try to sleep, but Bernard is in my dreams. It's very hard."
"I have some news that might cheer you up," Aimée said suddenly.
"I would be so grateful!" replied Micheline earnestly. "I long for escape from this melancholy. It is like being lost in the woods, endlessly..."
"Perhaps my news will provide a way out. Thomas and I have decided to join the court at Fontainebleau for the winter, and we insist that you accompany us. You've never been to court, have you?"
"No." Micheline had always thought that she wouldn't enjoy court life, but deep inside her she realized that had only been her way of hiding her disappointment when Bernard did not invite her to accompany him.
"It's all quite gay!" Aimée declared brightly. "There is so much to do. You'll have new gowns and new friends.... There will be little time for sadness. I know it will be good for you."
She stared out to the moon-drenched courtyard. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it would be the best thing for me." She paused, then turned to search her friend's face with eloquent iris-blue eyes.
Aimée reached out to touch Micheline's cheek, her own eyes swimming with tears. "It won't be easy, but if you have courage, you'll discover pleasure in living again."
"Do you truly believe it is possible?"
"Absolutely! I can't promise that you'll find your proper path at Fontainebleau, but I am convinced that it exists—and at its end lies happiness and fulfillment that you have yet to even imagine."
Chapter 4
Chateau de Fontainebleau
December 16, 1532
Late-afternoon sun gilded the great trees of the forest. Oak, hornbeam, wide-girthed chestnut, and birch had shed their autumn finery to begin the long rest through winter. Naked gray branches arched toward the sky, impervious even to the thundering hooves of horses, packs of tired hounds, and fine-looking gentlemen riders returning from yet another successful hunt.
Bursting from the forest, the hunting party made for the palace gates, above which shone imposing high-roofed sandstone pavilions set in rhythmical order, their ornaments, pilasters, and capitals decorated with Francois I's bold F.
The king's horse galloped first through the gateway, hooves clattering over the cobbles of the magnificent Oval Courtyard. As grooms rushed forward to relieve the men of their horses, the king stole a private word with his old friend St. Briac.
"That was a fine hunt, mon ami, but I am dusty. Let us have a cold plunge before we sup."
St. Briac had been craving the company of his wife, but one look at the bold, determined profile of the king made him sigh inwardly and reply, "I am at your service, sire." To guard their three-decade-old friendship, Thomas had never accepted favors or rank from Francois, yet one did not refuse the king when he made requests in a certain tone of voice.
They walked leisurely across the cobbled courtyard toward the arched doorway that would lead them into the new appartements des bains. The Chateau de Fontainebleau was in the midst of a series of elaborate transformations. Ever since the king had decided to spend more time near Paris, this hunting lodge had been the focus of dramatic changes. For several years it had been noisy and dirty, filled with scaffolding and workmen, but slowly the grand new Fontainebleau was emerging.
A new wing had been added to the keep which so far housed the king's dreamed-of baths. Upstairs a long, splendid gallery was being constructed, and Francois had already begun to recruit the finest artists from Italy to ensure its perfection. He was extolling the virtues of Rosso and Primaticcio to Thomas when a familiar figure appeared on the stairway next to the appartements des bains.
"You go on, Thomas," the king murmured. "I'd like a word with Madame Tevoulere."
St. Briac arched an eyebrow, but left his friend alone to greet Micheline.
When she reached the bottom step, Francois exclaimed as if surprised, "If it isn't the loveliest lady in all France! How do you fare this afternoon, madame?"
"Very well, Your Majesty." Micheline flushed slightly and dropped her eyes. Clad in a simple gown of dark blue silk which was properly modest for a widow, she nonetheless felt his hazel eyes sweep the curves of her body. Eager for distraction, she produced a book from the folds of the cloak she carried. "I hope you won't mind, sire. I took you at your word and borrowed this from your splendid library. I thought I might read in the garden."
"Mind? Have I not told you that all I have is yours for the taking?" Francois