Chapter 41: Departing for Paris

Nantes and Paris, August 1676

The morning of departure arrives warm and bright, the Loire glittering like a sheet of beaten gold. The Dupré household gathers in the courtyard, servants loading trunks onto a hired carriage. Élise stands near the steps, dressed in a travelling gown of pale blue, her hair pinned neatly beneath a bonnet. Awa stands behind her, carrying a small satchel and keeping her gaze lowered.

Marie arrives last, her own belongings modest; two dresses, a shawl, a few books, and the purse of coins she has saved from her earnings in the counting house.

Madame Dupré watches from the doorway, arms folded. “You have served us well,” she says to Marie. Her tone is cool but not unkind. “May Paris treat you better than Nantes.”

Marie bows her head. “Thank you, madame.”

Madame Dupré’s eyes flick to Awa. “See that Élise is presented properly. Paris is not forgiving.”

Awa nods. “Yes, madame.”

Élise claps her hands. “Come, everyone! We must leave before the day’s heat worsens.”

The carriage door opens. Marie steps inside first, settling beside the window. Élise follows, excitement glowing in her eyes. Awa climbs in last, sitting opposite them with quiet grace. The driver snaps the reins. The carriage lurches forward.

Nantes recedes behind them with its waterfront and crowded quays ... and its secrets. Marie watches the city shrink, feeling a strange mixture of relief and melancholy. She has lived here for three years. She has grown into a woman here. But she has never belonged.

The road winds north‑east, through farmland and small villages. The air smells of hay and dust. Élise chatters about Paris ... its salons, its fashions, and its theatres ... her voice bright and eager. Marie listens politely, though her thoughts drift.

Awa sits quietly with her hands folded, her eyes watching the passing fields. She seems calm, but I sense the faint tension in her shoulders. It’s a feeling Marie had when she left Montréal. The awareness of leaving one world for another, without knowing what awaits.

Hours pass and the sun climbs high in the sky. With it comes the oppressive summer heat. The carriage stops at a roadside inn for water and rest. Élise goes inside to refresh herself while Marie stretches her legs. Awa walks toward a shaded patch of grass, carrying the valise containing Élise’s lacquered box, the one that holds the bracelet.

I feel the world through the bracelet, faint and distant. Élise rarely wears it, but thanks to Awa’s influence, Élise insisted on bringing it “for safety.” It rests inside the box now, warm against the wood.

Awa sits in a shady place looking at a babbling stream. She doesn’t see the man approaching. A ragged traveller in a dusty coat, unshaven face, his eyes sharp with hunger. He glances around, sees no one watching, and steps closer. His gaze lands on the valise.