supposed to,” Lili said, in a husky mix of pleading and rage.
Abbess Marie-Catherine stared at her without a flicker of emotion. “If you had taken pains to think about what you were memorizing, you would have wanted to pray,” she said, “and you would have been grateful to see the prayer right below. From what I’ve observed, if you had read it a few times you would be able to recite it. Can you?”
“I prayed in my own way to understand God’s message.” Lili stared at her feet.
The abbess frowned. “That is unwise. Look at me.” She waited for Lili to raise her eyes. “When you keep your prayers to yourself, we in the church have no means to know when you are falling into error.” She glanced down at her papers. “I’m quite busy. Go back to the room and say the prayer twenty times. And—” She consulted the catechism. “‘Pride, vanity, and a desire to be better than others, or to attract admiration, are motives that reason and religion should teach you to renounce and despise.’ It’s clear you were not moved by this advice. You have not fulfilled your task until you show me you have been improved by it.” She closed the catechism. “You may go.”
* * *
ALONE IN HER cell, Lili slumped to the floor under the crucifix, leaning her back against the cold stone wall. Her mind felt as dark and blank as the curtain blocking the fading afternoon light. I can’t memorize any more, she thought. I just can’t make myself do it. And even if she did, was there something else the abbess would tell her that anyone truly repentant would have discovered without being told? Is this just a game to keep me here? Will I keep falling short again and again?
“I won’t do it,” Lili said aloud into the gloom. “I’m not repentant, and I don’t care who’s angry with me—even Maman. Let them keep me here until I rot. I’m not memorizing another word.”
E MILIE DE Breteuil cast a glance toward herself in a mirror in one of the hallways at Versailles. The outfit she had chosen to go horseback riding that afternoon flattered her body’s newly acquired curves and set off the blue-gray of her eyes and her neatly curled black hair. She loved dressing the part of a young lady at court, especially since she had never expected to be the beauty she had turned out to be. The problem was that her looks now attracted men who had nothing whatsoever of interest to talk about, and she was bored to death with everything about the palace except her wardrobe and the amusing ways young ladies could arrange their hair.
Jacques LeBrun, the captain of the king’s household guard at Versailles, was the worst of the lot. All the appeal of a honking goose. But the chance to go riding was worth enduring a little more of his company. Or was it?
After an hour she wanted nothing more than to get rid of him. “So, Monsieur Lebrun,” she said, in a tone born of desperation, “I have a proposal for our entertainment this afternoon. What would you think if I challenged you to a swordfight?” Emilie cocked her head. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Such cheek was too charming to resist. Just as she planned, within a few minutes LeBrun came back with two épees. When Emilie took a practiced fencing stance, his eyes widened in delight. “This will be most entertaining,” he said, assuming the stance himself. Almost too swiftly to see, her épee clicked on a button of his jacket.
“Touché!” she cried out, to the cheers of LeBrun’s friends, who had gathered to watch.
LeBrun got into position again. Emilie feinted, but this time he was quick enough to counter. Before long, however, he was being forced backward and doing all he could to avoid another hit.
“Have you had enough?” she asked, backing away. His amused smile was gone.
“I don’t believe I can continue, since I cannot engage you with the seriousness you intend without running the risk of harming you.”
Harming her? She didn’t think so. “All
Abbess Marie-Catherine stared at her without a flicker of emotion. “If you had taken pains to think about what you were memorizing, you would have wanted to pray,” she said, “and you would have been grateful to see the prayer right below. From what I’ve observed, if you had read it a few times you would be able to recite it. Can you?”
“I prayed in my own way to understand God’s message.” Lili stared at her feet.
The abbess frowned. “That is unwise. Look at me.” She waited for Lili to raise her eyes. “When you keep your prayers to yourself, we in the church have no means to know when you are falling into error.” She glanced down at her papers. “I’m quite busy. Go back to the room and say the prayer twenty times. And—” She consulted the catechism. “‘Pride, vanity, and a desire to be better than others, or to attract admiration, are motives that reason and religion should teach you to renounce and despise.’ It’s clear you were not moved by this advice. You have not fulfilled your task until you show me you have been improved by it.” She closed the catechism. “You may go.”
* * *
ALONE IN HER cell, Lili slumped to the floor under the crucifix, leaning her back against the cold stone wall. Her mind felt as dark and blank as the curtain blocking the fading afternoon light. I can’t memorize any more, she thought. I just can’t make myself do it. And even if she did, was there something else the abbess would tell her that anyone truly repentant would have discovered without being told? Is this just a game to keep me here? Will I keep falling short again and again?
“I won’t do it,” Lili said aloud into the gloom. “I’m not repentant, and I don’t care who’s angry with me—even Maman. Let them keep me here until I rot. I’m not memorizing another word.”
E MILIE DE Breteuil cast a glance toward herself in a mirror in one of the hallways at Versailles. The outfit she had chosen to go horseback riding that afternoon flattered her body’s newly acquired curves and set off the blue-gray of her eyes and her neatly curled black hair. She loved dressing the part of a young lady at court, especially since she had never expected to be the beauty she had turned out to be. The problem was that her looks now attracted men who had nothing whatsoever of interest to talk about, and she was bored to death with everything about the palace except her wardrobe and the amusing ways young ladies could arrange their hair.
Jacques LeBrun, the captain of the king’s household guard at Versailles, was the worst of the lot. All the appeal of a honking goose. But the chance to go riding was worth enduring a little more of his company. Or was it?
After an hour she wanted nothing more than to get rid of him. “So, Monsieur Lebrun,” she said, in a tone born of desperation, “I have a proposal for our entertainment this afternoon. What would you think if I challenged you to a swordfight?” Emilie cocked her head. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Such cheek was too charming to resist. Just as she planned, within a few minutes LeBrun came back with two épees. When Emilie took a practiced fencing stance, his eyes widened in delight. “This will be most entertaining,” he said, assuming the stance himself. Almost too swiftly to see, her épee clicked on a button of his jacket.
“Touché!” she cried out, to the cheers of LeBrun’s friends, who had gathered to watch.
LeBrun got into position again. Emilie feinted, but this time he was quick enough to counter. Before long, however, he was being forced backward and doing all he could to avoid another hit.
“Have you had enough?” she asked, backing away. His amused smile was gone.
“I don’t believe I can continue, since I cannot engage you with the seriousness you intend without running the risk of harming you.”
Harming her? She didn’t think so. “All
Similar Books
