“Better. Now say ‘I was so wicked to put you in the wood box with all those nasty creatures.’”
“I was so wicked to put you in the wood box with all those nasty creatures.”
He bent forward, his breath coming in short, hard gasps. “I beg you to forgive me.”
“I beg you to forgive me.” Nana looked up to see his face convulsed with pleasure.
“Say it again.”
“I beg you to forgive me.” Nana was silent for a moment. “Is that all?”
“Oh, no.” Dupree smiled, his eyes glazed with pleasure. “There’s much more. You may kiss my hand.”
The next evening Catherine carefully avoided speaking directly to Louis Charles during supper, concentrating instead on making herself agreeable to the Simons.She found to her surprise that it wasn’t such a difficult task. As François had said, they were rough, obscene, and not overly intelligent, but they appeared good-natured. Of the two, she preferred the woman to her husband. Madame Simon was a squat, tubby little woman with heavy masculine features and a pimpled face, but she had a warm smile and appeared genuinely fond of the child.
It wasn’t until the men had settled down to their card game and Madame Simon to her knitting by the stove that Catherine dared wander casually over to where Louis Charles was reading by the window.
“It’s overwarm by the stove,” she said. “May I sit here beside you?”
“As you like, Citizeness.” His gaze was wary and returned at once to his book.
A wave of pity swept through Catherine. François had said that Louis Charles was too old for his years and now she saw what he meant. His air of grave maturity was not so much quaint as saddening. She sat down in the chair across from him and studied the little boy from beneath her lashes. He was truly a beautiful child, though he bore only a faint resemblance to Marie Antoinette. He possessed the same fair hair and wide-set blue eyes, but his features were far handsomer than his mother’s.
“I don’t like people to stare at me,” he said without lifting his gaze from the book. “I wish you would not do it.”
“I was thinking you look a little like your mother.”
He looked up quickly. “You’ve seen my mother?”
“A long time ago when you were a baby. She was very kind to me.”
He nodded eagerly. “She’s always kind.” He lowered his voice. “But we must not talk of her here. They don’t like it.”
“Very wise. What are you reading?”
“A book by Rousseau. Citizen Robespierre thinks he’s a fine man. They took away all the books Papa gave me but they let me have these.” He nodded to the four books stacked on the table beside him.
She reached for a volume bound in dark blue leather.
Louis Charles swiftly put his hand on the book to keep her from taking it. “No.”
She looked at him in surprise.
His gaze met her own. “It’s not a book you should look at, Citizeness.”
“Why not?”
“There are pictures of unclothed men and women doing…” He stopped and shrugged. “It’s not a proper book for a lady who knows mymaman.”
“But it’s proper for you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He nodded across the room at Simon. “He says it’s the only kind of book a man should read.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know,” he repeated. “How can I know what’s true and what’s false if everyone tells me something different?”
“Do you like Citizen Simon and his wife?”
