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Zusatztext “This book captures the spirit of the brilliant but controversial and often scandalous Emilie in her daughter Lili’s own search for truth and happiness.” —Anne Easter Smith! award-winning author of The King’s Grace Informationen zum Autor Laurel Corona is the author of Finding Emilie , Penelope's Daughter , The Four Seasons , and Until Our Last Breath: A Holocaust Story of Love and Partisan Resistance. Klappentext This book captures the spirit of the brilliant but controversial and often scandalous Emilie in her daughter Lili's own search for truth and happiness.--Anne Easter Smith! award-winning author of "The King's Grace." 1759 “S TOP WINNING all the time!” Delphine tossed her cards in the air in frustration that turned to laughter as they cascaded over Lili’s head and fell around her on the bed. The two ten-year-old girls sat cross-legged in muslin nightdresses, curling their bare toes around ripples in the green velvet coverlet. Next to them, a small white dog snorted at the disturbance to his sleep. Lili picked up the strewn cards and tapped the sides of the pack until they were aligned. “Want to play again? I told you how I do it.” Delphine sighed. “I know. You remember the cards we’ve already played. Me, it’s king, queen, la-la-la.” “Well, you can’t win at piquet if you don’t know what’s already happened.” “All of that remembering is like schoolwork. No more fun than doing sums.” Delphine stood up on the bed behind Lili. “Want me to play with your hair? I’ll get some combs and put it up just like Madame de Pompadour’s.” She picked up Lili’s brown hair and crushed it in her hands on top of Lili’s head. “Just like that,” she said, pursing her lips and kissing the air in imitation of King Louis XV’s mistress. “Where did you put your brush?” Lili didn’t answer. “They’re arguing about something downstairs,” she said, cocking her head. “Can you hear them?” Delphine sniffed as she retrieved the brush from Lili’s dressing table. “Who cares? Silly old men.” While her back was turned, Lili hopped off the bed and tiptoed out into the upstairs hallway of Hôtel Bercy. The dog jumped down to follow her. “Stanislas-Adélaïde! Come back here!” she heard Delphine scold. “You’re practically naked!” Lili turned and put her finger to her lips. “I’m going to try to listen.” “Well, at least put on your robe! I can see the outline of your bottom under your chemise!” Ignored, Delphine gave a dramatic sigh and, throwing on her dressing gown, came out into the hallway. “It’s freezing,” she whispered, picking up the tiny bichon frise and holding it to her chest. “Look! Tintin is shivering, even with his fur coat.” She nuzzled him. “Aren’t you, mon petit?” “Shh!” Lili held a finger to her lips. “They’re talking about the Jansenists, I think. Or maybe it’s the Jesuits. It’s hard to hear.” Lili stood by the railing at the top of the staircase and cocked one ear. “I thought I heard someone call Jesuits a plague on France, but that can’t be right.” She listened again. “Or maybe it was that there’s no place for them in France, but that doesn’t make much sense either.” She looked at Delphine. “They’re priests. How could anyone think there’s no need for priests?” “You’ll need one soon enough if you catch your death of cold,” Delphine said, prancing on her bare toes. “My feet are turning to ice.” The voices downstairs had quieted again to an indistinguishable murmur. Lili suddenly became aware of floorboards so cold they burned her toes and sent goose bumps up her arms and legs. “Race you to bed!” she said with a grin as she dashed past Delphine. The two girls leapt onto the soft pile of bedcovers, and Tintin joined in the jumble of arms and legs, licking their eyes and noses until they squealed. “Time for your hair,” Delphine rem...
