Paris: The Novel

have to give his permission, but there’s no reason for him to withhold it.”
    “Mother, I do not consent to marry Monsieur de Cygne. And I am very unhappy here at Versailles. I beg you to let me return to Paris with you.”
    “That is not possible, my child. The king would probably refuse his permission, unless the dauphine says she doesn’t want you. And your father would not take you back. Not after refusing such an offer.”
    “I cannot believe he would be so cruel.”
    Her mother looked at her sadly.
    “You do not know,” she said quietly, “how kind he has already been.”
    And then, after asking her hostess if she might be left alone with Amélie, Geneviève d’Artagnan gently told her daughter the truth.
    When she had finished, Amélie was silent. She just stared ahead in shock.
    “So I am not my father’s daughter,” she said at last. “Not a d’Artagnan.”
    “No.”
    “Who is my father, then?”
    “I shall never tell you.”
    “Was he noble?”
    “No. But your father has given you the d’Artagnan name, which makes you noble, and you must honor it. You are fortunate. But you must alsoconsider your father’s position. He is providing a dowry for you, but it is only a small one. If your father were very rich, it might be different, but as things are, although he loves you, he does not feel he can give away too much of the family inheritance in order to provide for you. Monsieur de Cygne has a fine estate and needs an heir. He is prepared to accept a small dowry. But it might be hard to find another suitable husband who would. You must consider your father as well as yourself. You should not take money from him when there is no need.”
    “I could just marry a poor man who isn’t noble.”
    “No. You cannot dishonor the name you have been given by your father. That is not fair to him either. If you marry Monsieur de Cygne, however, then everything is solved. It’s your duty to do so, Amélie, and I believe you may be happy too. He seems to like you very much, by the way. He writes like a man in love.”
    “Mother, I shall return tomorrow to discuss this with you further,” said Amélie. “I am feeling very tired.”
    And without even bestowing the usual kiss upon her mother, she left.

    The following day, explaining to the dauphine that her mother had arrived to see her, she received permission to leave a little early. So the afternoon was still light as she walked into the town.
    It had not been difficult to discover where Monsieur de Cygne lived.
    Having seen her mother that morning, Roland de Cygne was rather surprised that Amélie should arrive at his house unaccompanied, but he received her in his elegant salon. The walk from the palace had brought a freshness to her cheeks.
    Amélie noticed the elegance of the house. In the hall was a portrait of Roland de Cygne as a young man, before he had received his wound, looking very handsome. In the salon, over the fireplace, was another portrait, of a lady of the court with a pleasant, kindly face. This evidently was his late wife.
    Seen by the light of day, Roland de Cygne looked exactly what he was, a middle-aged aristocrat whose handsome face had been marred by a slashing sword. It appeared that he was a man who had been happily married and who, no doubt, was now a little lonely. If he seemed very old, it was also clear to her that he had kept himself fit and that for all his modest manners, he was not a man to be trifled with.
    “Monsieur de Cygne,” she came straight to the point, “I have understood from my mother that you have done me the honor to ask for my hand in marriage. Is that still the case?”
    “It is, Mademoiselle d’Artagnan.”
    “You have seen my mother today?”
    “I have.”
    “And what has she told you of the circumstances of my birth?”
    He looked mildly surprised.
    “That you are the youngest child. Your brother will inherit the estate. Your sister is well married.”
    “Then I must tell you, monsieur, that you have been deceived. I am not my father’s daughter. I do not know who my real father is, but he was not noble.”
    Roland de Cygne looked at her thoughtfully. He had been a little surprised at the smallness of the dowry offered, and had assumed that this was because his own bargaining position was so weak. An older man with an ugly face, in desperate need of an heir, cannot demand a high price for marrying a fellow aristocrat’s good-looking daughter. This new information was no doubt a