Gates of Gold

Doctor Fagon

Cécile plunges into the fountain to fetch Stabdille. The governess, old enough to be Cécile’s grandmother, wades in right behind her for the boy. Dripping, Cécile hoists the wriggling dog under one arm. Nearby, the governess gathers the child against her chest and settles him on the stone ledge. There, he coughs up a mouthful of water and looks, drenched, like nothing so much as a rat pulled from a gutter. A scrape blooms red across his forehead.

Cécile begins to apologize, but Marie-Adélaïde, the boy’s mother, waves it off. She calls it just a cool swim on a hot afternoon. She settles beside her son to dab the water from his eyes. His lip trembles as he asks where the puppy went.

She kisses him again and smooths his wet hair. She reminds him he is the king’s great-grandson and will be fine. She explains that the puppy is really a full-grown dog, Madame’s own. She adds that he must have met him before, since the dog so clearly wanted to be his friend.

Madame de Maintenon says nothing at all, only glares at Cécile. At a tilt of her head, two soldiers cross the courtyard toward them. Cécile can neither breathe nor move. Would she be sent home that very day, a dishonor to Papa? His greatest wish in the world had been to see her serve at Versailles. He could never have guessed how difficult that would prove. Cécile bows low. “At your service, Madame de Maintenon.”

But the soldiers haven’t come for her. Madame de Maintenon orders them to send a page for Dr. Fagon to examine Bretagne. The soldiers hurry off to the nearest building and return with a page about Cécile’s age. The page dashes away at once to fetch the doctor. Relief floods Cécile’s shoulders. Bretagne leans against his mother while she strokes his sandy curls. He seems hurt no worse than Cécile has been herself, after tromping through the forest and stumbling over roots. She thinks it’s nothing that a little rest won’t heal.

Madame de Maintenon turns to her all the same, her voice deep and stern. Cécile is Madame’s new charge now, Madame de Maintenon declares. If Bretagne comes to any real harm, she will hold Madame personally accountable.

Cécile finally manages her apology, explaining she only meant to catch Stabdille, who had darted off on his own. Bretagne, watching the dog squirm under her arm, begs to hold him. Madame de Maintenon sweeps a hand toward the Ménagerie across the Grand Canal. She tells him he already has plenty of friends there for his enjoyment. But Bretagne insists, and Marie-Adélaïde smiles her permission. Cécile sets Stabdille at his feet. The dog wags so hard it seems his tail might fly off. Bretagne scratches him between the ears, whispering to ask if he liked the water. “I did,” he answers himself.

When he learns the dog’s name, Bretagne declares grandly that he’ll be king someday. He adds that Stabdille must be brought to him whenever he wishes it. Cécile agrees with a bow, then can’t help a laugh. King Louis shows no sign of ever growing old. Bretagne’s own turn on the throne is likely decades off. Would he really have her dig up “this poor dog” by then? Bretagne only narrows his eyes. He answers slyly that as king, he’d simply command her to bring the dog back to life. Marie-Adélaïde laughs that she wishes life were that simple.

Bretagne asks her name. “Cécile Revel,” she answers, and a deep voice repeats the surname behind her. She turns to find a wigged, whiskered man, thin as a rake, with eyes like olives.

Dr. Fagon mentions offhandedly that a doctor with that same name once served at court years ago. He was later shipped off to the Bastille. Cécile freezes. The Bastille holds the king’s criminals and enemies. Some say they’re kept in comfort, others say tortured, but all are locked away and rarely heard from again. Surely Papa couldn’t be that man, sent away, impossible. Still, a chill darts through her like a minnow. Dr. Fagon waves her off to examine the boy.

Bretagne begs him not to bleed him. Cécile thinks of Papa, who calls bloodletting complete lunacy. He insists a scalpel should only ever lance a boil or take a badly infected limb, never something the body needs like blood. Dr. Fagon assures him this isn’t a bleeding, since his regular bleedings already keep him fit enough. Cécile, hearing how often royalty is bled, is grateful for once for her humble birth.

He withdraws an ivory-handled magnifying glass to examine the wound, explaining to the curious boy that it makes things look larger. He pronounces the injury slight but worth treating before the heat makes it fester. Then he smooths on gray ointment before wiping his hands and clapping them together. “Done.”

Marie-Adélaïde thanks him, helps Bretagne up, and nods to Madame de Maintenon that it’s time to visit Grandpapa. They set off, the governess trailing water as she pushes the still-sleeping toddler’s carriage. Before Stabdille can bolt again, Cécile scoops him up. Dr. Fagon studies her, remarking that she has a doctor’s eyes, rather serious and a bit close together. Then he asks her name once more. Pretending not to hear, Cécile curtsies and hurries back to Françoise’s side.