Emilie's Voice by Susanne Dunlap Read Free Book Online

protective, concerned manner. Sophie would be able to regale the servants with a very juicy bit of gossip.
    Émilie and Charpentier left the shop, somehow managing to find a carriage to take them back to the Hôtel de Guise. The crowds had thinned a little, the winter sun had dried the cobbles so that the horses did not slip so much, and the trip was faster: it took only about ten minutes. Although Émilie would forever remember the magic of the journey to the dressmaker’s that day, she could not have told anyone a single thing about the trip back.
     
    Charpentier stole a glance at Émilie when she was turned away from him. He noticed the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Émilie had changed. How did it happen? Charpentier had some idea of his own role in the process, but he had not expected that in some critical way the tables would be turned. He was a little afraid of his own creation.
    Perhaps it’s for the best, he thought. He knew that Émilie would soon spread her wings and leave his protection; he only hoped that she would carry him with her at least part of the way to artistic success. What a rare treat for the guests of Mademoiselle de Guise, he thought, a little sadly. The scene was set, indeed, for the most brilliant of débuts.

Six
    The glory of men must always be measured by the means they have used to acquire it.
    Maxim 157
    Émilie could hardly believe her eyes. The image in the mirror looked back at her strangely, so familiar and yet completely different. Who was that elegant young lady in the blue silk gown, with her hair draped over her ears in cascades of curls? Surely more had changed than simply her outward appearance. It just wasn’t possible that this creature she could not take her eyes off was the same one who used to sing to her father as he built violins in his workshop. It seemed that more than a number of months had passed, and that she was much farther than a mile from her home. The weeks of hard work were like a dream. She was almost dizzy with excitement. All her efforts—to polish her voice, to learn to read music, and yes, to learn to read words on a page—were about to pay off.
    That is, if she could get over this one small problem.
    “You cannot wear these shoes with this dress!” Sophie, who had developed a soft spot for the young singer and had volunteered to help Émilie get ready for her big début, stood back with her hands on her hips and a frown on her forehead and scolded her. She had already spent hours doing Émilie’s hair, threading the lovely, velvet ribbon—the one Émilie had chosen at the dressmaker’s the other day—through the poufs and curls she had stuck in place with sugar syrup. Now she discovered that the only shoes Émilie owned were rough leather boots.
    “Perhaps I don’t need to wear shoes,” Émilie said.
    Sophie looked at her as if to say, “How can you be so naïve?” and then whirled around and left her alone in the room.
    Émilie shivered. While Sophie was there helping her dress and gossiping about the guests, it was possible to think only of how she looked. She could focus on the way the silk caught the light of the candles when she turned, and how the blue velvet ribbon set off her pale hair so becomingly. But once she was on her own, the reality of what was ahead began to dawn, and Émilie started to think about her coming performance. She so wanted to do well, for Monsieur Charpentier’s sake. The thought of her tutor reminded her that she should warm up her voice, and so she began, slowly and quietly at first, moving from note to note, up and down the scales and arpeggios, gradually pushing higher and higher and lower and lower. She tried to remember everything he had taught her, about how to breathe, how to make the music live. Émilie paused to clear her throat. That was when the young gentleman, who appeared out of nowhere and now stood in the doorway, started clapping.
    She jumped.
    “Charming,” said the