Chapter 7

I loved you
I love you still too much
But forget this love
That presses sadly against your will
I loved you
In silence
Without hope
But true
Jealous
Afraid
I pray that someone may love you again
The same way

(I Loved You, Barbra Streisand,
words after a poem by Alexander Pushkin, music by Claus Ogerman,
a song from the album 'Classical…Barbra ')

She is not here. I do not understand. Is she still in les appartements de la Reine? Several hours have passed since the moment she left with the king. I dare not go to les appartements. It is too dangerous. She will be not alone. The doors are guarded and la première femme de chambre sleeps in a room adjacent to the Queen's bedchamber.

I sigh deeply. So much anticipation and now this. I really do not understand. All I can do is wait in this room, la chambre de Béatrice. I light some candles with the torch, and put it in the holder next to the door. Then I sit down on the bed. I feel a sense of loss, mingled with anxiety and fatigue. Carefully I lie down. I close my eyes. Maybe she will come later, maybe…

*

I wake up, crying. I must have had a nightmare for tears are welling in my eyes. Where am I? The candles have died down, and in the darkness I cannot see anything. There are no windows in this room, so I am unable to tell if it is early morning or late afternoon. Then, suddenly, I recall the events of the night before. I slip out of the bed. I must leave the room. I have to find Jacques and Dominique, Antoine and Belle. Et surtout, I must find ma reine.

*

Antoine looks worried. "Here is the note I found."

"Where?" I ask. My mouth is dry, my throat tight. I am unable to swallow, and my nerves are giving me a headache. It is very early in the morning. I have found Antoine near La Fontaine de Neptune, waiting for one of us, Jacques or myself to appear. The fountain is situated near to the gate and in the proximity of le chateau.

"In the room she occupied with another girl, a servant too, au Trianon," he answers, while I start to read the short note.

À Jean-Charles de La Janvier.

My love,

I have made a decision, for your heart is taken, and being in your presence is unbearable. Therefore, I will leave, and not appear in your life again. I will be safe, do not worry.
I have a few acquaintances in the northern countries. Please, do not try to find me. I have suffered enough. Even if I am far away from you, I will always love you.

Belle.

With tears in my eyes I fold the paper. "Did you read it?" I ask Antoine, my voice very harsh.

He nods with a little movement of his face. He pats me on the shoulder, trying to offer some consolation, he says, "cela arrive."

"These things happen, I know, but still, I have lost a very precious friend."

"Me too," he whispers sadly.

"Toi , you must be accustomed to these kinds of situations," I say with much grief. Women find you attractive, and you like being in their company…but I…I…"

"To break a woman's heart, no Jean-Charles," he says seriously, "that is what I try to avoid. I make my intentions always perfectly clear, although it might not seem that way. In your case, je m'excuse for saying so, I have seen it coming."

"Is that so," I state angrily.

"You allowed her to be in your company all the time, like a married couple. Everybody could see she had a crush on you. Suddenly a lady comes by, a queen no less, et toi mon ami, what do you do? You keep your distance, you push her away. She felt abandoned."

The truth hurts. I sit down on the edge of the fountain, to collect myself. Silently I think of the way I treated Belle the last weeks. What should I have done to avoid her departure? The way she looked at me, the way she devoured my body with her eyes when we played poker late at night, the way she touched me when she helped me bathe. Surely, I made it clear that I could never love her the way she loved me, but maybe I was not clear enough. I loved her company, her female presence, the secrets we shared. I relied on her in many ways. Maybe I was confused myself for a while. Béatrice interrupted all this. Her presence opened my heart. This love, its strength, its greatness, it surpassed every feeling I had before, including my feelings of friendship for Belle.
It would be dishonest not to admit that I only turned Belle's attention away after I met the queen. Perhaps I let her believe there was a chance. Perhaps I did not explain clearly what it meant to me, my love for Béatrice, the way it makes me vulnerable, how this love affect my soul.

Clouds gather in the distance. Soon it will start to rain, and I feel shivers running down my spine.
I sigh, a little shaken and defeated. Antoine watches my expression closely. "Did you look everywhere? Au Petit Trianon? In the park? Le pavillon de Bélvèdère?"

"Of course I did," he replies with a bit of annoyance in his voice. I have spent the whole night looking for her. She has left Versailles, I assure you."

I blame myself for not trusting my intuition. I had a bad feeling about sending her away as a servant to Le Trianon. I pushed her too far and maintenant she has left me, for good. In her eyes, I betrayed her love and then asked her to do my bidding. God knows where she is now. And I do not recall her mentioning friends in the northern countries…

"The other woman? Did you see her?"

"No, but I avoided her apartments. I don't want to face her again, as you well understand," Antoine says with his voice very fatigued. Sounding a bit desperate, he continues, "what can we do, Jean-Charles?"

He settles one foot on the edge of the fountain, and moves the upper part of his body close to my face.

"Maybe she returned to Paris," I say, trying to show some confidence, although I do not believe it myself. "Perhaps she went to the house à l'Île St Louis. If it's all right with you, I want you to go there."

"All this because of you," he states softly.

"I know," I admit, my voice trembling. "If she in trouble, it will be my fault. She can lose her temper so easily. What will become of her if she does? A woman, all by herself?"

"Jean-Charles, maybe she has friends in the northern countries," he tries to change my mood, putting a hand on my shoulder in comfort. Maybe she is in Paris."

I see Jacques behind him, walking in our direction. He looks rather joyful despite the fact that he must be tired, having danced all night. Perhaps he spent the rest of the night in the company of the lady in white, Madame de Lamballe.

I stand up, brusquely.

"Maybe…we will find out soon enough."

I address the next words to Jacques. "You too, return to Paris. I have to talk to Marie-Antoinette before we decide if we return to Milou. I will join you in the evening."

I shoot a glance at Antoine, making him understand that I have to leave and that I want him to talk to Jacques.

Jacques looks at me, a bit astonished, because before he can utter a sound I walk with urgency in the direction of le chateau. I do not want them to see me fall apart, from disappointment, from anxiety. Disappointed because Béatrice left me lonely this night, while I was ready to reveal my secret, anxiety because of Belle's note. I am at a loss right now. I must find Béatrice, I must know why she did not appear in her room as we agreed.

"Something wrong?" I hear the voice of Jacques, at my back.

"Belle. She is gone," replies Antoine with a sigh.

I return inside le chateau, and visit les appartements de la Reine, open to the public. If I want to speak to Béatrice in the afternoon I must request a formal audience, for she has several tasks to perform each day, such as meeting with new ambassadors. I ask a page to write down some words for me, and to hand the note over to la première femme de chambre de la Reine after le lever de la Reine.

*

Like every morning, ma reine Marie-Antoinette went to the chapel of the castle, with the king. I followed the royal couple together with the other members of the court. She did not notice me, even when she passed me closely. I believe she does not want to attract any attention to us, so she pretends as if she does not know me. I understand why she takes these measures, but I feel unsettled. I try to regain my confidence. When we are together again, she will be my Béatrice. I am sure of that. She loves me with all her heart. I have to remember that she must be very careful, that she has une etiquette to obey, that she is the queen of France. Our love must remain un secret d'état, un secret d'amour.

*

I was tempted to address my queen directly after she left the chapel, but at the last minute I restrained myself. It would have been inappropriate, so now I wait like everyone else, dans le vestibule, nearby les cabinets de la Reine. Finally Madame Campan, sa première femme de chambre, approaches me. She speaks calmly, "Comte Jean-Charles de La Janvier, sa Majesté wishes to see you," and she nods.

I enter the enormous room, adorned with a multitude of mirrors, floral arrangements, paintings and candelabras. Ma reine is seated behind a tiny desk, writing with une plume. The door is guarded, and women of her court are there as well, standing silently behind Marie-Antoinette. I know we cannot speak freely.

She lifts her head. I cannot see any recognition of our love at all. I am confused. How can she maintain this demeanour in my presence? Then a smile adorns her face, and everything in her composition changes. She leaves her seat and gestures to the royal ladies. "Your presence is no longer required." They bow one after another and leave the room. I am relieved. Now Béatrice can speak more freely, although the guards remain posted on the other side of the large door.

Finally, I am alone with ma reine. She begins to speak first. " You must be disappointed," she guesses correctly.

"Oui," I sigh.

She turns her head away, avoiding my eyes.

"Louis needed me," she utters. "In my position…you must understand…"

"I do, I do," I reassure my lovely lady, with warmth in my voice. At the same time pain cuts through my heart as I visualise my Béatrice sharing her flesh with…Non, c'est ridicule. I must let it go. I must cleanse myself of those feelings of jealousy, envy and anger. I am ashamed of those feelings. They are not relevant, because I can do nothing to prevent the circumstances that inspire these emotions. I must obey and submit to the wishes of the king. Like Marie-Antoinette, Béatrice, my dearest queen. He needed her. She was in no position to refuse.

Béatrice wears a dress of yellow satin, wrapped beautifully around her shoulders, accentuating the slimness of her waist, the curves of her body, the softness of her delicate skin.

She swallows, and I remember how I tasted her skin. I remember its fragrance, its softness, and with my memory, the fever of my passion returns, sweeping up the blood in my veins. I step forward, closer to the woman so dear to my heart. At the same time her presence unnerves me. "I presume there will be other moments for us to share," I manage to say.

"Of course there will be" she states a bit coolly. "Now tell me your findings," she asks abruptly.

"My findings?" She seems uncomfortable. Perhaps she does not want to think about the previous night she had to endure in the presence of the king. Therefore, she chose at random another subject to speak about. "I have told you everything. There is nothing new. We require your decision. Do you want us to continue our endeavour? Do you want us to prolong our presence in Paris?"

"Mon cher," she replies, approaching me, I want you tell me everything in detail again. It will help me to make a decision, to focus on my task… I would hate to overlook something. So please rephrase your findings, je t'en prie?" She smiles with tenderness.

"Very well," I agree.

I rephrase my findings, one by one, as I did before, adding a detail here, a reflection there. She does not interrupt me, but listens carefully, sitting behind the desk. Sometimes she writes something down.

"Alors, c'est tout," I say finally.

"Was I detailed enough?"

She lifts her head, and with a twinkle in her eyes she says, "very detailed."

I hear the whooshing sound of the layers of fabric of her dress when slowly she approaches me, still with that twinkle in her eyes. When her body almost touches mine, she caresses my jaw slowly with one finger. Then, with her hand, she reaches for my neck. With the other hand she strokes the curls of my hair, as if she is marvelled by the length or the colour. Almost like a child discovering something new, she explores my hair, my skin, and my face. My breath is quickening and I am unable to master myself when suddenly she offers her mouth, holding my head in a warm embrace. She opens my mouth with her tongue, a bit forcefully perhaps, but I do not care. Her lips are warm and full, and I marvel when I can taste those lips, so luscious and generous, like the rest of the queen's body.

She lowers her hand, from my shoulder to my chest, slowly. I am holding my breath, and I dare not to look my love in the eye. I am afraid.

I could refuse her touching me, using the old excuse that I am wounded, but I cannot. I longed for this, and after yesterday, I do not care what will happen any longer. I need her to touch me, to hold me, to caress me. I need her to make love to me.

My cheeks begin to glow, when her hand slides underneath my coat, then underneath my chemise. She touches the bandages. Then her other hand slides underneath my chemise as well. She frees my shoulder from the clothes, and traces a trail of wet kisses.

Then something happens. Abruptly, her kisses cease. And the expression on her face changes. She is upset.

I breathe with difficulty. Can she see more clearly now? Can she feel my feminine forms?

She spreads her two hands around the small curves of my breasts that are still slightly visible despite the bandages. My breasts are aching to be touched, and I feel my desire very strongly after the kiss. She presses tentatively against the swollen form of my breasts, although her movements are hindered somewhat by the bandages. Despite my desperate grasp for composure, I close my eyes and a moan escapes my mouth.

When I open my eyes again, I see that the expression on her face is that of…revulsion. I am worried. Could she reject me? But I cannot hide myself any longer. I want to reveal myself. I will not retreat and invent some excuse.

"Who… are you?" she mutters under her breath, the words spoken with unease.

I take mon épee, the small sword I am wearing, and give it to her, without saying anything.

She grasps it, understanding my gesture. Her hand trembles when she starts to cut several bandages from my chest. Then, suddenly, she stops. She looks at me. There is neither fear nor tenderness, only anger.

She throws the small sword to the ground with a violent gesture, and walks away from me.

She turns her back to me. " I cannot do this," she repeats angrily. Coucher avec une femme. On her face I can see a display of disgust, and I am horrified. My heart makes a jump and I forget to breathe. Dizziness overwhelms me, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak. Will all be lost?

"Oui, je suis une femme," I try to say as calmly as possible, although I am so agitated that my hands tremble and my knees buckle. "Now you know."

I move closer to the woman I love so dearly. "You enjoyed our kiss.You enjoyed it when I touched you."

"You betrayed me," she says with her voice devoid of any warmth.

"No. I wanted to tell you, and I would have done so last night."

She turns and I can see her face. She is upset, her eyes are dark and the blood has drained from her face.

"You thought I would not notice? This masquerade of yours?"

She clasps her hand behind her back, and her attitude is that of a queen, unapproachable. She turns around and I can only see her back. "You will leave Versailles. Immediately. "

"Mais Béatrice…" I try.

"Do not call me by that name any longer," she speaks with anger in her voice. "I am Marie-Antoinette, the queen of France."

"Look at me, ma reine," I whisper with desperation in my voice, " I am the one you loved. Although my physical appearance is that of a woman, my heart is still the same. My actions are worthy of your love, and I will continue to do so if you would demand it. Please, do not send me away."

Slowly she turns around, so that I am able to see her face. "Perhaps there are rumours that I share my flesh with my closest friends, Madame de Lamballe, Madame de Polignac, even Madame Bertin, my dressmaker. They are untrue," she says more calmly. "If there was any doubt in my mind, perhaps I would the consider the possibility of exploring this path with you. But there is no doubt. I always imagined you as a chevalier. That was why I was attracted to you. Mais coucher avec une femme? Non, jamais!"

Her words cut deeply in my heart. Could she simply not love me any longer? I can understand that my appearance is making it difficult for her to adjust. But how can love disappear? Maybe she needs more time. Quickly I cover my chest, buttoning up my chemise.

"And my services?" I ask. My friends and I can still be very useful to you."

"No, I will rely on the opinion of the king. As I always have," she states with arrogance in her voice. "This audience has terminated."

I dare not leave this room. I have to make one final attempt to change her attitude. Quickly I approach my love and before she can draw back I kneel down on my knee. I grip her hands and hold them strongly against my face, while my tears emerge freely, dripping on her fingers.

"But I saved you, how can you forget?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

She looks at me, and hesitates. Then she says, "I did not."

I lift my head, and my eyes somewhat blurred by the tears, I ask, trembling, "and suddenly, you do not love me any longer? "

I sense a bit more tenderness, when she replies, " it is for your own safety that I want you to return to your castle. You have no choice in the matter. I am your queen. My wishes are yours."

She withdraws her hands. Defeated, I feel so much pain in my heart, I am unable to feel anything else. Slowly I stand up, and look her in the eye.

"You do not love me," I repeat softly. It is a statement and not a question.

"It was Béatrice d'Audovère who loved Count Jean-Charles de La Janvier," she says firmly. "They were both ...illusions. They no longer exist."

I nod, unable to hold her gaze any longer. My heart rips apart in an instant, and my grief is overwhelming. Devastated by my chagrin, I am unable to think clearly, unable to continue to speak.

"Bid me adieu," she orders. She gives me her hand, I make a reverence, and I touch the skin of her hand with my lips very briefly. I do not feel anything but sorrow and the contact of her skin with on my lips makes me shiver.

Slowly, I move to the guarded door. Wary and worn I collect my sword from the ground.
Here it has to end. I will never see her again. Not this close. Only in paintings perhaps. And it is not likely I will find in these pieces of art, the beauty of her features, the beauty of her soul. The beauty of Béatrice.

She does not look back, but instead, turns around and sits down behind the desk.

What I feared just happened.
I will never see her again.
There is no return.
I cannot undo what occurred.
I have gambled.
And I have lost.
This will be the last moment I ever see her again.
Oh, my sweet Béatrice.
How can I continue to exist?
In this world?
Without her love?

Then, just when I touch the door, she lifts her head, and our eyes meet. Her eyes are very stern. Oui, elle a raison. There is no trace of Béatrice in those eyes. Béatrice is invisible to me, hidden in the secret folds of her heart, and the only woman I can see now in those eyes is Marie-Antoinette, la reine de France. Nobody else, hélas.

*

I run on my way to the carriage, which will bring me to Paris. I want to leave le chateau as quickly as possible. My life has no meaning anymore. The joy I found, the love that I cherished, it all perished in a few moments, gone forever. But suddenly I cannot go any further. I feel nausea and a pain in my head. Devastated, I try to reach Le Grand Canal. Perhaps a walk near the water- some fresh air, the wind, the trees-will help to ease the pain. My stomach is weak. Yes, I have to let it go. Throw everything up. There is no thought clear in my mind. I just have to sit down for a while, near the water, breath slowly, before I can continue to walk. I have to endure this.Then perhaps when time passes, I will find my strength again. But not now.
Now it is hurts like hell.
Rien ne va plus. J'ai trop de mal. J'ai perdu l'amour de ma vie. Qu'est-ce que je vais faire?

It is starting to rain. My tears mingle with the soothing drops of rain. I stare at the water, my thoughts still with…Then I feel strong hands on my shoulder. C'est Jacques.

"You are not well my friend?"

I do not have the strength to reply.

"Before you do anything you will regret," he continues, "come with me."

He turns me around to look me in the face. I have no courage to debate with him. I am as he was, before. A desperate soul searching for a new path. I am no longer the one who has strength and courage. This is who I am, une femme perdue.

He looks at me, very worried.

"You…you…are still here? " My voice is like a growl, I hardly recognise it. "I told you to go to Paris."

"Not without you. I watch your back, remember?" He smiles. "So, when things are a little rough, you cannot send me away."

I nod and try to compose myself. Failing to sound more cheerful I say, "perhaps I have known more enchanting moments…but I am fine."

Jacques does not believe my words, I can see that very clearly in his eyes. Naturally, he wants to know what is wrong with me. Jacques is my closest friend and he can read me well.

"This morning you looked like hell."

I am not certain I am ready to reveal the truth. I struggle to keep up my appearances.

Of all my male friends, he is the one who is able to talk about his emotions very well. Perhaps more than myself. He can sense the instincts of animals, and is one with nature. Although he is very masculine in his composure and attitude, there is something in his character that allows me to confide more easily in him than anyone else.

"Believe me, I feel worse than I look."

I turn around and walk briskly away from him. He follows me. Then he grabs my arm. "So?"

"So what?" I shout angrily, trying to free myself from his strong hands. He holds me firmly. I cannot run away.

He is angry now too. "Mon Dieu, Jean-Charles, I know everything about the deception of love! You can tell me what happened! I am your friend!"

He puts his large hands on my shoulders, trying to persuade me to tell him what happened.

"No, you do not know anything!" I shout my voice breaking. "She loved me back… she loved me back until …until a moment ago…when I…when I… "

I cannot hold my tears any longer. Speaking about that awful moment, tears me apart. So, I close my eyes, and rest my head against the comforting chest of my friend. It is still raining and I am soaking wet and cold.

"There is nothing that I can do," I whisper. "I must submit to her orders."

He holds me close to his chest, in a soothing embrace. How I hate this life, this unbearable lourdeur of my being.

"Tell me what happened," he says calmly. "After that we will go to Paris and you will rest. When you are rested we will go home and everything will be alright again."

"No!" I cry. "If I tell you everything, you will feel only disgust. You will end our friendship…like she… ended our …"

He does not release me, but continues to hold me strongly, while my eyes fill with tears, desperate and helplessly.

"Is it that bad?" he sighs. He adds very tenderly, "try me, I may surprise you…"

I lift my head, gazing into his eyes. Perhaps it will help to confide in someone. He looks at me invitingly, very gentle and patient. I know him so well. At this point I have lost everything. I cannot feel any worse.

"Look at me," I speak finally. "Touch my skin. What do you feel?"

Awkwardly he moves one hand and does as I asked, cupping my cheek, and touching my tears. "What do you feel?" I repeat.

"I do not know what you want me to feel," he states hesitantly.

"Is that the skin of a man?" I whisper. "You know how old I am. Does this not tell you anything?"

"You are a strong man, no coward, the most courageous man I know," he speaks firmly, trying to cheer me up. "If it is because your appearance is somewhat…because tu n'as pas une moustache… It is the action of a man that counts, not his appearance."

"My actions…they were not the actions of a man," I speak with hesitance. I take his hand and let him feel the bandages around my chest.

"Do you know why that is?"

"You are wounded? Why didn't you tell me?"

"No, that is not why."

Before I lose my courage I mutter, "The most courageous man you know, Jacques…is…a woman…"

His eyes grow wide, and I sense that his grip on me is weakening. I close my eyes. I do not want to see his eyes any longer. I do not want see it again, trust and love change into refusal, betrayal, disgust. His grip is weakening, but he doesn't let go of me.

After moments, which pass like ages, he sighs, "Une femme?"

I open my eyes. "Now you understand why she does not love me anymore." Accepting my fate, I add in a very soft and sad voice, "and I presume you can no longer be my friend. Here, our paths will diverge."

"What is your name, your real name?," he asks somewhat shyly.

"Catherine."

Before I can protest, he presses me against his chest, in a strong embrace. The rain has stopped, but we are both soaked to the bone.

"Catherine…" he whispers. "Once you found me. I was a warrior, angry and lost. Visions haunted me, people were looking for my head. You saved me and gave me back a new life and a shelter. How can I leave you? If you are a woman, then you are even more courageous than I can possibly imagine. I mean, being a woman, and fighting like a man, fearless and strong. Our paths will not diverge, and I will always be your friend."

He holds me in his arms. Grateful and relieved I can let go of my hurt, my pain, the sorrow and anguish I have felt for so long now. I start to cry when he says my name again, tenderly, "Catherine…"

It feels so good to hear him say my name. If only my Béatrice would have said it. If only she would have… But she did not. She never asked for my name.

*

When we return to Paris, in the carriage, Jacques tries to convince me to tell the others of my gender. I refuse. I feel I am not ready yet. It is good to have a confidant, but I am not sure my other friends will be like Jacques. I am afraid they will treat me differently, once they know the truth, and I do not want them to change their attitude towards me. Besides, I am physically and mentally exhausted, and my emotional turmoil is such that I cannot cope with more.

*

I slept for a day, a night and a day à l'hôtel particulier at l'Île St Louis. Every time I woke up, I drank a few glasses of wine, after which I slept again, like someone heavily sedated.
As expected we did not find Lady B on our arrival. I do not think I will see her again. She left me for good, et mon Dieu, I do not blame her. I blame myself! She was such a good friend, she loved me so much, and all I did was push her away, neglecting her feelings, betraying the past we shared. And for what? For a forbidden passion, a secret desire, a love based on illusions. Lady B loved me, she loved both Catherine and Jean-Charles. Now I am empty, a fool unworthy of her love, and alone.

In the middle of the night, I awaken. I decide to put on my clothes and to talk with my friends. Jacques, Dominique and Antoine are playing poker in le salon. They pretend not to be surprised to see me. Jacques pours me a drink, a glass of red wine, un grand cru de St Émillion, and offers a cigar. I nod at him with appreciation. Dieu merci he does not act differently in my company. I try to relax and participate in the game. After a while, when I start to win, as I always do when I play poker with my friends, I say casually, "tomorrow we will leave. We will take with us a woman with whom I have become acquainted with, and her children as well. Her name is Sofia and she is Italian. Antoine, I want you to go to Madame Renée with 400 Louis. That will be enough. If she refuses, you know what to do."

Antoine nods. "I will make sure it is enough."

"Dominique, do you still see Pierre Choderlos de Laclos?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replies.

"So?"

"The library Delamain, near Le Palais Royal is one of the distribution centres of the pamphlets. Everyone can buy them clandestinely. Choderlos is one of the authors, but there are others; each of them is connected in some way to le Duc d'Orleans. I have indications that the pamphlets are printed in the cellars of the palace, but I do not know where exactly."

Jacques interrupts him. "Would you like us to find out?"

I shoot him a glance. "There is no need to remain here. It is not our concern any longer," I say somewhat harshly.

"Perhaps not," he says, "but we have a reliable source and should not waste it. No matter what the queen says, I would like to know the truth, to be prepared when history changes its course."

I shrug my shoulders. "If you will. Dominique can stay here."

Dominique smiles, "I would like that."

"C'est bien," I give in. "Write us with invisible ink, and keep you eyes open. And when…"
I hesitate. Reluctantly I continue, "with some luck, Lady B may show up. If she does, tell her…tell her I regret what happened. That she was right all along." Overwhelmed by sadness, my voice ends in a whisper, and I have to swallow very hard, trying not to cry.

Dominique raises his eyebrow at my display of emotions. "If it is any consolation," he points out in his somewhat pompous manner, "you were not the only one who thought that the amorous feelings the queen possessed for you were genuine."

I wave with my hand in dismay. "Please," I reply, "do not pity me."

I meet the eyes of Jacques. "A man can easily change into a fool when it comes to love, I know that now."

*

We travelled for a few days on our horses and now we are near the spot in the forest where I found Béatrice, and saved her life. Béatrice, I still call her that. Maybe because when I first met her she was incognito and introduced herself by this name. These are memories with which I cannot part. She used me, but strangely enough my anger has dissipated. I only feel bitterness et tristesse. Jacques follows me closely on his horse, and Antoine conducts a carriage with Sofia and her two children, a boy and a girl. I am glad Sofia came with us. It gives me some consolation to know that I prevented the woman from being harassed any longer. I told Sofia before we left that she has to keep the secret about my disguise, that even my friends ignore the truth.

Before I can continue my musings, four masked men appear from the bushes. At once I dismount, jumping to the ground. They kill Jacques' horse and I see that he twists his foot as the animal falls down before he can free himself completely from the stirrups. I engage a duel with two of the masked men, and out of the corner of my eye I see Jacques doing the same. Without looking, I shout between two breaths: "Antoine, go!" I do not know what happens behind me, hearing only the sound of the carriage. Nevertheless, I pray to God that Antoine has understood me, bringing Sofia and her children to safety.

With a sabre in one hand and a short sword in the other, I try to defend myself against these men. They are much taller than I am, but that is not something that has ever been a deterrent to me in the past. I jump and use a fallen tree as a natural barrier between the attackers and myself as I try to gain some precious time. With my sabre, I cut a branch of a tree, and it falls down in the face of one of them. He lets his guard down and without hesitation, with a quick movement forward, I drive my sword into his heart.

I can see that Jacques is in trouble. His twisted foot makes it difficult for him to move. I head toward him at top speed and I grab a stone and heave it at the head of the man who duels with Jacques. For one moment, the man is distracted when the stone hits his head and Jacques is able to strike the man's sword out of his hands.

The other man who fights me has come dangerously close. I cannot go left or right, so I decide to turn around very quickly. I move right forward, and attack his sword with both my sword and sabre. The man is not very agile, so I surprise him with my action. I am able to cut him twice, although he is stronger than I am. Blood is dripping from his shoulder but he does not give up.

Jacques is still in trouble. He is limping and I can see that he is in pain. I need to help him but first I must make short work of my attacker. With all the strength that I have left, I throw myself at him, making sure the heel of my foot hits him first in his face. The movement makes him lose his balance, and with a growl, I plant my sabre in his belly.

As I lift my head, I can see that it is too late. Jacques lies in the grass heavily wounded. Still conscious, I can see by the look in eyes that his soul will leave his body very soon. The two men who fought him approach me, but in relief I see Antoine at their back, appearing from the bushes.

He kills one of them by running him through from the back, and before the other man can turn around to see who has killed his companion, I am upon him and the job is done.

"Oh, Jacques!" I cry out in despair, as I kneel down next to his body. Does he see me? I am not sure, although his eyes are still open. His face covered with blood, he breathes with difficulty.
I lift his body up a bit and cradle his face in my lap, crying with grief. I do not mind what Antoine thinks, "Ne me quitte pas, Jacques, do not dare leave me like this. I won't let you do that to me, I need you so badly…"

He moves his mouth, and I move my face closer to his, so that I hear him.

"I love you," he says with difficulty.

"I love you too," I reply tenderly while I caress his face and the scar on his forehead. Then he closes his eyes, and I know he has left me for another world.

I sit still with his body in my arms for quite a while, trying to formulate a prayer to God, although I lack the serenity to do it well. My grief occupies my mind, and I am overwhelmed by it. I do not know how long I sit there, but suddenly I see the carriage with Sofia and her children. They found shelter during the fight and now they are ready to continue our journey. Sofia puts her hand on my shoulder in comfort, but I cannot feel anything at all.

Darkness surrounds me, and I move, yes I do.
I move. I walk and I talk.
My body moves. My heart beats, my voice speaks.
But my body acts and reacts without me.

I am no longer there.

Darkness and silence continues to envelop me in their embrace.
It is safe.
For how long?
I do not know.
I love the darkness, providing me with shelter.
I love the silence.
It is safe.
I cannot be reached by feelings of loss, of regret, of guilt.

Time has no meaning any longer.

No one can reach me…when I am in the void.

*

A page hands me a silver plate with a letter when I am about to leave l'appartement de la Reine.

I changed my lavender dress for a silver coloured gown, a very simple toilette with hardly any jewels at all. Only a line of diamonds, which are sewn into the seam, marks the waist. The corset of the dress is very constricting, even for me. My waist and stomach is strapped in small segments of silver, and pushes the flesh of my upper swells up forward. It feels like some kind of armour, and I breathe with difficulty. However, I know that with this armour my body will be presented most flattering. With it I wear a wrap around my naked shoulders, a very thin cloth made of red silk, which will cover my deep décolleté. I have just one intention, to lower the wrap for the eyes of the Count only. I want him to feel so much desire that it will be impossible to wait any longer, not touching me, waiting for the night to come. I will let him devour my body with his eyes. Perhaps we can retreat for a moment in a loge of the small opera house in the castle. And then, in the dark, I will tell him sweet words, soothing words, words of love, words that will caress his dark soul, words so loving he will believe he has found heaven on earth.

And he has.
I will prove that to him tonight.

I will be like a queen of the fairy people in a fairy-tale.
My words will mesmerise his senses, my magic will work on his body, and thus will I put a spell on him.

Then, when the night is advanced enough, when the moon is rising above the horizon, I will let him do what he wants with me. I will let him have his way with me. I will welcome him, join him. My trembling body will invite him, and we will be sharing our love in the most intimate way.

After that, forever he will be mine.
And his love will carry me away.
His love will give me strength to continue, to serve the French people as well as I can.

The page bows. "Un message pour vous, votre Majesté."

I pick up the letter, and begin to read.

"Majesté, ma reine. The night is so lovely. Please allow me to invite you à passer un instant with me in the garden, near Le Temple de L'Amour. A carriage is waiting for you."

Le Temple is a small building near Le Petit Trianon, my residence. I don't go there very often, only when I want to read or when I want some tranquillity admiring the roses in the garden.

I hesitate. Why should I go there? But, it is such a romantic gesture from my Count. It is not surprising that he wants to spend a moment with me. But what if…? I have to be sur mes gardes.

Then the page hands me a ring, which I recognise instantly. It is the ring with the seal, the ring with the lilies I gave him at our first encounter. I put the ring on my finger.

I do not hesitate any longer and follow the page to the carriage. Lady B waits for me, she smiles and gives me her hand, to help me into the carriage. Her hand trembles when she touches my back. I can see that she looks at my body with a strange expression, one I am unable to identify. Anger? Appreciation? Jealousy?

"Jean-Charles is waiting for you, Majesté," she says very softly.

I nod. ""Very well, Madame."

She must be frightened to be alone in my presence. I lay my hand on her arm, trying to make her more at ease. The carriage turns to the right. After five minutes, we approach Le Temple de L'Amour, and my heartbeat is quickening. What will my Count say when he sees me in this attire? Lady B watches me, she sees that I shiver, but not from the cold. I hold the red silk tightly against my naked shoulders, trying to cover my flesh.

The carriage stops. Ah , il est là,…. A man enters the carriage. C'est lui. It must be him. He touches me, no… No.. ce n'est pas lui! Something is amiss. The door of the carriage locks firmly behind the man. Too late. Hands cover my mouth and hold me tight, so that I cannot move. Trop tard. I cannot escape. Then there is darkness. I feel I begin to lose control over my body. I have to give in, but I try to fight against those unsettling sensations. I try to yell, but my mouth is dry, and I do not feel my throat anymore. Oh…my God, help me! I am falling…falling deep…into this blackness… My love…Mes enfants, my poor children, what will become of them…Is this the end? And Louis…Without me, what will become of him…et la France, les français…I cannot keep my promises….Dieu, aidez-moi, stand by… me…

End of chapter 7