“Madame!” “What do you want?” Sylvine knows not to disturb her mistress when she is in such a temper, which everyone in the household can hear even though Madame de Chevreuse keeps the door of her chamber locked. The crashing sounds of glass and porcelain, shattered in fury, leaves little room for doubt. Two days … Continue reading Chapter One hundred two, The Confessor of Saint-Lazare, by Mordaunt
Chapter One Hundred, The Parisian Life, by Mordaunt
I have trod a measure. I have flattereda lady. I have been politic with my friend,smooth with mine enemy…W. Shakespeare, As you like it, Act 5, scene 4, 46-48 (The Folger) Athos enters Alessandra’s salon, carrying a sheaf of papers and drops into a chair, stretching out his legs and letting out a long exhausted … Continue reading Chapter One Hundred, The Parisian Life, by Mordaunt
Chapter Ninety-Four, House of Richelieu, by Mordaunt
Messages and letters have been piling on Raoul’s desk throughout the night and continue as dawn breaks over the Faubourg Saint-Germain. He is used to being thus inundated despite the fact that to sort his office’s regular vast correspondence he employs a few competent and trusted secretaries. But this morning he is neither at his … Continue reading Chapter Ninety-Four, House of Richelieu, by Mordaunt
Chapter Ninety, Calculating Strategy, by Corso
Dawn on day one… The sun’s advance is heralded by a brilliant band of yellow, pink and gold hovering at the edge of the earth. In the dark crowded yard, under flickering lamplight and pending dawn, the dust is rising. Carriages and wagons are lined up, the horses moving restively in the traces, bobbing their … Continue reading Chapter Ninety, Calculating Strategy, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Nine, Family Near and Far, by Corso
…Glenay… Lucien throws down the quill and rubs his eyes, flexing his neck side to side. There is a knot between his shoulders. He blows out his breath and looks toward the sputtering fireplace, standing to put fresh logs on it. “Which one of us is in charge of this fire?” Lucien inquires gruffly, positions … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Nine, Family Near and Far, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Eight, What we leave behind, by Mordaunt
Bianca has shifted from sitting, to kneeling, to standing on the kitchen bench so that she can reach easily over the great table where her shells are spread, separated according to shape, size, and color. She is engrossed in her work, stringing them into bracelets and necklaces with colorful glass and silver beads, using the … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Eight, What we leave behind, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Six, First Light, by Mordaunt
“I meant to wait for Alexandre in the carriage,” Constance says. “Madame Charbonneau tells me Athos is not here. She insisted I come inside.” Perhaps it is Constance’s apologetic tone or perhaps it was something in the air at Glénay, in the sidelong glances and the measured confidences, that Alessandra perceived even though she was … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Six, First Light, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Four, Glow of Midday, by Mordaunt
Even though she has seen nothing of the house, she recognizes it. From the time they arrived, early in the evening, she remembers only the torchlight and the commotion at the gate, and being carried inside but little else. Yet, everything about the bedchamber where she finds herself is familiar: how the daylight pours in, … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Four, Glow of Midday, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Two, Lingering Shadows, by Mordaunt
The bedchamber is imbued with hazy light from a handful of flickering candles and the glow from the fireplace. There are others here. Shuffling sounds, and distant hushed voices that she recognizes: the physicians, the nurse, and the midwife. She cannot understand their words. Only Sophia’s whisper reaches her. “I will return in the morning,” … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Two, Lingering Shadows, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
In the heat of midday the stonewall feels pleasantly cool against Athos’ back. He exhales loudly as he sits at the bench, reaching for his flask of water. “Was that too much for you, Old Man?” Seated next to Athos, Lucien sounds equally out of breath. Just like Athos, he is covered in mud and … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
Twelve Years After 