“It is very comfortable,” I lied. François gave me a self-satisfied look and inched closer to Claude-Michel. I raised my chin at him to show I didn’t care, and turned to Bernardo. I knew Claude-Michel watched the whole thing for his own amusement, but I wondered exactly what amused him so—François’ obvious play for his romantic affections, or my reluctant acquiescence to his wishes in the face of certain punishment. Perhaps it was Bernardo’s squirming. I periodically touched Bernardo’s thigh or a lock of his hair, pretending to do so absently. He eyed Claude-Michel as though expecting him to run him through on the spot. Later that day, when we stopped to rest the horses and stretch our legs, Claude- Michel pulled the boy aside. I thought Bernardo would wet his breeches. “Please humor my wife,” I heard him say. “She becomes intolerable if she doesn’t have the opportunity to practice her charms.” “Oh,” Bernardo said. “I will try.” After that, he relaxed a little and began to open up, even telling a story.
