Jeanne took another sip of wine and nodded, bringing her glass even with her face. “I would like nothing better myself.”
Jeanne searched the room for something, anything, to find a way out. As if sent by God, Athénaïs and Louis" youngest daughter, five-year-old Françoise-Marie, ran into the room on her slippered tiptoes.
“Mamselle, mamselle,” she called as she scampered toward Jeanne, her doll outstretched before her, “could you make Denice talk again?”
Jeanne smiled and instinctively reached down to the sweet-faced child.
“I see you have a way with children.” Athénaïs barely spared a glance at the delightful creature that was her offspring. “Very well, be off with you. Please the whelp for a few moments if you can spare them.”
Jeanne"s eyes flashed between mother and daughter, gratef
