Madame Tussaud: A Novel of the French Revolution Read Online Free PDF Page B

with bejeweled aigrettes. “Like the one you wore to your last masquerade.”
    The look on the queen’s face is one of pain, but just as quickly it is gone and she has schooled her features into serenity. “Show me everything!” She claps eagerly. “Even your Cavern of Great Thieves.”
    We are more than happy to oblige. There are thirty full-size models in our exhibition, and a dozen busts on short marble columns. We have positioned a floor-length mirror across from each tableau to give the impression that the Salon is larger than it really is. Come evening, these mirrors will reflect the glow of the chandeliers, casting double the light over the exhibits.
    The king stops before a group of figures depicting the Eastern envoys of Tippoo Sahib in their colorful costumes. “Remember this?” He turns to his wife. “They were the funniest men who ever came to Versailles.” That was six months ago. The king summoned Paris’s best artists to sculpt the envoys, and he was so impressed by my uncle’s wax model that he had it installed in a tent outside the Grand Trianon for more than a month. Now, he holds his belly and laughs, sending his young sons into fits of giggles. The girl, I notice, never smiles.
    “Those mustaches!” The queen laughs, and it’s a merry sound, not high and false like those of some of the important women I have modeled.
    “They smelled,” Madame Royale puts in nastily.
    “That was the scent of the East,” her father says.
    The queen’s cheeks have gone pink. “And you, Mademoiselle Grosholtz. Which of these wonderful models are you responsible for?”
    “This dinner scene that Her Majesty saw. And this one as well.” I lead the group into the next room. It is a family portrait with all of the children. I made the decision last night to remove the princesse Sophie-Hélène Béatrix, who died a year and a half ago at eleven months old. Now I see that this was the right choice, since the queen goes at once to the model of her youngest son and caresses his cheek. I believe she is feeling sentimental, for this model was made when Louis-Charles was only three years old. I based it on a bust in the Paris Salon, and since then his face has matured.
    “Look, there I am!” Madame Royale marches toward the model I have made of her and inspects it. She looks from me to the wax image and back again. “You did this?”
    “Yes, Your Highness.”
    “And how did you know what I look like? I’ve never met you before.”
    “There are images of Her Highness in many galleries. I based this model on one of those.”
    The queen puts a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, but the girl shrugs it off. “I wish to take this home.”
    “This is a museum,” the queen replies, “not a shop.”
    “And we do not take things from museums,” Madame Élisabeth says. The king’s younger sister has been silent until now, and when Madame Royale hears her aunt speak, she is quieted. “Why don’t you go inside the Cavern of Great Thieves?” Madame Élisabeth asks the queen. “I will stay here and watch the children.”
    Madame Royale stomps her foot and whines, “I want to go, too.”
    “When you are older,” her father says. “Not now.”
    I lead the adults into the Cavern of Great Thieves, and immediately, the mood changes. The room is lit by only a few candles, and the walls have been constructed to look like a dungeon. I steal a look at Curtius and Henri, who both nod encouragingly at me. I am the one who gives this speech to important patrons. I lick my lips and begin. “Here are the men who have terrorized the good people of France. Thieves, forgers, and even murderers of children.”
    I see the king exchange a worried look with Rose. The queen, however, steps forward.
    “This is Antoine François Desrues. In 1744, he was born to humble parents not far from here. After many years of hard work, Desrues purchased his own grocery. Although the business was successful, he spent far more than he could