Free The Queen's Dollmaker by Christine Trent Page A

believe that than if you said she had sprouted wings and was now flying about Paris and landing on trees. I think your employer is toying with you.”
    “Monsieur Gamain says the queen has over five hundred servants, and that she even has someone whose special job it is to hand her a glass of water whenever she is thirsty. It’s a crushing burden to those of us in the bourgeoisie—and the peasants—to pay for them. Why do we need to bear the burden for it, Claudette?”
    But Jean-Philippe forgot about the people’s burden whenever he held Claudette, and she forgot about the ubiquitous Monsieur Gamain during those moments of tender embraces and soft whisperings of affection.
    On a cloudless day in June, the two were on their usual walk and had wandered into the Jardin des Plantes, spending time in its intricate maze. Afterward, instead of seeking a bench ideally positioned to observe the populace, as they typically enjoyed doing, Jean-Philippe guided Claudette farther into the center of the park and spread a blanket under a centuries-old oak tree with a canopy nearly thirty feet across. Once seated, Jean-Philippe awkwardly rambled about his feelings for Claudette. When he became nearly incoherent, she interrupted him. “I know that you love me, and that when we are of age we will be married. Are you trying to tell me something else?”
    He paused to gather his thoughts again. “Claudette, I have been saving what little I earn, and I have something for you. It is a poor gift for you, but I hope you will accept it until I can afford one that is more worthy of you.” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a tiny package wrapped in string.
    Claudette opened it. Inside was a small pewter ring. The band was simple, topped with an intricately formed knot. She stared at it for several moments, not quite understanding. Jean-Philippe lifted the ring from her palm and turned her hand over to put it on her third finger.
    “Little dove, this ring is my promise of marriage when we are eighteen and I can leave the yoke of my apprenticeship. Will you marry me in two years?”
    She stared down at the ring in disbelief that this was happening. She managed to whisper, “Of course.” She reached up and removed her locket—the only piece of jewelry she had owned until now—from her neck, and gave it to Jean-Philippe as a symbol of her return promise. They sealed the betrothal with a kiss and a pledge to keep the engagement a secret until his apprenticeship was finished.
    They rose together from the ground, ignoring the blanket. Jean-Philippe took Claudette’s arm in his, patting her hand with his opposite hand as they walked. He whistled happily as they strolled through the park as though it were any other day together, and she blushed furiously, sure that this was what it felt like to be a grown woman out with her devoted husband.
    Claudette kept her betrothal secret from her parents, and Jean-Philippe did likewise, knowing that his parents would be furious to know that he was jeopardizing his apprenticeship. Both sets of parents assumed the two were still just childhood playmates, and allowed them to see each other as frequently as ever.
    Because Jean-Philippe had a small income now from Monsieur Gamain, their times together consisted of more than just walks and stolen kisses. In addition to picnics in parks, they attended plays and sat in coffee houses. Claudette felt very grown-up to have her first cup of coffee, a bitter brew that she downed anyway because it made her feel sophisticated. Jean-Philippe laughed and praised her brave attempt at liking the popular beverage. Often, though, he remained serious.
    “Gamain tells me that the middle class—that’s us, Claudette—is completely shut out of politics. The aristocracy and the priests have all the say in the running of France. We make up most of the population, yet we have no influence. The American colonists are fighting to get control of the government. We should do the