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

Charpentier tells us that you can sing, Mademoiselle Émilie,” said the grand lady. “Perhaps you would relieve the tedium of my discourse by favoring us with a selection?”
    The ladies and gentlemen around the princess looked Émilie up and down with frank curiosity, waiting for her to take her place by the harpsichord. Émilie was a little embarrassed by the scrutiny, but the familiar sight of Charpentier seated at the keyboard calmed her. He played the introductory measures.
    “What a dear little creature!” a woman standing near the princess said, quite loudly considering that the music had already started.
    Émilie began her song, an air that Charpentier had composed specially for the occasion.
    “Rather small, though, don’t you think? Do you suppose she powders her hair? It’s so fair!” a gentleman whispered audibly.
    Émilie continued, wishing she could stop her ears so that she would not become distracted. Her tentative beginning was not forceful enough to cut through the chatter. Her voice felt pinched, as if she couldn’t get enough air to hold the notes. With panic rising into her chest, she looked over to Charpentier, who smiled at her and mouthed the word breathe! at her. Émilie closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was all alone. Her voice grew and soared through the room, blossoming into its fullest beauty.
    All fell silent. Even the servants ceased their constant rushing to and fro. To Émilie, it felt as if the room had fallen away, and she floated on a white cloud in a clear, blue sky. By the time she opened her eyes at the end of her song, she hardly knew where she was anymore. The sight of the crowd around her, completely motionless and watching her intently, astonished her. Then as if some secret signal had been given, the assembled company erupted in applause and shouts of “Brava!” and “Bis!” Émilie was at first startled, then pleased, and Charpentier smiled at her and then rose and kissed her hand.
    Mademoiselle’s guests expressed their appreciation loudly and long, except for one person: St. Paul stood in a far corner of the room, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face. His arms were folded across his chest, and he leaned against a pillar, watching as his godmother kissed Émilie on the cheek and pressed a small velvet bag into her hand. Soon after, the nobleman left, unnoticed by any of the other guests.
     
    Émilie sang a few more times over the course of the evening, and the audience was enchanted. She wished that she and her tutor could have performed their duet, but he refused, saying that he did not want the guests to hear any voice but hers that night. When it was time for her to go, at one in the morning, Mademoiselle de Guise sent for her own coach to take her home, with its four black horses, its footmen in livery, and soft, velvet cushions. Émilie felt very grand.
    Monsieur Charpentier held the door open for her and she climbed into the carriage. “I’m very proud of you,” he said taking her hand for a moment. The gentle pressure of his fingers sent a little thrill through her, and Émilie looked down in confusion. It was then that she noticed the borrowed slippers, still on her feet. She paused for a second knowing that she should go back and return the shoes to Sophie, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment. It was something, to be handed into a vehicle that had been summoned just for her. Until they heard her destination, the footmen would think she was a fine lady. For just a moment, she believed it herself.
    I can return the slippers tomorrow, she thought, as the coach lurched forward and finished its arc around the courtyard, and then passed through the gate and turned left onto the rue du Chaume.
     
    Before long, Mademoiselle de Guise’s carriage stopped in front of Émilie’s door. The footman helped her out, and Émilie saw him sneer at her humble surroundings. She was determined not to let him ruin her evening, so she walked to her