In the garden, at Colomiers, I felt his presence. The Princess was as one enchanted. I gave her ribbons to fashion. Even I dreamed of the sweetness his touch might bring, although I would never have the chance to marry. The death of the Prince was a heavy penance for the Princess in her innocence. We still worked on the trousseau. But, in the failing light, I could feel her grow frail and sick, and her gowns hung loose, no matter how I sewed--and this time I prayed for her life.
Now, she goes to the nunnery. My lady the Princess of Cleves will have no need of fine lace. Her new trousseau will suit a bride of Christ. She will not be the Duchess of Nemours--the most beautiful lady at Court. Our lives follow paths we cannot know the end of; what gate opens in the dawn?
Alas, she will have no need of me there. Shall I be cast out onto the way of the pins? What will become of me?
God willing, she will be safe with the Sisters.