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Olympia held out her bloody fingers, but I couldn’t find a cloth to wipe them. I had to rip my inner silk petticoat and use spit to clean bloodstains from her inner thighs and fingers. I packed the cloth into the jar.
    â€œGet rid of that,” said Olympia. “And you two,” she hissed at Hortense and Marianne, “keep your mouths shut about this.” She straightened her chemise and pulled the silk sheets up to her neck.
    I dropped the filthy jar into my hanging pocket so it was good and hidden beneath my beautiful gown. “God protect us all if you get caught.” I threw open the doors. “The bride is prepared.”
    The cardinal shot me a look as if to ask, What took so long? The men had stripped the comte to his long linen shirt, and they escorted him to the bed in his bare feet. The cardinal blessed the union and made the sign of the cross. We pulled the bed curtains closed on their anxious faces and slipped out.
    â€œIt is over,” said the cardinal. He turned to go, snapping his fingers. “Come, girls!” Our signal to follow him like little ducks.
    â€œWe’ll be celebrating your wedding next,” King Louis said as I passed.
    â€œNot likely,” I said, irritated at the tender feelings I’d been having for him. Why does he bother winking and smiling at me when he has Olympia? “You’ve had my book more than a week, Majesty.”
    He actually blushed. “I haven’t quite finished reading it. Next week.”
    *   *   *
    At Palais Mazarin I marched into the servants’ quarters and dragged Moréna from her bed. “You assembled the chicken bladder for Olympia.”
    â€œIn my homeland a bride would be returned to her family if she didn’t bleed on her wedding night. Besides, Olympia paid.”
    â€œIt will cost infinitely if you are caught. If that thing stays inside her too long, she’ll get sick. From now on, you work only for me.”
    â€œI was working for you.” She wrenched her arm free. “The fates say your star won’t rise until Olympia’s sets. How will you shine if she is your eclipse?”
    â€œIf you mean Olympia is to be harmed I will—”
    She held out her hand as if she feared a beating. “I mean you will distinguish yourself. As the eldest sister in residence you are the lady of Palais Mazarin.”
    I paused. “That is true.” It would be luxurious. While it lasted.
    She lowered her hand slowly. “Consider what you might make of it. Especially now that you’ve caught the king’s eye.”
    I frowned. “That part isn’t true.” And I left before she could sense my sadness.
    *   *   *
    Early the next morning we returned to the Louvre, where we gathered with the royals, the Martinozzis, and the Soissons family outside the marriage bed. I did my best to ignore the king. The queen mother parted the bed curtains. Soissons was still asleep. Olympia whipped back the coverlet and pointed to the bloodstained sheet. A murmur of approval went up. I gave Olympia a questioning look, and she eyed the nearby closestool. She’d hidden the nasty thing in the night soil. I sighed with relief.
    My sisters and I dressed Olympia, then stood behind her like ladies in waiting behind a queen while she and Soissons received visits. Courtiers lined up to congratulate them, not for their own sakes but to please the cardinal. They bore gifts—a jeweled brooch, goblets cut from alabaster, a looking-glass, a purse of silver, and even a great green parrot.
    In the afternoon, Notre Dame Cathedral gave a special mass. My younger sisters and I rode through Paris with our uncle in a long procession of carriages. Hortense and Marianne watched a boy carrying a sheep slung across his shoulders as he led a mule harnessed to a wagon full of pigs. From an upper window, a woman dumped piss from a chamber pot, splashing the mule. Startled,