Jeanne found herself in the empty suite, forgoing attendance at the King's Coucher, for she refused to wear the mask of congeniality any longer. Strangely, she hoped to find her father at home, to glean from his comportment what had transpired that day, but even in this, she was denied.
Disheartened, she threw herself down in one of the sitting room's cushioned chairs, dropping her arms dejectedly in her lap, flopping them upon her air-filled skirts, and looked around. In the grate a small fire burned merrily, the first of the season, she believed; it was the first night when the cool, crisp air of an autumn evening chilled the vast chateau. Otherwise, the room appeared as always, the two chairs and the small dark wood table between them. An open parchment lay on its shiny surface; paper
