some malnourished mother. For the privilege of having her baby in secret, a nursing woman at the Salpêtrière would be assigned a few orphaned nurselings to feed from her. Some of the milk from the cows kept in the Salpêtrière pasture was also destined for the crèche , but it was so diluted with water and flour that only the most determined infants could suck any life out of the mixture.
Several women had been brought up in chains from the Maison de la Force for the funeral, and they wailed without restraint when the final blessing was pronounced over the dead mother. Girls from other dormitories would have been punished for filling the church with such unholy lament. Mourning, like everything else, was best done in silence. But these women had nothing to lose. A few extra lashes, maybe a missed meal, but those things were expected, ordinary for them. Screaming at the loss of a friend is worth the extra punishment. Laure wishes she could join them. The last soul being put to rest is that of a small boy who arrived last week with a cough common to streetdwellers. His father stood at the front of the church, his hat in his hand, a country man in shabby clothing. Laure covers her nose with her scarf. If she tries hard enough, she can still smell the lavender of Madame d’Aulnay’s perfume on it.
Several weeks ago, before Mireille had fallen sick, the girls had crowded around the trunk given to her by the hospital. It contained all the things that were meant to turn her into a wife in Canada. Laure had never seen so many luxuries gathered together for one young girl. The trunk contained a taffeta kerchief, shoe ribbon, one hundred needles, a comb, white thread, one pair of stockings, one pair of gloves, one pair of scissors, two knives, a thousand pins, one bonnet, four laces, and two silver livres. These things were all provided by the King. Mireille had also packed some additional belongings into the box. These included the yellow gown she had been wearing when she entered the Salpêtrière and the locket she kept under her pillow from the officer of the Carignan-Salières regiment whom she was going to marry. Mireille told them she would also be given a hundred livres as dowry, and a transit paid to Canada aboard a ship. The new coffer carrying her dowry from the King was being kept by Madame du Clos in the workshop until her departure.
Laure had been most jealous of the image of the young soldier in the locket. All the girls had crowded in to look at the tiny likeness. The boy’s name was Frédéric, and he was commanding an army of men sent to fight the Savages of Canada. Mireille told the girls that these Savages were so fierce that they actually ate human hearts.
Ask her if they also eat women’s hearts. Madeleine repeated Laure’s question to Mireille.
Well, usually only those of men, who they think are brave, Mireille answered, but maybe they eat women’s hearts as well. Actually, tell Laure that they mostly eat the hearts of priests.
Laure had envied the things Mireille had: the elegant fingers, the fancy dress, the soldier’s locket, the refined words and clear singing voice. But Laure would not have wanted to go to Canada. Especially not when she learned about the Savages. Laure knew she had a brave heart. Madame Gage had even said so last night— fille courageuse —when she pulled the blanket up to Laure’s neck after she had seen the Superior.
Remembering what Mireille had said about the Savages made Laure want to turn to look over her shoulder. At the altar, the priest is praying to send Mireille’s spirit out of this prison of starvation and filth, up even past the gargoyles of Notre-Dame, to the clouds. Laure wants to turn around and see if the priest looks brave, if the Savages of Canada would choose to eat his heart.
Finally, the priest goes quiet. Madame Gage is pulling at Laure’s sleeve, but her feet remain firm on the chapel floor. The flower in her hand has begun to wilt.
The
Several women had been brought up in chains from the Maison de la Force for the funeral, and they wailed without restraint when the final blessing was pronounced over the dead mother. Girls from other dormitories would have been punished for filling the church with such unholy lament. Mourning, like everything else, was best done in silence. But these women had nothing to lose. A few extra lashes, maybe a missed meal, but those things were expected, ordinary for them. Screaming at the loss of a friend is worth the extra punishment. Laure wishes she could join them. The last soul being put to rest is that of a small boy who arrived last week with a cough common to streetdwellers. His father stood at the front of the church, his hat in his hand, a country man in shabby clothing. Laure covers her nose with her scarf. If she tries hard enough, she can still smell the lavender of Madame d’Aulnay’s perfume on it.
Several weeks ago, before Mireille had fallen sick, the girls had crowded around the trunk given to her by the hospital. It contained all the things that were meant to turn her into a wife in Canada. Laure had never seen so many luxuries gathered together for one young girl. The trunk contained a taffeta kerchief, shoe ribbon, one hundred needles, a comb, white thread, one pair of stockings, one pair of gloves, one pair of scissors, two knives, a thousand pins, one bonnet, four laces, and two silver livres. These things were all provided by the King. Mireille had also packed some additional belongings into the box. These included the yellow gown she had been wearing when she entered the Salpêtrière and the locket she kept under her pillow from the officer of the Carignan-Salières regiment whom she was going to marry. Mireille told them she would also be given a hundred livres as dowry, and a transit paid to Canada aboard a ship. The new coffer carrying her dowry from the King was being kept by Madame du Clos in the workshop until her departure.
Laure had been most jealous of the image of the young soldier in the locket. All the girls had crowded in to look at the tiny likeness. The boy’s name was Frédéric, and he was commanding an army of men sent to fight the Savages of Canada. Mireille told the girls that these Savages were so fierce that they actually ate human hearts.
Ask her if they also eat women’s hearts. Madeleine repeated Laure’s question to Mireille.
Well, usually only those of men, who they think are brave, Mireille answered, but maybe they eat women’s hearts as well. Actually, tell Laure that they mostly eat the hearts of priests.
Laure had envied the things Mireille had: the elegant fingers, the fancy dress, the soldier’s locket, the refined words and clear singing voice. But Laure would not have wanted to go to Canada. Especially not when she learned about the Savages. Laure knew she had a brave heart. Madame Gage had even said so last night— fille courageuse —when she pulled the blanket up to Laure’s neck after she had seen the Superior.
Remembering what Mireille had said about the Savages made Laure want to turn to look over her shoulder. At the altar, the priest is praying to send Mireille’s spirit out of this prison of starvation and filth, up even past the gargoyles of Notre-Dame, to the clouds. Laure wants to turn around and see if the priest looks brave, if the Savages of Canada would choose to eat his heart.
Finally, the priest goes quiet. Madame Gage is pulling at Laure’s sleeve, but her feet remain firm on the chapel floor. The flower in her hand has begun to wilt.
The
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