I sat down on a couch with my mother beside me. She had her arm round me and held me as though she would never let me go.
I lost count of time. I could not shut out of my mind all that horror. I kept thinking of Sophie and the waiting was almost as terrible as that nightmare journey through the crowd.
That was a night which none of us—including the entire French nation—was going to forget for a very long time. What had gone wrong with the fireworks no one knew and had the people remained calm the damage would not have been great. But the panic of the crowd to get out of the square in frantic haste had resulted in many being trampled to death and one hundred and thirty-two people had been killed outright and two thousand badly injured on that terrible night.
Remembering the storm on the wedding day, people began to ask themselves if God was displeased with this marriage. They were to remember what they called these omens later.
I had prayed so fervently that Sophie should not die and I rejoiced when my prayers were answered; but I have sometimes wondered whether had Sophie been given the choice she would have chosen to live.
She kept to her bed for several weeks. The day which should have been her wedding-day came and went. None of her bones had been broken—Armand had saved her from being trampled to death—but one side of her face had been so badly burned that the scars would be with her forever.
My mother nursed her and I wanted to help but whenever I went into the room Sophie was disturbed.
My mother said: ‘She does not want you to see her face.’
So I stayed away, but I wanted to be with her, to talk to her, to comfort her if I could.
Even when she rose from her bed she would not leave her room and she did not want anyone to be with her except her maid, Jeanne Fougere, who was devoted to her and of whom she had become very fond.
Jeanne spent her days in Sophie’s apartments and both my father and mother were grateful to the girl, for she seemed to be able to comfort Sophie as no one else could. I had hoped that I should be able to, but it was very clear that my half-sister did not want that.
Jeanne was clever with her fingers and she devised a kind of hood of blue silk which covered half of Sophie’s face. Fortunately the burns had not touched her eyes although one side of her face was badly scorched and the hair would never grow again there; but it was the lower part of her jaw which had caught the full fury of the flames. The hood which Jeanne had made was, said my mother, very effective.
‘She will emerge from her room in time,’ went on my mother. ‘And your father thinks that we should return to the country. Sophie will feel better there. The sooner she gets away from the place where it happened the better.’
I said: ‘The wedding will have to be postponed for some time, I suppose.’
My mother was thoughtful. ‘She won’t see Charles,’ she said.
‘I suppose she can’t bear him to see … ’
‘Poor girl. It may be that now … ’
‘You mean he won’t want to marry her?’
‘I don’t know. The Tourvilles are very eager for the marriage. A good deal is involved.’
‘Settlements? Money?’
‘Yes, and your father would have liked an alliance with the Tourvilles. Sophie, however, has told Jeanne that she will never marry now.’
‘She may change her mind. She loved Charles very much.’
‘Well, you know she was always nervous … unsure of herself. The betrothal made such a difference to her. Now, of course, she just wants to hide herself away.’
‘I wish she would see me.’
‘I can understand it. Perhaps it is because you are so very pretty. I think she has always been a little … well, not exactly jealous but aware that you are more attractive than she is.’
‘Oh … nonsense.’
‘Not nonsense at all. It is all very natural. She was never very attractive herself; although she did change after the engagement.
‘Is Charles willing to go ahead?’
‘Yes. As soon as it can be arranged.’
‘So it is just Sophie.’
‘No doubt she will change her mind. We must wait and see. And now your father thinks that the best thing we can do is return to the country.’
So we did. Sophie sat in the carriage huddled in the corner, her face covered by Jeanne’s hood and her cloak wrapped tightly around her.
I tried to talk to her but she clearly showed she did not want me to. I wished that Lisette was in our carriage but she did not of course travel with us. She had gone ahead to the château in the company of Tante Berthe.
It was a very gloomy journey.
Everything changed after the night of the fireworks. The château was different; it was as though the ghosts of so many who had suffered there had come out of their hiding places to remind us that life was cruel.
