The Silk Weaver's Daughter Read Free

blackberries. His daughters appreciated how proud he was of this special orchard.
    “Hmm, they certainly look healthy,” Jacques said. “But why mulberry trees, Pierre?”
    “My plan is to raise silk worms, so I’ll need the leaves to feed them. I know you bid well for the silk thread in Lyon but perhaps I’ll be successful in growing my own cocoons right here as well.”
    “You realize that working with cocoons is difficult. Everything must be exactly right—the temperature, the light and those worms, they constantly need feeding. Do you really consider it worthwhile?”
    “I know. It won’t be easy. Still I want to try. Times are difficult for Huguenots out here in the country. The Monarchy forbids many occupations to us now, and people in the village have trouble making enough money to survive. Whatever work I can find for them here helps.”
    “Well, then. May God be with you on this. Everything else you do has been a success. I pray there will be the chance for you to achieve this as well.”
    “Thank you, mon ami. Now let’s go in and try my new vintage. Last year was extraordinary for the pineau. Smiling at his daughters, he added, “And the women have created a delicious feast—roast lamb, I believe.”
    As Louise followed them inside, she pondered on her uncle’s last words. He didn’t sound very positive about Papa’s idea, she thought. That’s not like Uncle Jacques. I wonder if he knows something, he hasn’t told us yet.

     
    The residence Pierre ushered them into was a handsome structure built in the 16 th century—long and low, with an upper gallery for the bedrooms and an attached barn for the animals. A staircase led up from the main salon, which was a large room with stone walls and dark wooden beams. Because of the visit, his two oldest girls had polished everything until it shone. The room presented a warm and appealing ambience, with woven tapestries hanging on every wall and small, silk carpets adorning the ancient, flagstone floors.
    After the meal—a tasty fish soup; the roast lamb with herbed vegetables; and a mouth-watering, apple clafoutis— they settled into the comfortable lounge, and Jacques told them about the visit he and Marc had made to Versailles.
    “We became acquainted with a most important person—the man who oversees the Compagnie des Indes Orientales— the French East India Company,” he explained. “He has been extremely helpful and now he took us to meet King Louis.”
    “You were presented to the King? At court?” exclaimed Claudine. “You mean you went to Versailles? Is it as wonderful as they say?”
    “Magnificent. The palace and grounds cover over nineteen hundred acres. The rooms are spectacular, especially the Hall of Mirrors. You can’t believe that room. It is well over two hundred feet long, with mirrors lining both walls. The reflections—they go on forever. The chandeliers alone must have cost a king‘s ransom. In fact, no amount of money has been spared anywhere in the palace.”
    “Why were you there, Uncle?” inquired the practical Jean Guy.
    “It has to do with the trading company. Because we’re assigned to India to help with the building of a French fortress, they invited us to attend a banquet of executives, mostly nobles and merchants. We took gifts to King Louis, of course. Furs we got on our trip to Canada—beaver skins and silver fox. His Majesty was entranced with them and treated us quite royally.” He laughed at his own pun.
    “What was the food like? Did they feed you well?” inquired Claudine.
    “But, of course, my dear.” Jacques turned to her still smiling. “In fact, the meal was ludicrous—much more than anyone could eat. And a good deal wasted, I’m afraid. Afterwards we danced. There’s a new one at court, which has everyone enchanted. Even the king tried it. They call it the passé pied, and since it came from Brittany, it’s quite lively. In the candlelight, and with the reflection of the dancers in