Gates of Gold

No Safe Place

The next day, Philippe scratches again at Cécile’s door, sent this time by Madame de Ventadour. His eyes and nose are red, surely from crying like everyone else at court. But they brighten the moment he sees her. He catches her completely off guard, greeting her as his rosebud and kissing her right on the lips. Cécile stammers, not sure whether to slap him or kiss him back. For the hundredth time, heat rushes from her neck to her cheeks. She glances around, hoping no one witnessed it.

Philippe returns to his duties as page. He explains that the boys have come back from Meudon, kept apart from any lingering contagion there. He says that Bretagne is very sad and has asked that Cécile pay a visit with Stabdille.

Madame rises in a whoosh of skirts, still holding Stabdille, and kisses the top of his head. Stroking his back, she tells him that of course he’ll go with Cécile. She says she’ll miss him, her little prince of a dog. But if anyone can help cheer the young princes now, it’s him. She sets him on the ground. Cécile finds his leash and wraps a shawl around her shoulders against the chilly halls before setting off with Philippe.

Inside the grand nursery rooms, Bretagne rides a carved dolphin on a miniature carousel. Anjou lies wrapped in his blanket on a sofa. The boys rush over, hugging Cécile’s legs before Stabdille gets a turn, wagging his tail in utter devotion. But a courtier in the doorway greets Bretagne with “Bonjour, young prince,” then catches himself. He corrects that he means Duc de Bretagne, not prince. The correction alone is enough.

Bretagne bursts into tears at the weight of his new title, crying out that it’s too sad, before fleeing back to hide behind the carousel as it spins. Anjou echoes that it’s too sad and scurries back to his sofa. A nursemaid shuts the door on the courtier, scolding that he was so thoughtless, and that this court has no sense of what children need.

Philippe quietly asks whether Cécile wants to go back to her apartment, but she shakes her head, thinking. She remembers coaxing Madame’s runaway horse, and coaxing a starving hound in the forest with scraps of old cheese. The same gentle patience is needed here. Pushing too hard, she knows, will only send the boys running further.

So Cécile whispers to Stabdille, just loud enough for the boys to overhear, that they should build a nest by the windows. Madame de Ventadour lifts an eyebrow but gives her blessing. Grabbing a blanket from Anjou’s bed to help, she tells Cécile that anything easing their sorrow is welcome, and that she seems to know what she’s doing. Together they pile quilt upon quilt into a plump, cozy indentation, just like a bird’s nest. Then they stack pillows around it, building the walls a little higher. Cécile finds a gold-edged book of nursery rhymes on a shelf, full of colorful pictures, and tucks it into the nest. She lies back against a pillow herself, Stabdille already curled beside her. Outside the tall window, the sun has already set, leaving dark clouds edged with fading gold.

Before long, curiosity wins. Bretagne asks, a little irritated, whether Cécile doesn’t want to play with him after all. Then he admits he only kept his distance because he thought she didn’t want to see him. She pats the blankets and invites him in, and he throws himself facedown into the pillows.

Anjou climbs over right behind him and plops into Cécile’s lap, wrapping his arms around her neck and crying her name. His face burns hot against hers, but she says nothing, not wanting to break the spell. He whispers, asking if they’re birds. She tells him yes, they’re good little birds. “No, we’re rabbits,” Bretagne mumbles, face still buried. “We’re underground. Safe in our den.” “Our soft, cozy, fur-lined den,” Cécile adds, and he murmurs his agreement before drifting off, his back rising and falling slowly.

Exhausted by grief, Bretagne is still only a little boy despite his grand title. Cécile wonders, not for the first time, whose job it had been to tell the boys that their mother and father were both gone.

Madame de Ventadour knits nearby as Cécile turns pages of the rhyme book for Anjou. He traces the pictures with his finger. Stabdille stretches, then settles himself between the boys, his front legs against Anjou’s back and his hind legs against Bretagne’s. Time seems to stop, until Bretagne begins mumbling “Maman… Papa…” in his sleep. Then he flops over onto his back, his face suddenly livid with red splotches.

Cécile calls for the governess, who nearly flies from her rocking chair. Cécile points out that Anjou, too, is burning with fever. Madame de Ventadour bends close to examine the rash, murmuring that it’s the same rash. She invokes God in heaven to help them, certain it is the same measles. Though she isn’t sure she wants to, she says she must notify the doctors. Around the room, nursemaids who had drawn closer to listen begin to cry. Philippe stands at the door, worry knotting his brow.