After the greetings and affectionate chatter, Marie-Antoinette led them to a low table prepared with delicate porcelain cups and a plate of candied fruits. A servant in discreet livery poured chocolate into the cups, its aroma filling the room with sweetness.
As they settled, Marie-Antoinette asked softly, "What do you want to talk about today?"
Louis-Joseph, his legs dangling from his chair, straightened his small back and answered in his clear, childish voice. "Mama, I heard a story today. One of the guards told it—he said he learned it in his travels.And he calls it Snow White and the Enlightened Queen."
Marie-Antoinette's eyes sparkled. She leaned forward, indulgent and curious, while Madame Royale clapped her hands in delight.
"Very well, Mon Chou d'Amour," the Queen said playfully, "tell us your story. We shall listen as if you were a great storyteller."
Louis-Joseph began, his words halting at times but embroidered with enthusiasm.
"Once upon a time," he said, "there was a queen, very proud, very grand, from the foreign lands. She was not a witch, no, but she was full of vanity and old ideas. She loved her mirrors and her titles, but she hated change. And she hated most of all a young girl in her court, called Blanche-Neige."
Marie-Thérèse leaned closer. "Why did she hate her?"
"Because Blanche-Neige had been taught by a French governess," Louis-Joseph explained importantly. "She was not only beautiful but also clever, curious, and she spoke French. The Queen thought that was dangerous, because it meant Blanche-Neige could think for herself."
Marie-Antoinette smiled faintly, not recognizing the subtle allegory, but proud of her son.
"So the Queen sent away her French governess," Louis-Joseph went on, his little brow furrowed with concentration. "She tried to lock Blanche-Neige into the old ways, to make her just a pretty doll for her court. But Blanche-Neige would not give up. She wanted to learn more, to see more."
Marie-Thérèse interrupted with all the impatience of a child. "But who helped her?"
"The Seven," Louis-Joseph answered, raising his fingers while counting. ", seven great French masters! An horologist who knew how to command time with his clocks, a glassmaker who captured light, a carpenter who built strong homes, a botanist who understood every leaf, a painter, a philosopher, and a musician. They had been exiled to the mines because they were Protestants. But when Blanche-Neige found them, they took her in. They taught her all their arts and sciences."
The boy's voice grew almost solemn. "She became more than just fair. She became wise."
"And then the Prince came?" asked Madame Royale eagerly.
"Yes," Louis-Joseph said, his eyes bright. "The Prince was also French. He came to the German court, saw the proud old Queen and her foolishness, and then he met Blanche-Neige. She spoke with knowledge, she played music, she could talk of plants, of time, of stars! He loved her for her spirit, not just her face. So he married her. Together, they sent the old Queen away. They ruled with reason, with art, with light. A reign of intelligence and beauty, inspired by France."
He ended with a little sigh of triumph, his story complete.
Marie-Antoinette clapped softly, her eyes moist though she masked it with laughter.
"My son," she said, drawing him to her, "you tell stories better than many court poets. Snow White turned into a philosopher—how very French indeed."
Marie-Thérèse giggled. "And I should like to be Blanche-Neige! Clever and brave, and married to a prince!"
The Queen kissed her forehead. "You shall be more, my dear. You shall be yourself, which is better than any tale."
For a while they lingered in this enchanted circle, sipping chocolate, nibbling candied orange peel, and laughing.