Jane woke up early the next morning. For some time she lay in bed, trying to realize what was happening to her. Her thoughts were clear and precise, and if it were not for a slight feeling of hunger, which constantly distracted her, she would have understood much faster the strangeness of her situation. The abrupt change of mood, the scattered books in the library, the sudden affection for Bertrand de Gau after he had made her wary at the first meeting, the strange neglect of Bianca's words, the disappearance of Mary, and most importantly, the vision of Robert on a stake last night - all this gave food. for reflection. In addition, she was tormented by the feeling that at night someone came into her room. Moreover, she vaguely remembered - or was it just another nightmare? - that cold hands felt her body under the covers in the most indecent places. Either it's the obsessions of an old maid or ... Jane did not like the conclusions she came to, and the future marriage seemed more

At dinner, Jane tried to control herself, however, her hands moved from plate to mouth, from glass to fork or knife. Try as she might, Jane couldn't help it. She no longer wanted to eat, but the hand with the fork stubbornly brought another piece to her mouth. When dinner was over, Bertrand de Gault announced that he had to give some orders in order to prepare a surprise for Jane. Guillaume le Muy stayed with her and took her to show her the lock from the inside. Going into the library, where Jane had scattered books the day before, he led her to two portraits - a man and a woman.These are the founders of our family: Bertrand de Gault and Catherine le Mouy. The history of this castle begins with them. Jane looked at the faces in the portraits. The demonic grin of Bertrand de Gault was lost in a thick black beard. Thick black eyebrows hung over steel-gray eyes. A low forehead, a large nose and a fleshy chin - all this was crowned with black armor, in whic

Following the closing door with a mocking glance, Bertrand looked around the queen's study. The thick pile of carpets muffled his steps. The delicate aroma of the magnificent wax of the candles tickled the nostrils, and the richly decorated books delighted the eye. Running his fingers along the spines, he settled on a very simple pocket bible. The edge of it was worn out from frequent use, the pages were broken. Nearby lay a book in folio by Machiavelli on the sovereign and the state. Bertrand smiled. It was clear that this book was often read: in addition to the shabby binding, there were notes in the margins made by the queen's hand. A worthy student did not agree with the cruel and treacherous Italian in everything, but justified his position. Although she believed that in politics, weak rulers resorted to murder, but at the same time she recognized that that sometimes this is the only means to achieve the goal, although not the best. The proof is the murder of Jeanne d'Albret, th

The massacre of the Huguenots in Paris lasted about three days. Bertrand's house, although it was near the Protestant quarter, where not a single Huguenot and not a single building remained alive, by a strange whim of fate was not touched by robbers or fanatics. Not considering it necessary to take risks, Bertrand spent the whole time of the pogrom locked up. Only once did he order the door to be opened, when a hurried knock was heard from the side of the back door. His silent servant let in a very young girl in a torn dress and wounded in several places. She sat down exhausted on the steps of the stairs and asked for asylum. Bertrand, who descended, carefully examined the random guest. If not for the soot on her face and the bloody wound on the severed arm, wrapped in a dirty, bloody rag, she could be considered a beauty. Green eyes, slightly slanted in a pale face, oddly harmonized with bright red curls. A closed dress hid a small, neat chest, and small shoes hid a

A young woman with a barely visible tummy, hidden by a pile of skirts and lace, swayed slightly and, fanning her face with an embroidered handkerchief, with her other hand grabbed the arm of a gloomy young woman who was standing next to her.My mistress, - she immediately responded. “Madame, are you unwell?”My head hurts terribly, Katerina, - The woman put a trembling hand with a handkerchief to her forehead. “I'm about to faint.” She swayed again.Damn stuffiness, - the gloomy woman said angrily. "Now I'll help you get out."But, the service, Katerina ... - weakly protested the exhausted beauty.I think Saint Anthony will not be very pleased if, instead of listening to the clergyman in his church, you fall into a swoon to talk to God directly. The beauty smiled weaklyYou say terrible things, Katherine. Okay, the Jesuits can't hear you.And they don’t even need to hear, - supporting the beauty by the waist, said the woman named Katerina. - Don't say a word to these papis