Emilie's Voice by Susanne Dunlap Read Free Book Online Page A

stranger, who was elegantly turned out in a yellow velvet coat with gray petticoat breeches. His light brown hair fell in curls around his shoulders, and he would have been handsome, if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes were of so pale a gray that they looked almost unearthly. He did not introduce himself, and Émilie wondered how a guest had found his way to this private part of the building. As he turned to leave, the gentleman almost bumped into Sophie.
    “Well, well! Mademoiselle Sophie, if I am not mistaken?” the stranger said, inclining his head just slightly.
    Sophie glared at him, not bothering to curtsey. The gentleman patted her on the cheek and then left.
    “Who was that?” asked Émilie.
    “Only Monsieur de St. Paul. He’s Mademoiselle’s godson. He comes here when he wants something from her. He’s always turning up in the oddest places. But never mind that, I’ve found you some shoes.” She smiled triumphantly as she removed from beneath her manteau a pair of the most beautiful satin slippers Émilie had ever seen, pale blue with a delicate flower pattern embroidered with little jewels and seed pearls on the toes. She tried them on. They fit her perfectly.
    “Where did you get them?”
    “It would be better if you didn’t know. Just remember to bring them back before you leave. I could get into trouble if you don’t!”
    Émilie was about to protest that she didn’t want to be the cause of any difficulties, and that she’d rather go barefoot than get Sophie in trouble, but at that moment there was a polite tap on the door. It was Charpentier. When he saw Émilie, the words of greeting that were on their way out of his mouth stumbled over themselves and came out as nonsense.
    “What he means to say is, you look absolutely lovely,” said Sophie, laughing.
    Émilie curtseyed to her teacher and smiled. He held out his arm, pausing for breath before arranging his thoughts in an orderly line again.
    “Will you do me the honor, Mademoiselle Émilie, of accompanying me to the salon of the Duchesse de Guise?”
     
    Whatever idea Émilie had of the luxury that surrounded Charpentier at the Hôtel de Guise was completely transformed the moment the composer led her into the grand salon all decorated for a party. Although the sun had set two hours before, the great hall with the staircase was ablaze with light, the effect of thousands of candles, in sconces and chandeliers, and torches held aloft by liveried servants. About two hundred guests already milled around, and there was a sea of vibrantly colored silks, miles of lace, and jewels that caught the light and refracted it into showers of brilliant, multicolored points. Although it was December, there were fresh flowers everywhere, from Mademoiselle’s hothouses in the country, and their scent made Émilie almost dizzy with its richness. Servants passed around trays of glasses filled with wine, and in one room there was a long table that overflowed with fruits and dainties. Charpentier whispered to her the names of several of the more illustrious guests, but she was so awestruck that she barely heard a word.
    Before Émilie knew where she was, Charpentier had led her into the grand ballroom, which was strewn with small groups of ladies and gentlemen. Gone were the dust sheets, and every surface gleamed with polish. He nodded politely to several people he passed but did not stop, instead taking Émilie directly to Mademoiselle de Guise herself. The princess was seated at the center of the liveliest group. Although she was quite elderly and dressed in the light gray of mourning, she was bedecked with jewels and her hair was dyed black and done up in the latest fashion. Émilie thought she had kind eyes.
    “Mademoiselle,” said Charpentier, with a low, courtly bow, “may I present Mademoiselle Émilie Jolicoeur.”
    Émilie curtseyed deeply, as she had been taught. Charpentier nudged her and whispered, “Close your mouth.”
    “Monsieur