Gates of Gold

The Grand Ball

That afternoon, Madame is summoned to a senior officer to answer for Cécile’s misconduct at the sled race. Cécile trails behind her back to Madame’s apartment, head bowed. Because she dashed off after a member of the royal family without permission, she is barred from attending the Grand Ball that night.

Cécile settles onto a cushion and brushes Stabdille, feeling as small and exposed as a snail without its shell. Madame looks up from her game of solitaire and admits that the rules of court aren’t easy to learn, especially for someone who grew up far from Versailles. But Cécile must be more mindful of her actions from now on. She hesitates, as if deciding whether to say more. Then she explains that just after the race, she went to Madame de Maintenon herself to protest how Cécile had been treated. Madame de Maintenon reminded her that on the very day Cécile arrived, she’d ordered guards to watch her closely. It was both for her unknown background and out of suspicion she might be a German spy. Madame huffs and snaps a card down on the table at the memory. She grumbles that so much for their coming Grand Peace with Germany, and calls Madame de Maintenon an old hag.

Cécile promises to try harder and tells Madame she doesn’t want to cause her trouble. Madame tells her not to worry about her, only to do her best and avoid drawing undue attention to herself. Cécile bows her head in agreement. Stabdille licks her hand as if trying to comfort her. She hugs him close and vows once again to learn her place before she dishonors Madame and loses the only home she has left.

Cécile can’t help thinking of the starving woman who begged for bread on the road to Versailles, and of Madame’s letters describing food shortages across Paris. She is an orphan now. If she lost her position, she could easily starve the same way. She glances toward her new powder-blue gown hanging in the closet, delivered that very afternoon while she was being questioned like a criminal. She tells herself she doesn’t care about missing the ball or the dress’s fine stitching. But she does care, and she can’t stop wishing she could wear it and see Philippe.

That evening, a special Christmas Mass drags on longer than usual, the restless congregation waiting for the ball to follow. The priest seems determined to prepare every soul in the chapel before he lets them go. When Mass finally ends, Cécile walks the dogs back through the nearly empty halls to Madame’s apartment. Fireworks burst over the crowd outside the windows, streaming white and gold like a thousand falling stars. She hurries past rather than risk being caught staring. It offers little comfort. That night she lies on her bed in her new gown, the dogs curled around her, listening to music and laughter drift through the closed doors down the hall.

She tells Stabdille that if she could, she would turn him into a prince. Then the two of them could dance together like Cendrillon at the ball. Sitting up, she waves an imaginary wand over him, and he tilts his head back and forth as though following it. She declares her request granted. He is now a handsome prince. She scoops him into her arms and twirls slowly around the candlelit room, his head resting on her shoulder. She compliments him on how divinely he dances.

Then, a scratch comes at the door, one Cécile instantly recognizes as Philippe’s. She opens it, unable to hide her smile, and wishes him a merry Christmas, since it is well past midnight. He bows so low she worries he will topple over. Then he straightens his dark blue velvet vest and declares he has come with a request from Bretagne. The boy refuses to go to sleep until he has danced with Cécile at the ball. She can hardly believe it. Philippe explains that Bretagne went straight to the king himself, and the king overruled her punishment. Even Madame de Maintenon is smiling tonight. Cécile calls it a true Christmas miracle. Philippe agrees that on an evening like this, the king would probably grant a milkmaid’s request.

Cécile refuses to leave the dogs behind, so she leashes all of them and hurries down the hall at Philippe’s side. He tells her, glancing sideways, that her dress is lovely, though not nearly as pretty as she is. Her face warms as she teases him for sounding like a courtier. He allows one exception: he may be the only honest person left at court.

The ballroom sparkles with jewel-studded white wigs and colorful waistcoats, the nobles dressed richly. Even the servants wear new clothes for the occasion, though simpler ones. Philippe leads her toward the king, deep in conversation with Madame de Maintenon. Then he leads her toward Bretagne and little Anjou, who lie belly-down on velvet cushions under their governess’s watch, wide awake despite the late hour. Anjou spots her first, darting between the dogs and nearly toppling her as he wraps his arms around her legs. Cécile curtsies to him anyway. Toddler or not, he is still a member of the royal family. Bretagne rises from his cushion next, his round face beaming, and stretches both hands out to invite her to dance.

Before Cécile can answer, Madame calls her over, insisting Cécile cannot dance with royalty without the proper accessories. She unfastens the pearls from around her own neck, loops two strands around Cécile’s throat, clasps pearl bracelets onto her wrists, and finishes by pressing a white ostrich-feather fan into her hands. Cécile can barely contain her delight. Madame reminds her the jewels are for the dance only. Cécile understands, and she appreciates just how much warmth Madame allows herself to show within the limits of her position.

Watching the other couples turn with practiced precision across the parquet floor, Cécile has no idea how to dance the minuet. She hopes she will not be expected to. Bending down so her hands meet Bretagne’s, she towers over him. She simply follows his wandering, looping steps at the edge of the floor. She smiles each time she catches sight of Philippe, who holds the dogs for her from the sidelines. When Bretagne finally stops and bows, she curtsies in return and thanks him for the dance. He laughs and thanks her back just as warmly, delighted with the nickname he has given her, Cee-cee.

Across the room, Cécile notices Marie-Adélaïde and her husband watching, and the princess waves her closer. Cécile curtsies, hoping she has not done something wrong again. Marie-Adélaïde tells her that her sons adore her. Despite their host of nursemaids and their governess, both boys asked for Cécile by name this evening, quite a compliment. Cécile can hardly believe the evening is really happening to her. But before she can respond, the princess’sface suddenly creases with pain. She grabs her jaw with one hand and covers her eyes with the other. Alarmed, Cécile’s mind races through everything Papa ever taught her about treating poison. She asks whether she should send for a doctor.

Bourgogne steadies his wife’s shoulder and reassures Cécile with calm, steady eyes. He explains that his wife’s teeth have caused her constant pain ever since she arrived at court around Cécile’s own age. Yet she remains endlessly generous to others, having once cooked an entire dinner for the king by herself. Cécile can’t help a private smile at that. She has done the very same for Papa countless times, without a single servant to help. Bourgogne adds that his wife planned this whole celebration to lift everyone’s spirits at court. Then he kisses her cheek and calls her his love and the inspiration of all France.

Cécile tells the princess how sorry she is for her pain and that she hopes to bring her nothing but joy in return. Marie-Adélaïde uncovers her eyes, her jaw slightly swollen, and nods at her with an expression full of both pain and affection.

Reluctant to leave the festivities, Cécile curtsies deeply and returns Madame’s jewels and fan. Then Philippe hands back the dogs’ leashes and walks her home. That night, before she falls asleep, she thinks of Philippe’s friendship and of the Dauphine’s kindness and quiet strength. She wishes she could carry pain the way Marie-Adélaïde does, without losing her joy. Cécile has already learned that life rarely stays easy, not after losing both Maman and Papa. But like the Seine carrying everything steadily forward, she resolves to keep moving ahead with whatever comes. She’s determined to serve the future queen with all the loyalty and devotion she can offer.

In the small hours of Christmas morning, nothing can dim her mood. The war with Germany is finally nearing its end, promising relief for a weary country. Despite every misstep since her arrival, she has won the favor of Madame and Philippe. To her utter amazement, she has won the favor of the future king and queen of France, and their children, too. It feels like drifting to a lovely, unexpected bend in a river, one she wishes could last forever.