Free Bride of New France by Suzanne Desrochers Page B

mouth.
    Brissault smiles. “You know that even the King asks the police for detailed descriptions of the city’s prostitutes when they are arrested. He then pores over these reports in between his official duties. If the King himself seeks this sort of entertainment”—Brissault laughs—“then my shop is guaranteed a good and prosperous business, built on the simplest of precepts. No need for fancy cuts.”
    The Duke clears his throat. “A letter for the King, you say? From this lovely young lady?”
    Laure looks away as his eyes meet hers.
    “I suppose only the King himself is good enough for her. But you do know, Mademoiselle, that His Majesty has many important affairs to tend to.”
    Brissault chuckles. “And quite a few young ladies to look after as well.”
    The Duke gives the tailor an irritated look. “I am on my way to the court tonight, Madame. Maybe I can be your messenger.”
    “It is a letter of flattery. It is sure to put His Majesty ina good mood.” Madame du Clos holds out the letter. Laure doesn’t like the way the Duke’s eyes have remained on her even while he speaks to Madame du Clos. She wishes she wasn’t wearing this dress, that they hadn’t lowered the neckline. She wants to protest that it isn’t that kind of letter. It is about something important. She wants to tell these men that not all poor girls are prostitutes. She wishes Madeleine were here.
    “I suppose it can’t hurt to pass it on. As long as I have your assurance that its contents will please His Majesty.”
    “Oh, yes, in a trifling way, of course. The girl is barely seventeen and has her head in the royal clouds. She can do nothing but speak of the powerful spell she swoons under each time she imagines her letter being read by the King.”
    “I—” Laure feels betrayed. She wants Madame du Clos to stop telling these lies about her letter.
    “But His Majesty has been known to abhor flattery by his … inferiors.” The Duke raises his eyebrow and smiles at Laure. He extends his hand for the letter.
    “I am certain that even the King can tolerate a few innocent pleasantries from a sweet young girl,” Madame du Clos says as she relinquishes it to him.
    “As long as she isn’t too innocent.” The Duke smiles, tucking the letter into his velvet pocket.
    Madame du Clos bows and puts her hand on Laure’s back, steering her out of the shop with hurried feet.

    Laure is shaking. She wants to tear the restrictive dress off her body and replace it with the coarse fabric of the hospital dress. It is this gown that is slowing her down, keeping herfrom getting away from Brissault and the Duke and their filthy eyes.
    Madame du Clos takes her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, Laure, you poor soul.”
    “Why did you let them think I had written that kind of letter to the King?”
    “If I had told them what the contents really were, they would have thrown it out just as quickly as we gave it to them. Now it might stand some chance of getting where you want it to go. Besides, don’t worry too much about what men like Brissault and that Duke think of you. They have only one way of looking at women.”

    When Laure returns to the Salpêtrière, she changes into her grey dress. Some of the girls have heard about her letter and want to know if she succeeded. If there will be something more for them to eat for dinner. Laure tells them she is tired and doesn’t want to discuss her trip. Now that she is out of the dress, at least she can breathe again. But she still feels constricted remembering the eyes of the Duke and the fat tailor on her body. Her thoughts return to the prostitutes she saw in the courtyard last month. All the girls in their shabby dresses crammed together like squealing pigs and the madams following behind in their covered carriages. Laure wonders if that Duke, or some of the other men at court, went to see these women before they were brought in to the Salpêtrière.

    Laure is called up to the office of the