Paris: The Novel

further reason for the smallness of the amount.
    “When did you discover yourself, mademoiselle?”
    “Last night, monsieur.”
    He nodded thoughtfully.
    “It came as a shock to you, therefore.”
    “It did, monsieur.”
    And why is she telling me? he wondered. Because she thinks I will break off the marriage agreement? Is she so anxious not to marry an ugly old man? Yet at the same time, he thought, she was taking a terrible risk with her own reputation. With her small dowry and her dubious origins, she was ruining herself in the marriage market. Did she realize this?
    She was young, and upset, and a little foolish. That was clear. But he decided that she was also honest and courageous. And he loved her for being so.
    He also needed an heir.
    “Mademoiselle, I honor you greatly for coming to me in this way,” he said. “You did not wish to deceive me, and you have trusted me with a secret. And now, for my part, I wish to tell you that I did not ask for your hand because of your name. I already have a name, of which I am proud. Nor did I ask for you because of the charms of your person, though thosecharms were evident even in the dark, and are even more to be admired in the light of day. But I asked for you because of those qualities of goodness and honesty which I at once perceived in your character.”
    “You are kind, monsieur.”
    “I hope so. Your case—even if you are correct, and there has not been some misunderstanding—is not as rare as you may suppose. Therefore, for your own sake, and for your parents’ honor, I ask you to say nothing of this to anyone for a few days. I need a day or two to reflect, myself. Would you do this for me as a kindness? Afterward, we can all decide what to do.”
    “If that is your wish, monsieur, then I will do as you ask.” It would have seemed churlish to refuse.
    After she had gone, Roland de Cygne thought for some time. He was annoyed, certainly, by the news. Amélie’s looks and manners were entirely aristocratic, but the thought of base blood entering the noble family of de Cygne was repugnant to him.
    But then a memory caused him to pause.
    It had been a few months before he had died that his father had confided to him a strange scene he had witnessed in the Louvre. “You were only seven years old at the time,” Charles had told him, “and I had to take a letter to the queen, our present king’s mother.” And then his father had told him about the strange figure in the bedroom. “They say that the king returned and spent a night with the queen at that time, and it may be so. But I tell you, Roland, I could have sworn it was Mazarin that I saw in there.”
    Roland de Cygne sighed. What if his father was right? In subsequent years, after Louis XIII was dead and Mazarin was running the kingdom, there was no doubt that the queen and Mazarin were so close that people wondered if they were secretly married. If Mazarin was the true father of the present monarch, then the Sun King was descended from a baseborn Italian whose ancestors may even have been Jewish.
    But he was still King of France.
    And whoever the real father of this honest young girl was, she bore the name of d’Artagnan. That was enough for the honor of his family.
    One other consideration also came into his mind. He had not been without conscience, or misgiving, about forcing such a young woman into marriage with him. But given these new circumstances, there was no question that, in the long run, it was for her own good. Her chances of making a good marriage on such a small dowry were slim. And if herparents had hoped that she might do well for herself by becoming a royal mistress of some kind, he was sure that they had misjudged the girl. That wasn’t her character at all.
    If she married him, however, she’d have rank, security and a comfortable life. And after I am gone, he thought, she’ll be well placed to make a second marriage more to her liking.
    He made up his mind. It was time to take action. He was going to secure the heir his family needed, and to protect this young woman from her own foolishness.
    The king liked brave men. And he’d never asked for anything before. He’d seek an audience with him in the morning.

    Two days later, as Amélie was sitting in the dauphine’s dark room, both she and the dauphine were astonished when a courtier came to inform her that the king himself desired her presence.
    “I can’t imagine why,” Amélie said. “I’m sure I’ve done