cry,
Mlle
Marie,”
Odelette
whisper
ed. She
brushed
the tears
from
Marie-Jo
sèphe’s
cheeks.
“Our
fortunes
have
changed
.”
Can
you
hear the
singing?
Marie-Jo
sèphe
asked.
Did
I ask the
question
?
Marie-Jo
sèphe
wonder
ed. Or
did I
only
dream
it? Do I
hear the
sea
monster’
s song,
or do I
dream
it, too?
oOo
A
dreadful
racket of
trampin
g boots,
rattling
swords,
and
loud
voices
woke
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
She
tried to
make it
a dream
— but
she had
been
having a
different
dream.
Hercule
s stared
toward
the
door,
his eyes
reflectin
g the
faint
light, his
tail
twitchin
g
angrily.
“Ml
le
Marie?”
Odelette
sat up,
wide
awake.
“Go
back to
sleep,
I’m sure
it’s
nothing.
”
Od
elette
burrowe
d under
the
covers,
peeking
out
curiousl
y.
“Fat
her de la
Croix!”
So
meone
pounde
d on the
door of
Yves’
room.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
flung off
the
bedcloth
es and
snatche
d
Lorraine
’s cloak
from the
dress
stand.
She
opened
the door
to the
corridor.
“Be
quiet!
You’ll
wake
my
brother!
”
Tw
o of the
King’s
Muskete
ers
filled
the low,
narrow
hallway,
the
plumes
of their
hats
brushin
g the
ceiling,
their
swords
banging
the
woodw
ork
when
they
turned.
Mud
from
their
boots
clumpe
d on the
carpet.
The
smoke
of their
torch
smudge
d the
ceiling.
Burning
pitch
overcam
e the
odors of
urine,
sweat,
and
mildew.
“W
e must
wake
him,
madem
oiselle.”
The
shorter
of the
two was
still a
head
taller
than
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
“The sea
monster
— the
tent is
full of
demons!
”
Indoors,
and in a
lady’s
presenc
e, the
muskete
er
corporal
snatche
d off his
hat.
Yve
s’ door
opened.
He
peered
out
sleepily,
his dark
hair
tousled
and his
cassock
buttone
d
partway
and
crooked.
“De
mons?
Nonsens
e.”
“W
e heard
it —
leathery
wings
flapping
—”
“W
e
smelled
brimsto
ne!”
said the
taller
muskete
er.
“W
ho’s
guardin
g the sea
monster
?”
The
y
looked
at each
other.
Yve
s made
a sound
of
disgust,
slamme
d his
door
behind
him,
and
strode
down
the
hallway
with the
muskete
ers in
his
wake.
“Ml
le Marie
—”
Marie-Jo
sèphe
waved
Odelette
to
silence.
She
hung
back so
Yves
would
not
order
her to
stay
behind.
When
the men
disappe
ared,
she
followe
d.
She
hurried
down
the back
stairs
and
through
the
mysteri
ous and
deserted
and
dark
chateau.
Gentlem
en of
His
Majesty’
s
househo
ld had
already
claimed
the
partially
burned
candles,
a
perquisi
te of
their
office.
Her
hands
outstretc
hed, she
made
her way
through
Louis
XIII’s
small
hunting
lodge,
the heart
of Louis
XIV’s
magnific
ent,
sprawli
ng
chateau.
Hu
gging
Lorraine
’s cloak
around
her, she
hurried
onto the
terrace.
The
moon
had set
but the
stars
shed a
little
light.
The
luminari
as
marking
the
King’s
pathway
had
burned
to
nothing.
The
fountain
s lay
quiet.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
ran
across
the cold
dew-da
mp
flagston
es, past
the
Orname
ntal
Pools,
and
down
the
stairs
above
the
Fountai
n of
Latona.
Beyond,
on the
Green
Carpet,
the
muskete
ers’
torch
spread a
pool of
smoky
light.
Mot
ion and
a
strange
shape in
the
corner
of her
eye
startled
her. She
stopped
short,
catching
her
breath.
The
white
blossom
s of an
orange
tree
tremble
d and
glowed
in the
darknes
s.
Gardene
rs,
draggin
g the
orange-t
ree cart,
slipped
from the
traces to
bow to
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
She
acknowl
edged
the
gardene
rs,
thinking
, of
course
they
must
work at
night;
His
Majesty
should
see his
gardens
only in a
state of
perfecti
on.
The
y took
up the
cart
again;
its
wheels
crunche
d on
Mlle
Marie,”
Odelette
whisper
ed. She
brushed
the tears
from
Marie-Jo
sèphe’s
cheeks.
“Our
fortunes
have
changed
.”
Can
you
hear the
singing?
Marie-Jo
sèphe
asked.
Did
I ask the
question
?
Marie-Jo
sèphe
wonder
ed. Or
did I
only
dream
it? Do I
hear the
sea
monster’
s song,
or do I
dream
it, too?
oOo
A
dreadful
racket of
trampin
g boots,
rattling
swords,
and
loud
voices
woke
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
She
tried to
make it
a dream
— but
she had
been
having a
different
dream.
Hercule
s stared
toward
the
door,
his eyes
reflectin
g the
faint
light, his
tail
twitchin
g
angrily.
“Ml
le
Marie?”
Odelette
sat up,
wide
awake.
“Go
back to
sleep,
I’m sure
it’s
nothing.
”
Od
elette
burrowe
d under
the
covers,
peeking
out
curiousl
y.
“Fat
her de la
Croix!”
So
meone
pounde
d on the
door of
Yves’
room.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
flung off
the
bedcloth
es and
snatche
d
Lorraine
’s cloak
from the
dress
stand.
She
opened
the door
to the
corridor.
“Be
quiet!
You’ll
wake
my
brother!
”
Tw
o of the
King’s
Muskete
ers
filled
the low,
narrow
hallway,
the
plumes
of their
hats
brushin
g the
ceiling,
their
swords
banging
the
woodw
ork
when
they
turned.
Mud
from
their
boots
clumpe
d on the
carpet.
The
smoke
of their
torch
smudge
d the
ceiling.
Burning
pitch
overcam
e the
odors of
urine,
sweat,
and
mildew.
“W
e must
wake
him,
madem
oiselle.”
The
shorter
of the
two was
still a
head
taller
than
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
“The sea
monster
— the
tent is
full of
demons!
”
Indoors,
and in a
lady’s
presenc
e, the
muskete
er
corporal
snatche
d off his
hat.
Yve
s’ door
opened.
He
peered
out
sleepily,
his dark
hair
tousled
and his
cassock
buttone
d
partway
and
crooked.
“De
mons?
Nonsens
e.”
“W
e heard
it —
leathery
wings
flapping
—”
“W
e
smelled
brimsto
ne!”
said the
taller
muskete
er.
“W
ho’s
guardin
g the sea
monster
?”
The
y
looked
at each
other.
Yve
s made
a sound
of
disgust,
slamme
d his
door
behind
him,
and
strode
down
the
hallway
with the
muskete
ers in
his
wake.
“Ml
le Marie
—”
Marie-Jo
sèphe
waved
Odelette
to
silence.
She
hung
back so
Yves
would
not
order
her to
stay
behind.
When
the men
disappe
ared,
she
followe
d.
She
hurried
down
the back
stairs
and
through
the
mysteri
ous and
deserted
and
dark
chateau.
Gentlem
en of
His
Majesty’
s
househo
ld had
already
claimed
the
partially
burned
candles,
a
perquisi
te of
their
office.
Her
hands
outstretc
hed, she
made
her way
through
Louis
XIII’s
small
hunting
lodge,
the heart
of Louis
XIV’s
magnific
ent,
sprawli
ng
chateau.
Hu
gging
Lorraine
’s cloak
around
her, she
hurried
onto the
terrace.
The
moon
had set
but the
stars
shed a
little
light.
The
luminari
as
marking
the
King’s
pathway
had
burned
to
nothing.
The
fountain
s lay
quiet.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
ran
across
the cold
dew-da
mp
flagston
es, past
the
Orname
ntal
Pools,
and
down
the
stairs
above
the
Fountai
n of
Latona.
Beyond,
on the
Green
Carpet,
the
muskete
ers’
torch
spread a
pool of
smoky
light.
Mot
ion and
a
strange
shape in
the
corner
of her
eye
startled
her. She
stopped
short,
catching
her
breath.
The
white
blossom
s of an
orange
tree
tremble
d and
glowed
in the
darknes
s.
Gardene
rs,
draggin
g the
orange-t
ree cart,
slipped
from the
traces to
bow to
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
She
acknowl
edged
the
gardene
rs,
thinking
, of
course
they
must
work at
night;
His
Majesty
should
see his
gardens
only in a
state of
perfecti
on.
The
y took
up the
cart
again;
its
wheels
crunche
d on
Similar Books
