Free The Sisters of Versailles by Sally Christie

around. One time I let her go and she crashed into a chair, which then crashed into a table and the globe fell off and there was the most frightful ruckus. Ruckus —I like that word.
    I miss our house. And I miss my sisters. I think I even miss my father. And of course our dear dead Mama.
    I often wonder what my sister Louise is doing at Versailles. I know she is a lady-in-waiting to the queen, so must attend Her Majesty, but sometimes I find myself wondering, usually during chapel or lessons, what she is doing at that exact moment.
    If it’s morning, perhaps she is praying in the same chapel as the king and queen? They say our queen is very pious. I am of course very pious too, though perhaps not as much as before. I hope God is not angry with me for no longer wanting to become a nun, but I think He has enough nuns already—there are thirty-eight just in this convent alone! I am sure the chapel at Versailles is very grand. If there are candles and mirrors everywhere at the palace, does that mean there are mirrors in the chapel as well? And then here I am, praying in the chapel at Port-Royal with only whitewashed walls and dreary religious paintings, so dark and old they look like pieces of weathered leather.
    In the afternoon, perhaps Louise is eating at a grand dinner or having a picnic outside. They say the gardens of Versailles are the most magnificent in the world. And I’m sure the food at Versailles is splendid. I wonder if she can choose what she wants to eat? The food at the convent isn’t very good and the refectory here is so cold we shiver even in summer. The best days are Sundays, when we are served roast chicken, and the worst are Fridays because I don’t likefish or eels very much. Unless they are baked in a pie.
    In the afternoon, when we are supposed to be reading our catechism, perhaps Louise is chatting with the queen or helping her dress for an important occasion. The queen’s gowns must be magnificent! Much finer than my brown dress, even with Louise’s lace sewn on. Though I have heard the queen does not overly care for fashion. But still, she is the queen, so I am sure she dresses very well.
    And in the evenings, when we are playing cards with the women boarders or preparing for bed, I imagine Louise dancing away at a grand ball in the grandest room imaginable, far, far larger than any room at the convent, larger even than the refectory.
    How different our lives are.

Louise
    VERSAILLES
    1733
    A fter morethan three years at Versailles I no longer think twice before I sink in respect before Cardinal Fleury. For many months after I first arrived, I worried: Would I fall over? Would my leg collapse over my heel, for the shoes are always too small and tight fitting and the dresses so heavy? But these days I sink as gracefully as Mademoiselle de Charolais, whom everyone considers the most elegant woman at Court.
    Cardinal Fleury looks surprisingly healthy for such an old man. He still makes me nervous, with his darting eyes and slippery smile. I trust him even less than I trust most courtiers, though he holds the king’s confidence tight and dear.
    “Madame, you are looking lovely as usual,” he replies to my greeting. Fleury is seated, and Mademoiselle de Charolais is beside him. I wonder why they have asked me here to her apartments. I assume they wish me to spy on the queen, as they have requested before.
    “You will be wondering why we have asked you here.”
    I nod. I do not sit, for I am only a countess and Mademoiselle de Charolais is a princess of the blood and one cannot sit before one’s betters unless invited. But graciously Charolais motions me down and I curtsy again to show my thanks, then settle onto a green velvet sofa with shells scalloping the gilt edges. The color of apples, I think, distracted. Rather perfect. I have never been in Charolais’s private apartments before and it is opulence in seven shades of green. I’m surprisedthe furniture is not lavender; she adores that