“He didn’t say, and I couldn’t ask without appearing too interested.” Lili thought for a moment. “And you mustn’t either, for the same reason.”
Delphine looked out the carriage window as they crossed the Pont de la Tourenne. “No,” she said, mulling it over. “No, I suppose I can’t. But we can listen and see what we might be able to find out.”
“We? Does that mean you want to come back to the Jardin de Roi?” Lili’s grim mood brightened. “I know you told the count you did, but I thought maybe you were just being polite.”
Delphine reached over and took Lili’s hand. “I loved today. And Maman is right. It’s much better than a new pair of gloves.”
“Two pairs.”
Delphine laughed. “From Lacroix et Fils. In any colors I want.”
LILI’S EYES STUNG
in the bright sunlight as she and Delphine came out of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame after making special devotions on the feast day of Saint Anne, Delphine’s patron saint. This
ritual, performed twice a year—for Lili in December on Saint Adé-laïde’s feast day, and for Delphine-Anne in June on Saint Anne’s—usually involved a dinner with Maman in one of the best restaurants in Paris, but Maman was expecting an important guest during her visiting hours, and the restaurant would have to wait. Instead, Lili and Delphine were making a quick visit to the Comte de Buffon to see the progress on the labyrinth he was constructing behind the greenhouse.
Lili looked back toward the towers of Notre-Dame as their carriage crossed the Seine at the Petit Pont. “All right,” she said. “Time to start.” She pulled out a notebook with Delphine’s name on the front and turned to the first blank page. “I brought a pencil, and we’ll finish in ink later, when we’re not being bounced in the coach.” She looked at Delphine, poised to write. “What’s happened since the last Saint Anne’s Day?”
Delphine groaned. “Do we have to do this every year? Can’t we just do it for the good ones—the ones where I don’t nearly get raped in the summer and then have my heart broken by Christmas?”
“Someday when you’re so old you can’t remember where you put your false teeth, you’ll still know what happened every year. You can leave out the awful stuff if you want, but I remember a spectacular presentation to the queen, and a very nice opportunity to sketch for one of the great men of France.”
Delphine sighed. “I’d rather talk about next year. I’m glad this one is over.” Lili’s face grew serious as she looked at Delphine. “This year will be the best of your life, starting today.” Delphine gave her a playful slap on the hand. “That’s what you always say on Saint Anne’s Day!”
“That’s what I always want for you,” Lili said.
“You are so good to me,” Delphine replied, her voice rough with emotion. “Perhaps Saint Anne will take pity on me, and bring me a proposal of marriage this year, though she hasn’t shown me much pity yet.”
They had reached Place Maubert and Lili watched absentmindedly as vendors hawked their wares from wooden stalls. I don’t think
I’d count on Saint Anne to do much of anything, she thought, wondering whether saints were now simply dry bones scattered in bits and pieces inside reliquary boxes all over Christendom, or really were off in a special part of heaven reserved for the most noble soldiers of Christ. And if they were, wouldn’t they be enjoying their reward, rather than sitting on a cloud with halos and opera glasses, watching all the Delphines of the world and deciding how to help?
“Perhaps I should go to mass more often, or do something noble,” Delphine mused. “Perhaps I’m not deserving enough yet—Lili, what kind of charity do you think Saint Anne might appreciate the most? Maybe the wounded soldiers at Les Invalides, or perhaps those poor souls at the Saltpetrière …”
Lili laughed. “How about the Society for the Liberation of Ambroise from the Clutches of Anne-Mathilde?”
“That’s not funny, but I’m going to laugh anyway,” Delphine said, thinking for a minute. “And for you, we need the Order for the Blessed Revelation of Jean-Étienne’s Love for Lili.”
“I wonder how that would sound in Latin,” Lili said, trying to smile. “Have you noticed that in the last few weeks he’s hardly spoken to me?”
“Or me either,” Delphine said with a rueful shrug. “He finds all sorts of excuses not to work near us, and he’s so grim most of the time. I asked him how medical school was going, and he said he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to talk about it? He could hardly stop a month ago.”
The coach made a turn into the driveway of the Jardin de Roi. “We’re here,” Lili said, surprised by the leaden tone of her voice. The greenhouses loomed on the left side of the walkway, and for the first time, Lili wanted to tell the driver to take her home, so strong and inexplicable was the gloom that overcame her. Jean-Étienne’s heart was burdened, and it was frightening not to know why.
They found the count alone at his microscope in his greenhouse laboratory. “We thought we’d come take a look at the labyrinth,” Lili said, glancing around for Jean-Étienne and not seeing him. “We
just came to say hello. We can look for ourselves because we know you’re busy.”
The count’s eyes looked inflamed and he seemed uncomfortable having company, but he often acted that way when he was immersed in his work. “Please stay for a minute, if you would,” he said, looking away. “My nephew told me about this new substance they use at the hospital to prevent infection, and he brought me some to experiment with. It’s called ethanol, and I’ve just had the most interesting result.” He gestured to Lili. “Sit down and I’ll show you.”
He took a clean slide and dropped a bead of water onto it. That’s odd, Lili thought. I’ve never noticed his hand tremble before. Looking through the microscope, Lili saw a dozen or more familiar creatures darting and spinning. “Now watch,” the count said. He touched the slide with another dropper and within seconds all the motion had stopped.
“What did you do?” Lili asked.
“It’s quite perplexing,” the count said. “Even in the most dilute concentration, the same substance that helps strengthen our ability to heal when we put it on our skin appears to kill organisms like these with just a touch. Ethanol is the alcohol produced by distilling, and a bit of brandy is the best medicine for most things that ail us, so why is it deadly to them?”
“I don’t know,” Lili said, brushing aside for a moment how flat his voice was and how agitated he seemed. “Perhaps it could be the nature of their outer surface? Alcohol is rather harsh. Perhaps it burns them, or dissolves something essential?”
“I was thinking of the odor rather than the taste,” he said. “Since they lack lungs, perhaps they respire through their outer surface, and this is the equivalent of those poor souls we hear about who drink themselves to death.”
Delphine gave the count a light touch on his shoulder to get his attention. “While you’re working, I think I’ll go look for Jean-Étienne. Is he in the gardens?”
“No,” Buffon said, standing up so suddenly that his chair caught
on the stone floor and nearly fell over. “He’s gone to collect specimens. There’s an odd spotting on the wheat in the Loire Valley.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry. I seem to be losing my voice. He’s bringing back samples for us to analyze.”
“Monsieur de Buffon?” Lili asked, alarmed by the nervous, rushed staccato of his speech. “Are you all right?”
He took in a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. “No, I can’t say I am. While I’ve been showing you my experiments, I’ve been trying to think of how to tell you some news I’ve had, but there isn’t any good way.”
“Tell me what?” Is he dying? Is Jean-Etienne …
He went to his desk and picked up a letter. “Jean-Étienne has also gone to announce his betrothal. He asked me to give this to you. I planned to give it to you when you came on Wednesday, but since you’re here now …”
“Betrothal?” Lili’s heart exploded in her chest. She took the letter from his extended hand, but her fingers were so numb it fell to the floor. No one moved to retrieve it.
“Francine, I think he said her name was,” the count said. “Francine Thibaudet. The daughter of the man with the spotted wheat. I can’t say I recall ever seeing anyone quite so unenthusiastic about what is supposed to be a happy event. And I’d always thought you were so naturally suited to each other that I had hoped—” Buffon stopped to dab his eyes. “Forgive me, but I’ve been quite overcome since I heard.”
Lili put her head against Delphine’s chest. Her body shook with tears she could not hold back.
“Jean-Étienne is from a rather impoverished branch of my family,” the count was saying, “and the Thibaudets have made a great fortune in speculation on imported wheat in bad harvest years. They bought themselves a title, so Thibaudet’s the marquis of something—I can’t recall what. Now he wants to marry his daughter into the noblesse d’épée, and Jean-Étienne can most certainly use the dowry.”
“How practical,” Delphine said in a tone as harsh as breaking
glass. She picked up the letter and put her arm back around Lili.
“Precisely,” Buffon said, “and how miserable, at least as far as my nephew is concerned. The Thibaudet family is quite adamant that he give up his medical studies. They don’t want him jeopardizing his social status over something as unbecoming as a career.”
“But Jean-Étienne studies for the love of it!” Lili pulled herself away and stared at the count. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It makes her family nervous. His as well. He’s far too suited to medicine for anyone to think he would easily give it up—wouldn’t you agree? He told me the Thibaudet family is demanding that he sign an oath that he will not pursue his schooling beyond the end of this year, and they’re putting off the wedding just to be sure he doesn’t go back on his word.”
“Poor Jean-Étienne,” Delphine murmured.
It must feel worse than death, Lili thought, knowing you’re meant to do something forbidden to you. Walking off a cliff seemed more merciful. “It’s such a loss,” Lili whispered.
The count heard her. “For him most of all, of course, but also for me, since I imagine he ‘ll be pressured to cut back his time here as well.” He gestured toward the greenhouse door to usher them out for their walk. “And a loss for you, my dear, now that it’s clear I was right that you cared for him.”
He gave Lili a long, tender look. “I’m an old man. I’ve seen a great deal in my life, but I can’t say I’ve often seen a day when so much brightness appears to have been extinguished.” He touched the corner of one eye to capture a tear before it fell. “I am so sorry.” His voice choked again. “For all of us.”
The sun had made the damp air cloying and sultry as Lili and Delphine left the greenhouse. Cicadas screamed and the low roar of hundreds of bees added to the swirling tumult of sounds, smells, and colors of a world come back to life after a long winter. Lili saw and heard none of it. Is anyone happy in all of France? she wondered. Are there people who get what they want? Not Delphine, not Ambroise, not Jean-Étienne, not Buffon. And certainly not she.
* * *
Esteemed and Dearest Mademoiselle du Châtelet,
I believe my uncle will by now have spoken to you of my engagement. Not raising this matter the last time I saw you was in part a dreadful failure of courage, but I ask you to believe that I also desired to avoid what might have been the lasting consequences of an ungraceful parting.
My marriage to Mademoiselle Thibaudet has been discussed in both families for some time. Although I had not given my consent, I had become increasingly aware that it might not be possible for me to avoid it. Mademoiselle Thibaudet is an excellent person in many regards, but I have been unable to convince myself that we would find the contentment that comes from natural compatibility. I had set such concerns aside, believing it likely that I hoped in vain of finding a wife who shared my interests and outlook. Observing you over these months showed me otherwise and strengthened my resolve to put off my engagement. I am now forced to conclude, however, that I must choose family obligations over aspirations that might have led to a greater degree of happiness for me as an individual.
I allowed myself the vanity of thinking that expressing my true feelings about you might have kindled affection on your part toward me. It would have been most callous to have allowed that when, however much I wished to be free, I knew I was not. For that reason, I kept my feelings to myself, and now, of course, they can never be expressed, even in this letter. I take some solace in knowing that you have the peace of mind that comes from not having compromised yourself by anything you might have said or done if I had been so ungentlemanly as to have allowed or encouraged you to care for me.
Out of respect for Mademoiselle Thibaudet, I will not write to you again. I will be leaving shortly to go with the
Comte de Bougainville on the first part of his voyage around the world. I will go as far as his settlement in the Falklands and then return to be married sometime later this year.
With the utmost respect and most sincere regards,
I remain your true friend,
Jean-Étienne Leclerc
As their carriage crossed the Seine and continued toward the Place Royale, Lili handed the letter back to Delphine. “I’ve read it three times now,” Lili said. “And I still don’t know what to think.”
Delphine sniffed and dabbed her eyes as she read it again. “He loves you. That’s what you should think. For months I’ve sat around moping over Ambroise and I don’t know if he even cares about me!” She thought for a moment. “Now if he’d written me a letter like that …”
“If he had written you a letter like that he’d be telling you he’d decided to marry Anne-Mathilde,” Lili snapped. “I’m sure that would make everything better!”
“You’re right, I suppose. And I don’t like that Francine, even if I haven’t met her.”
Lili smiled wistfully. “I couldn’t ask for a more loyal sister than you are to me,” she said. “But if you ever meet Francine, try to like her. It isn’t her fault. And maybe she’s as unhappy about it as he is.”
“Well if you ask my opinion, the reason Jean-Étienne is going off to South America is that he wants to put off marrying her as long as possible.”