Berry shook his head. ‘No …’ he began.

But Antoinette had run to him and seized his arm. ‘But you must come … you must. There must be three ladies, three gentlemen … Oh, Berry, you must … you must indeed. I insist.’

He looked down at the charming eager face. He felt he wanted to please her, he wanted to make up for those shameful and uncomfortable nightly experiences for which he was solely to blame.

‘I do not think we should,’ he said.

‘Nor I,’ said Josèphe.

But Artois and Provence decided that they would; and with Antoinette they persuaded the others.

As a result, one bright and starry night, the carriages were brought to a side door, and the excited party made the short joumey between Versailles and the Capital.

During that midnight adventure, Antoinette saw the city in moonlight; saw the gleaming river and the great buildings – the Bastille, the Invalides, the Hôtel de Ville, the cafés along the Quai des Tuileries and Notre Dame.

This, the Dauphin explained, was the route the procession would take when they made their formal entry.

But what excited Antoinette was the fact that the city seemed full of life even at this late hour. There were people in the streets … women, men, noisy people, people who, it seemed, would never be disturbed by that grim bogey, Etiquette. How different was Paris from the town of Versailles with its Place d’Armes and the Church of Notre Dame on one side and the Church of St Louis on the other, and the avenues de Sceaux, de Paris and de St Cloud which, apart from the château, seemed to make up the town.

This was a glorious city, a city of wide and narrow streets, of splendour and squalor, of contrasts and a thousand delights, where anything might happen.

She persuaded them to stop the carriages that they might visit the Opéra ball. Berry was very much against this, but Antoinette was firm. They had come so far. Were they going to spoil the adventure because they were afraid to carry it to its conclusion?

Artois agreed with her. Provence was half-hearted; and as Berry rarely expressed any great desire or any great disinclination to do anything, they went to the ball.

The glitter of that ball completely enchanted Antoinette. She was amazed that Versailles had nothing as exciting to offer. Here were glittering jewels and gorgeously attired men and women; but they were exciting people, hiding behind their masks. Here, decided Antoinette, was excitement and adventure.

She danced with Artois. Many eyes were on her; for she was like a dainty Sèvres ornament come to life. She was laughing behind her mask, wondering what these people would think if they knew that the girl dancing so merrily among them was their Dauphine.

Berry was nervous, eager to be gone; and eventually he managed to instil the same anxiety in his brothers.

They left the Opéra ball and drove back to Versailles.

Few people at the Palace knew of their adventure and, as they were up early for the next morning’s Mass, it was undiscovered.

But Antoinette felt that nothing in her life could ever be quite the same again. She was in love – in love with Paris.


* * *

It was a hot June day when the royal procession entered the Capital.

At the gates of Paris the old Governor of the City, the Duc de Brissac, waited to welcome the Dauphin and his wife and to present them with the keys of the city.

The old man’s eyes were appreciative as they rested on the flushed and lovely young Dauphine. She smiled at him as Berry laid his hands on the keys which were being presented to him on a velvet cushion. What would the Duc think, wondered Antoinette, if he knew she had visited his city in secret a few nights before?

But Paris was more enchanting than ever in sunlight. Great triumphal arches had been put up, and flowers decked the streets.

The market women had come from their stalls in the Halles to cheer her. The merchants of St Germain and St Antoine called a greeting; and guns were fired from the Hotel de Ville, the Invalides and the Bastille. The Place du Carrousel was bright with flowers and arches made of cloth of gold and purple velvet, decorated with the golden lilies of France. The bridge over the Seine looked as though it were one seething mass of people, all cheering, all calling ‘Vive le Dauphin! Vive la Dauphine!’

At last they were standing on the balcony of the Tuileries, and again and again the crowds shouted a welcome. Antoinette had never seen so many people, and tears filled her eyes at the expression of such loyalty; for tears, like smiles and sudden anger, came quickly to Antoinette and quickly passed.

‘Mon Dieu!’ she cried out with emotion. ‘Que de monde!’

The Duc de Brissac came closer to her and whispered: ‘Madame, I trust His Highness the Dauphin will not take it amiss, but you have before you two hundred thousand people – the people of Paris – and they have all fallen in love with you.’

She stood there smiling, happy, enchanted. She had fallen in love with Paris, so it was meet and fitting that Paris should have fallen in love with her.


* * *

Every night she wished now to make the journey from Versailles to Paris. There was so much in the city to delight her; so many reasons why she had no wish to remain in Versailles. She had come to hate the aunts, with their continual backbiting, and she understood at last that they had never been her friends. It was pleasant to escape from the watchful eyes of Madame de Noailles and the ever-intruding ones of de Vermond and Mercy. She liked to dance until the early hours of morning, to attend the card parties, the Comédie Française and the Comédie Italienne; she liked to attend the Opéra; but delightful as she found these occasions, what seemed most important was to avoid returning early to bed.

The Dauphin did not care for these gaieties; he was tolerant and he made no effort to interfere; but after a hard day’s work in his blacksmith’s shop or in the open air he would want to retire early. Therefore, though they must share the same bed, there were ways of not spending many of the same hours in it, and she would creep in at an early hour of the morning when he was fast asleep.

Often her brothers-in-law would accompany her to Paris. The King rarely went. He was unpopular in Paris, and Paris did not hesitate to declare its dislike. There had been a great deal of trouble throughout the country owing to disaster in foreign affairs, bad harvests, and increased taxation. Louis was afraid that if he passed through the streets of his Capital he might meet not only hostile words, but actions. Some years before he had had a road built from Versailles, so that he could reach Compiègne without passing through Paris.

Antoinette soon discovered that the King’s unpopularity did not apply to his family. She herself was greeted warmly wherever she went. She was so charming to the eye, and that appealed to the Parisians; her quick emotions were evident, and they had heard stories of her kindliness to poor people. Wherever she went she was cheered and admired.

This was delightful, but after a while it grew tedious, for a certain restrained behaviour was expected of her as the Dauphine. It was then that she took up the practice of going masked to Paris, and in particular to the Opéra ball.

There she and her brothers-in-law, and occasionally their wives, would dance until after midnight; and in the early morning their carriage wheels would be heard on the road from Paris to Versailles.

There was one ball which lived in her memory.

The great fun of these balls was the fact that she and members of her party roamed freely among the dancers; and it was on one of these occasions when she found herself dancing with a tall young man, masked like herself, whom she judged to be of her own age.

She was delighted with him because he was a foreigner in Paris and in love with the city even as she was.

‘You are young,’ he said, ‘to be at such a ball unchaperoned.’

‘I am not unchaperoned,’ she told him.

‘Then how is it … ?’

She laughed and said: ‘Ah, Monsieur, it is a great secret.’

He said: ‘Your hands are the most delicate I ever saw. And when I first saw you I thought you were a statue … until you moved. And when you moved I realised that I knew what true beauty was.’

She laughed. She was beginning to understand the art of flirtation, and it pleased her.

‘You may not be French, Monsieur, but in your country they teach you how to pay a good compliment in French.’

‘It is easy to pay compliments in your presence, Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘One has but to speak the truth.’

‘Tell me of yourself.’

‘What is there to tell? I am passing through France while making the Grand Tour.’

‘You are enjoying this Grand Tour?’

He pressed her hand more firmly. ‘Can you doubt it?’

‘And you love Paris?’

‘To-night,’ he said, ‘I am in love with Paris.’

‘But only to-night! It is your first night in Paris?’

‘It is only to-night that I realise that Paris is the only place in the world where I want to be.’

‘That is a wonderful discovery to make, Monsieur. To find that where you are is where you want to be!’

‘But I am afraid that all this happiness which has suddenly come to me might pass away from me as suddenly.’

‘Paris will not pass away, Monsieur.’

‘You may.’

She laughed. He said: ‘I must know more of you. Your name … what you are doing here … alone like this … so young, so exquisite. Your family should guard you better than this.’