed quietly.
    “The king likes everyone to look beautiful if they can. Most of the people at court are handsome. But though I seldom come to court myself—for I need no favors from the king—he is always polite if he sees me. The only thing he cannot tolerate is cowardice in battle, so my war wounds are in my favor.”
    “And why did you come to Versailles, monsieur?” she asked.
    “For my dear wife. It gave her pleasure to be at court. And since her death two years ago, I have remained here. I have a little house in the town. I come and go as I please and spend most of the summer down on my estate. I’ve grown used to Versailles, I suppose. But I don’t love it.”
    “I do not think I shall ever get used to it, monsieur. I do not belong here. But I fear that my parents would be very angry if I returned home,” she confessed.
    As soon as he got back to his house in the town, Roland de Cygne ate a light supper, as was his usual custom. After that, having told his groom to be ready to leave for Paris in the morning, he sat down to write a letter.

    Ten days had passed since this incident when Amélie received word from Madame de Saint-Loubert that she should come to her house that evening. When she arrived, she found to her delight that her mother was there. Not only that, but her mother embraced her warmly and congratulated her.
    “You have done very well, my dearest child. Both your father and I are delighted.”
    “I have? I just sit in a dark room with the dauphine all day and talk to her when she wants.”
    “I don’t mean the dauphine, Amélie. I am speaking of your marriage to Monsieur de Cygne.”
    “My marriage?”
    “He didn’t tell you?”
    “I met him only once.”
    “Well it’s all agreed. Your father is very pleased. I shall meet Monsieur de Cygne tomorrow, but he is from a very old family, he’s entirely respectable and his estate is actually larger than ours. It’s quite splendid. And so quick. I can’t believe it.”
    “Have you seen him, Mother? He’s an old man with a split nose.”
    “He was wounded, I know. But he needs an heir. Madame de Saint-Loubert says he is a good and kind man too. You don’t think he’d mistreat you, do you?”
    “No. That wasn’t my impression. But I hardly know him. I do not love him.”
    Her mother looked at her for just a moment as if she were stupid, and then changed the subject.
    “Of course, since you are at court, the king will