Louis the Well-Beloved

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The woman at the window was staring along the Avenue de Paris; she could survey the Grande Écurie and the Petite Écurie; and there was much coming and going. She was trembling, and anxious that the child should not notice her agitation.

But he was pulling at her skirt. ‘Maman Ventadour, you are looking out there and not at me.’

She turned from the window and as she glanced at him her expression grew soft, as it always did for this beautiful and beloved child.

‘Watch,’ he commanded.

As the Duchesse de Ventadour nodded to imply that he had her attention, he put his hands on the carpet and his feet swung into the air. His face, upside-down, scarlet with the exertion, laughed at her, demanding her approbation.

‘That, my darling,’ she said, ‘was very good. But you have shown me how clever you are. Let that suffice.’

He was on his feet, his head on one side, his thick auburn hair falling about his animated face. ‘I would like to show you again, Maman,’ he said.

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