“It is important,” added Julie. “I’m due for an engagement.”
Mère Sophie gave reluctant assent, leading Julie from the hall and leaving me with Rosine and the gentlemen. As the men leaned to each other to murmur, my aunt embraced me with such affection that I forgave her for breaking her promise to visit me.
“Oh, Sarah! You were splendid. Such presence. Not even Rachel herself could have done better. Who would have thought it? Have you ever considered that a career on the stage might be your calling in life?”
I regarded her in astonishment. Rachel Félix was the premier tragedienne of the Comédie-Française, a Jewish-born actress renowned for her virtuosity. Rosine had mentioned her to me before, once attempting to secure tickets for us to one of her performances only to find it had sold out weeks in advance. I knew I should bask in the comparison, even if it was ludicrous, my aunt’s attempt to ease the sting of my encounter with my mother. Then I recalled Marie’s words about courtesans—They are entertainers, like actresses—and I said sharply, “I’ve no wish to sell myself on the stage. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I think I want to be a nun.”
My declaration was spontaneous, without any consideration of its implications, yet it exerted an immediate effect. My aunt trilled nervous laughter. “A nun? How like you to be so absurd!” She paused, her mirth fading as she took in my expression. “It is impossible. You do realize that? To enter a convent, a girl must have a dowry. Not even God’s love is free. Moreover, you just heard Julie. She would never allow it.”
“Why not? If I wish to serve God, why should she care? I’ll be out of her way forever.”
Rosine sighed. “You’re speaking nonsense.” She glanced at the gentlemen, who did not appear, as far as I could tell, to be paying us any mind. “You’ll be twelve next year. Almost a woman. I told you why Julie sent you here, but I think you should also know…” She paused, an uneasy frown knitting her brow.
“Know what?” All of a sudden, I sensed something long withheld surface between us.
She looked down, twisting her soft leather gloves in her hands. “Sending you here was not entirely Julie’s doing,” she said at length. “Oh, she wanted you out of the house, that much is true. She had her reasons, but she’d never have chosen this particular place, had—” She reached up abruptly to caress my cheek. “What does it matter now?”
“Please.” My voice quivered. “It matters to me.” Although I wasn’t certain I should hear anything else, I was growing increasingly worried over what Julie might be saying to Mère Sophie. I imagined my mother removing me from the convent for another, less hospitable, place, where I’d not find myself nearly as welcome. “I wasn’t serious about the baptism,” I added, as Rosine continued to hesitate. “I only asked for Monseigneur’s blessing to annoy her.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Yes, I thought as much. I do not blame you. But Julie takes our faith seriously. She dares not show it, but she is proud of our heritage and would not have any daughter of hers convert. And she did not choose this place for you.”
I avoided the immediate question her words roused in me. Were there other daughters? Had my mother given birth as I suspected? Did I have a new sister, tucked away somewhere with a nursemaid, as I had been? Instead, I focused on the last part, asking warily, “If she didn’t choose this place, who did?”
“Your father,” said Rosine, with a pained look. “He insisted on it, in fact.”
The revelation felt like a stab to my heart. I could scarcely believe it. No one had ever mentioned my father to me before now; as a child, I’d come to accept that whoever he might be, he must want nothing to do with me. I’d fantasized about him, making up stories in my head that he was a prince in a distant land or a merchant sailing the high seas. Handsome as a pirate, bold and brave. I tried to convince myself he didn’t know about me, just as I forgot at times when I’d lived in Brittany that I had a mother. Yet as the years went on, the idea of him grew so remote that he eventually was banished from my thoughts.
Now my aunt was telling me he actually existed.
“My father?” I whispered.
Rosine nodded. “Did you think you didn’t have one? He’s a notary in Le Havre. He sent sums for your maintenance after your birth. The situation with Julie…it was complicated. But he knows about you. He specifically requested that you be raised as a Catholic. He secured your place here. He paid for it in advance.”
My throat closed in on itself. I could only stare at her in disbelief, not knowing if I should feel grateful or shriek at her for having kept such a momentous truth from me. Before I could find a way to express the emotions rioting inside me, Rosine turned around.
Mère Sophie and my mother had returned to the hall.
With a silken smile that implored a moment’s patience from her companions, Julie stepped before me. “Mère Sophie assures me you are faring well here, so for the moment I will submit to her wisdom. But there’s to be no more talk of baptism. Am I understood?”
Had I not been so aghast by what I’d just learned, I might have protested. Instead, I accepted my mother’s tepid kiss and stern warning—“Do not disappoint me”—and I watched her walk away. Rosine hugged me and hastened to join her; Julie was laughing, a hand on her companion’s arm as he escorted her to their carriage.
The hall had cleared of its occupants without my realizing it, the girls having said farewell to their parents and been hustled by the nuns back to the dormitory.
Reverend Mother Sophie regarded me in pained understanding.
“Come, child.” She held out her hand. “You mustn’t despair. God will see us through our trials if we have enough faith to surmount them.”
VI
Marie wanted to know what was wrong with me. She declared I’d turned sullen and was no fun, trudging about as if I’d fallen off the stage instead of enchanting the audience.
“You were astonishing,” she said, trying to entice me to smile. “Even Louise says you should have had the role from the start. She wants to be your friend now. All the girls do. It’s all Sarah-this-or-Sarah-that. If I weren’t so fond of you, I’d be jealous.”
Not even her flattery could brighten my mood. In a fit of pique, I released my captive insects and lone reptile into the garden, my lizard wobbling forlornly under a bush, its tail mutilated after I inadvertently sliced it off when I snapped the lid on the can where I’d kept it. I refused to draw anything but mournful saints, copying works of art by old masters from books, and allowed only César to follow me about because he was so devoted I could have kicked him and he wouldn’t have strayed.